Best Christmas Morning

A stupendous meal: lox&bagels, sweet rolls, eggs&bacon - what more could you want? And great family gathered at the McGraths. Fine way to start the day.
Another bonus this year is shown to the right. Usually there is some officious sort (OK, sometimes moi) who swoops around, gathering wrapping paper before it hits the ground, and stuffing it into a bag. Not this year: see?
Lots of great gifts and two happy lads plus a couple of Maine coon cats that gave this blogger the most fun he's had in a long time. Yes, cats. Yes, laser light.

Update from the Crotch

Your eagle-eyed (!) reporter gets yet another photo credit from the local rag. However, local newspaper critic points out, "Hey, they [the photo credits] are all from the same window." Well, yes. Complete coverage of a geographical area, we call it. You can read more here, if you have patience.
http://www.timesrecord.com/news/2013-12-23/Local/BOAT_IN_ICE.html

Second grade

Miss Stiles was without personality. But probably, so were we. I don't think we ever would have performed in front of a huge audience like the one that turned up to fill the magnificent gym at Harriet Beecher Stowe School in Brunswick. If you look just to the left of the "play" arrow you will see a fellow in a gray shirt with flashing mallets. No, it's not Lionel Hampton. But some day...
Would you go back to second grade? I wouldn't. It is pretty hard work back there and you have to be tough. At the HBS (no, not Harvard Biz) School, all the 2nd graders in Brunswick come together. No more neighborhood schools. Is this good? Good for bus companies, anyway.

It's not winter yet, right?

However, the temperatures have been in the single digits for a while. And this morning I awoke to find our house at 52, with the propane heater off. Why it went off, I don't know - probably shivered when it looked outside and saw all this snow. Ugh.
On the other hand, the plow just went by, so someone is looking out for us.
I'm not ready for winter...which isn't supposed to start for a few days, yet. Bah.

Canal du Midi

Fresh off the catamaran, we have just scheduled another voyage, this time for 10 days next April-May on the Canal du Midi with the McIlvains. For many years we have thought of doing it, and when Betsy mentioned it a while ago, we thought, "Why not?" And so we are committed.
               Here is our cruise.

This is the land of the  Cathar (see below) and the cassoulet. Hurrah for that. I'll bet the food is better than it was in Ireland in 1999. And we'll see what other trouble we can get into.

Back in Port Arrowsic

Thanks to 14 members of our family, I was able to turn 70 in a most delightful manner, in the British Virgin Islands. Information about this week on the water may be available elsewhere. But now we are home, and find that the autumn we left has turned to winter.
 I hate winter.
However, the memories of the hot days and the warm Caribbean water should stick around awhile. And then there will be Christmas. Oh. Can we go back to the Islands?

Who fawted?

The other day I received an early birthday gift from the Nattering Nabob (see left). It was a thoughtful gift, and, I assure you, well received. That I have not yet thanked the Nabober for the gift is unforgivably rude.
 Some readers will recall that one the of the early poems in the infamous collection Verse and Verse refers to the family interest in flatulence. Well, one reader, unrelated to the author, left the book out in plain sight, and a casual peruser noted this prediliction, and made a observation through the Internet. Fame spreads, some faster than others.
 Some people do not see the humor in farts. Hey, look here and see what a master of the genre can do. Wish we had him here in the U.S. Oh, wait, congress...
 Should you wish to visit the fartless factory, here you go.

Catharism today

We have been thinking of taking a self-drive barge cruise in the southwest of France next spring. Watching videos about the Canal du Midi and other barging options in that area, at the same time as my Senior College class was wrestling with some of the God-man puzzles in Paradise Lost, drove my thoughts to the Cathars, who lived there. The Cathars believed in a duality of God and Satan. Of course, this upset the good Catholic fathers, and the crusaders wiped out the Cathars in the thirteenth century. Many of their buildings still stand, and I understand that their beliefs are having a resurgence today. Makes sense to me. Give God credit for the cheap Belgian waffle iron and the spork. From Satan: the zipper, the blister pack.

Dern it!

