A Maine Day

It is a beautiful Maine day, the kind of day I like to imagine when I am in Philadelphia and thinking of Maine. The sun is hot, the air is clear, everything is green and gold in the light. There’s a brisk wind making whitecaps on the lake and a sound through the trees. I am sitting on the deck, relaxing after my run, and thinking how lucky I am to be here.

Yesterday I did absolutely nothing. The day was grey and rainy, the perfect excuse to spend the day burrowed into the sofa, wrapped in a blanket. I watched a movie and read my book. I didn’t even bother to walk over to Bob and Jane’s for dinner, preferring to eat leftovers while sitting at the counter and leafing through a new cookbook.

It’s still so odd to be here without Steve. I feel slightly uncomfortable, always wondering what’s the next activity, what should I be doing. The house feels very big and empty to me. He’s everywhere but nowhere.

What Did Eric Cantor Learn in Hebrew School?

This article made me laugh and cry but mostly cry.

Ugh!

I don't often read Tom Friedman's column (despite that fact that he is a Brandeis graduate). I often find him annoyingly simplistic but his piece in today's New York Times is absolutely dead on. In fact, all the editorials and op eds are worth reading today.

What's going on in Washington is so disgusting and depressing for so many reasons but what hit me today was how it must destroying any young person's interest or involvement in the political process. We must be losing a whole generation of voters, candidates, supporters. What young person of any intelligence would now ever want to go into politics, work for the government or run for office.

Hot

Hallelujah! I am in Maine where it’s hot but nothing like it was in Philadelphia. Where the heat was like an evil being, rising up from the sidewalk, assaulting eyes and nose and skin, making any movement a fight you couldn’t win.

I’ve already been in the lake two times since the late afternoon when I got here, whipping off my clothes the minute I arrived even before I unpacked and then at sunset to soap up and get ready for my traditional glass of wine on the dock. Steve would be so proud. “It’s like toast,” he’d say, urging me to get in the lake with him. I always resisted, fearing the shock of the cold water, preferring my nice hot shower at the end of the day.

Once several years ago during another hot and steamy stretch of summer (maybe that was the year we decided to put ceiling fans in every bedroom) we were going to Bob and Jane’s for dinner. Instead of walking through the woods as we usually did we jumped in the water as the sun was fading. Steve walked and I swam. We got out at their dock, walked up to the house with no clothes on and then sat buck naked at the table dripping wet and wrapped in towels. It was a great evening, full of laughs like so many. Who knows how we got home at the end of the night.

On My Own

I am on the move again. This has been a wild, free wheeling summer, finding me all over the place and rarely settling down. Maine, Montana, Cartagena with the girls, back to Maine, down to Jamaica with Liz and Giul and then on to the weirdness of Southern California. I've barely had time to enjoy my new, luxurious bathroom or stretch out with a book on my futon in my newly expanded study. Saturday I head back up to Maine where I will stay until some time in August when the spirit moves me to move on or not. Who knows? Such freedom comes with a price, of course. I am on my own, no faithful, long time travel companion with which to consult, bemoan or enjoy each new experience. Most days I think I can do this, no problem. I'm full of energy, looking forward to moving forward. Other days, I'm not so sure. Keep breathing, I say, keep moving.

Life Soon Sort Out

I saw this sign on the back of a car while driving through the bush on the way back to Treasure Beach from three days on the north coast of Jamaica with Liz and Giuliano. We saw so many special and secret spaces on the island. First Silver Sands, a delightful old enclave of family villas with access to a beautiful beach. Groups of teenagers walked on the beach making plans for their evening. We could hear parties starting at cocktail hour at neighboring houses. It seemed like everyone must be friends from long ago. One night we walked off property to Leroy's Place, a ramshackle shack at the edge of the sea. A TV blared shoot 'em up movies in the back room where a few customers sat quietly. We sat outside drinking beers and watching the sky deepen from dark blue into black, a steady wind keeping the summer night pleasantly cool.

Next day we drove inland to Itopia, Sally's magical old house in the jungle. Before getting there we turned off the main room and bounced along a dirt lane until we arrived at the sea. The landscape looked Mediterranean--a jumble of rocks, scrubby bushes and a turquoise sea. We scrambled over the rocks to a large tidal pool filled with crystal clear water. We could have been in Greece.

The next day we drove through sun and rain down to Treasure Beach and then at last up to Round Hill and Yellow Plum Farm. I love Jamaica.

Weather

I love when this happens: it's a beautiful sunny day. I do my laundry in the morning and hang it on the line to dry. In the afternoon I take a yoga class with Maura on the deck and then a long walk with Jane. Around 6 0' clock I pour myself a class of wine and contemplate taking a shower. Then suddenly it all changes. I hear thunder. The lake turns into an ocean and whitecaps smash over the dock. The wind bends the trees almost horizontal. I see lightening and the sky gets dark. Finally the rain comes in huge sheets soaking the deck and I have to rush to close the windows. I sit on my bed, nestled in my pillows, and watch the weather move across the lake. The deck is littered with leaves and pine needles. I can still hear a distant rumble of thunder. The rain is slowly tapering off and the wind is silent. It's just 7 o'clock and I am sure we will have a sunset tonight.

Fourth of July 2011

A traditional Fourth of July party in downtown Otisfield, Maine. Click on the photo for the full report.



Some things never change-salmon and peas, strawberry shortcake, Lotke's ribs, my black bean salad, Marge's brownies. Some things are different--we actually ate at 9 not 11.

I've been feeling Steve's presence all weekend--seeing him sitting on the corner of the deck early in the morning, hearing him arguing a call on the tennis court, woofing down the ribs last night, sauce all over his beard. He knew how to have fun. So do I.