I recently sent around an article about Bruce Dern and his role in the new movie Nebraska. Two readers asked how I am related to Bruce. I am not. He is Other Mama's nephew, and while he was at Penn, he would occasionally come out to see the folks in Chestnut Hill. One summer, while I was there visiting Pete, we saw quite a lot of him. Several times he took us to movies, westerns, and when we got back, he would practice stunts, like getting shot on the upstairs landing and crashing down onto a small loveseat below. It was great entertainment for us.
One day we went across the lane to the Cricket Club golf course with Bruce. We were messing around on the practice putting green when a guy from the pro shop came down and tried to kick us off. Bruce turned to him with a menacing sneer, and said, in that memorable high register tone, "Don't get a hardnose over it, buddy." I believe we stayed.
He has great range as an actor.  In what I believe was his first movie, a biker B or C flick, he played a corpse that was carried around from place to place. And once we took Flash to New Canaan to see "Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte." Bruce was murdered, and his head fell out of a box and rolled down the stairs.

Paradise Lost

My Senior College class on Milton's Paradise Lost ended on Monday. The students sent me off with the flowers you see to the right. Just like teenagers, they looked expectantly to see if I would know what the flowers were. Well, Laguna Beach is full of birds-of-paradise, and I had no trouble. Whew. Rep unsullied.
It was quite a different experience, reading this work with "mature" folks, compared to the adolescents who studied (I use the word advisedly) it with me for years at Andover. But equally fun. However, now I have put Milton away. Bye, Milton. Off to green woods and pastures new.

Water colors

This time of year we get some wonderful light on the river. This one is just past sunset.

And, in other news, the "stealth" destroyer has been launched into the river by BIW. However, the previous secrecy seems to have evaporated. Here's the story. We did not see it slide in from the drydock. Stealthy, what?

Out of the lineup

There is a cliche in sports that holds that a player cannot lose his job because of injury. Bushwah, of course. And the falsity of that canard is being proven here at The Crotch. Papa has lost his position. No more hauling logs, no more mowing lawn, no more grilling steak. These duties have been taken over by Grandma. Furthermore, she has done a better job. So Papa is relegated to the bench. Ah, the bench. Now, you're talking.

Dirt bombs in Paradise

I am teaching a Midcoast Senior College course on Milton's Paradise Lost. In the sixth book, Milton describes a war in heaven between the forces of Satan and those of God. After Satan's angels pelt the good angels with cannons, the other get angry and hurl pieces of mountains. Soon all the angels are flinging dirt at each other. Apparently, in Milton's time this passage was not thought comic. Oh, c'mon.
 When I was a kid, images of World War II were all over the B/W TV and we boys played various war games. One of the things we did in our back yard was to throw dirt bombs. A clod of that good Jersey soil, hurled high in the air, would rush to earth with a craaack and a puff of dust that looked like the smoke of a mortar. The deal was to throw them high enough so that the other guy had time to move away. (Of course, occasionally, a warrior might throw two at the same time....)
  I haven't seen a kid throw a dirt bomb in years. On the other hand, there seem to be plenty of guns around. Glad, sometimes, that I am old.

Habemus aquam calidam

On Saturday Grandma discovered that our 23-year old water heater was leaking. We called Lowes, which offered "same day replacement" if called before noon (which we did not do). Now it is Wednesday morning, and we finally have hot water. Unlike Home Depot, Lowes does not publish width specs on the web. Hence the first heater did not fit. But at last they found us one. It fit and it works.
All around the heater were vast amounts of MOLD. Gregg valiantly came in, ripped out the moldy sheet rock, and put in three wood panels. The utility room looks spiffy. Yesterday I scooched down on my butt to check it out. Great job.
What did I learn from this? Just that it's great to have a handyman in the family.

"And see the great Achilles, whom we knew"

Four days after surgery, this is what my left lower leg looked like. The "YES" is a hint from the nurses about which leg needed attention. It apparently worked. In this shot the splint/cast has been removed, and soon a new one will be applied. Uh, oh. The new one didn't work so well. Therefore on Monday we went to Portland and got it redone. Ah, much bettah now.
Although it is very tedious keeping my leg elevated and getting around via scooter (which is excellent), the wonderful weather has put us outside for part of the time, and in any case, you could hardly find a better convalescent view than the one I enjoy from our window seat, looking down river and keeping an eye on the bobbing winter stick marking our mooring.
(Photo credit: Grandma, with flipphone)

Sic transit gloria evinrude

When we brought the Whaler in last Saturday to have the motor removed, winterized, and stored, Glenn cast eyes askance at it and reeled off some problems, quite a few, in fact. Then his father Howie came out, and we made the decision to part with the old beast. It certainly didn't owe us anything. When the Whaler was stolen in 1995 and then abandoned, upside down, the motor was submerged for quite a while. But Howie got it running, and it has run each season since, though not without some balkiness here and there. Since we use it mainly as a tender for Autumn now, it makes sense to brin g out the old 4 HP Johnson, which Grandma can start, to get us back and forth to the larger craft. Still, it was hard to say goodbye to something that treated us so well for so long.
Of course, Howie showed us a brand-new 25 HP eTec motor. When I asked the cost, he said, "Oh, five or six... that's thousand, you know." Gulp.

On the other sde

It feels very good to be on the other side of achilles tendon surgery. There is a long recovery period - six months - but it seems I have a good chance to join the family on the BVI catamarans in November. The medical team was impressive, even those from the illiterate Maine Medical Center ("Centered Around You" is their motto still, though they have been warned to change it. Unfortunately, the recovery involves just lazing around the house with my feet up. What's the misforfune? Simply the revelation that this routine differs only slightly from the normal modus. Ah, well, retirement, you know.
Fans of Bath, Maine: here's one for you: Bath!

I married a hooker

Somewhere I read that many men have this fantasy. Well, hey, I am living it!
Some years ago, the ring for our Whaler outhaul got buried in the mud; I couldn't find it. But my wife grabbed a clam rake, and dug it out. Yesterday, I foolishly let go the winter stick for our new permanent mooring, attached to heavy shackles -- glug glug, sunk from view, and irretrievable by trolling  at high tide. Ouch!. But this morning we trolled again with the grappling hook, and Grandma hooked the winter stick after about 15 minutes. We put on another heavy nylon line, and cast her back. Ah, success. A hooker and a grappler -- who knew? Lucky me.

Summer... going... going

Ah, those were the days. Seems like forever ago.

Yesterday Gregg and Em took Autumn in to be winterized. The nights are crisp. School has started. The Eagles'defense is terrible. Must be fall.
For today's quiz: there are are two liquids on the table in the photo to the right. Which one is the urine sample? Post your answer in Comments.

Hut! Hut!

It's football season, for real. The Eagles "play" tonight -- more heartbreak and folly ahead. [Update: heartbreak and folly put off for a while!] Ah, but the roots of the game are pure, and some of those roots are pretty deep. Yesterday we were introduced to sub-peewee football, as the BAYFL Giants took on the Stingers from Turner. Unfortunately, the Stingers had obviously been eatin' theirselfs some chickens. Particularly the monstrous #21, who crushed the Giants' right guard and smashed the QB several times. But on defense, Jonas saved a touchdown, and shows great promise, if only they would move him off the line. He has the soul of a linebacker, and should establish a tradition at that position, to followed by LB, born to the task. Should be a grand season... though not for the bedraggled Birds of Broad Street.

Wrong way, stupid!

Whenever I try to insert a polarized plug into a socket, it won't go. Gotta reverse it. Well, maybe not always. I'd say, maybe 70-80% of the time, more if a power tool, as a safety measure, perhaps. And I refuse to look carefully beforehand, a matter of high principle.
The same thing happens with other plug-jack combos (like HDMI, won't go,

ever). The most remarkable, though, are USB drives. I have seven of them, and have used them fairly often. I am still waiting for the first time one of them goes right into the socket (yes, I know there is a funny lil picture on the "up" side - but sometimes the "up" side goes down).
Somewhere I have a doppelganger for whom insertion is a breeze. When I find him, I will punch in his sneering face.

Why We Live in Maine (reprise)

After I received the billet-doux to the right from the old geezers at AARP, who send me letters all the time, demanding that I sign their petitions, I went batshit, of course, but eventually rallied and called them up. After 35 minutes it turned out that Heather's system was down but I could call back. I asked for the number to call back on, as I had been routed several times to get to the favored number. Getting that took 3 1/2 minutes (WHY DON'T YOU LOOK AT YOUR OWN FREAKING PHONE).
No hope there. Then I thought the local folks who did the MRI might have made an error in submitting the claim. A nice lady in Brunswick took the information cheerily, and said, "We'll send it in again. You should be all set." Maybe so, maybe not, but at least the exchange was quick and pleasant, and local.
  In the same mail I received a bill from Midcoast Hospital for $5. This was for the copay for an office visit to Dr. J in June. It was the second time I had been billed for a copay that I had paid in cash on the way out of the office in June. Again, a real person at the other end of the phone. Tracy said that for some reason, some of the insurance companies apply to the copay to the facility rather than to the doctor. Obviously, this stupid practice costs everyone a lot of money, but, hey, America has the best medical care in the world (what world is that, by the way?). She was pleasant, took time to joke about the system, and made me, again, very happy to live in Maine.

The Passage of Time

It is a commonplace that time seems to pass more swiftly as we age. Recently I ran into something in my reading that caused me to examine this chestnut. It seems that psychologists believe that we mark the passage of time (time as in months and years, not hours and minutes) by the memories that we carry from times past. The more distinct memories, the more slowly time seems to pass. Therefore, if an old buzzard wishes to slow the apparent passage or time, he needs to create memories. What a good idea. Let's make some memories.
But not during my approaching month in a plaster cast, please.

Chop chop

This un-PC phrase occurs in a Honda commercial. However, I was reminded of it this morning when we finally met with the surgeon who will (eventually) deal with my achilles rupture. He is a good fellow who has done lots of achilles repairs and was at Dartmouth when Hannah Morgan was there. I have to have lots of blood work before the surgery because of the awesome clot that went from my elbow into my jugular in 2004. But likely the surgery will happen by the end of September so that I will be able to be an inactive participant in the Family Cruise. If you are curious about the operation, here is it on YouTube (of course), complete with jeans.

Searsport

Having driven by it for years, we decided to stay for a night at the Captain A.V. Nickels Inn, a huge old sea captain's house that is being rehabilitated as a B&B. Because of Internet problems, the owner did not expect us, but put us in a third-floor suite, very elegant, with a large terrace overlooking Penobscot Bay. Two highlights of the trip: first, we drove via Rt. 218 from Wiscasset (then 17, then 131 to 3 to Belfast), which provided a gorgeous slice of Maine and no summer traffic. Second, we had dinner at the Mermaid, in the B&B next door. It was one of our best meals ever on the road.

Quietude

"Free at last, Free at last, Thank God almighty we are free at last." Well, that's overstating it a bit, but today we awoke to a silent house and empty bunkhouse. There are no limits to love, but there is a finite amount of energy in a grandparent, and we have had a lot of young folk around here this summer... a sold month of them in fact. So the quiet is welcome. We're not answering the phone today.
On the other hand, it was kind of wonderful to have all that energy around us. Maybe in a day or so, we'll miss it and them. Maybe more like a week....

Coaches

As I donned my Seabridge Storm shorts this morning, I realized how proud I am that all three of our children have been, or are, coaches. I loved seeing Bart with the little laxers on the playday in Andover, and tremendously respect what Em does with Sail Maine and Special Olympics. And I'll never forget that lovely day in Chelsea, when the Storm crushed their hapless foe.
Coaches affect their charges' brains, bodies, and soul. I have always thought that there is no better education than coaching.

Vive le roi

The King of Koof's Island! Recently it has been circumnavigated many times by the youth, but only one has claimed the territory. Apparently, if you do not inhabit your territory for seven years, any punk can come along and claim it. Ah, well.
It has been a long and busy month with lots of children around the Crotch. So far everything is standing. We have only two left this week, and we are sharing Maggie and Jonas with the McGraths. Those kids are attending a day camp at the Maritime Museum, which seems pretty successful.

After all this time with grandchildren, Papa, did you want to extend it to another week?
Well, I call it taper.

Bad to verse

Friday already! How confusing things have become, the pace too swift for an old retired buzzard. Our house is still full, and joyfully so, but today brings rain, and the noise level is pretty high this morning.
My little book of poems is out. After eight months of writing, it required only about 90 minutes to publish it on Lulu. Amazing. It received positive reviews from Hannah and Dave and Bart and Molly, but I do not foresee it racing up the Amazonian charts.
Grandma is down in CT with Nancy, sorry, I'm sure, to be missing the grandchildren, but enjoying the family down there. More maturity, less noise on Money Island.

Locomotion

 Wow, it has been active around here lately, sometimes much less organized than this! We have had lots of grandchildren and they have been...stimulating. Sometimes, having lots of kids around makes one feel younger. Sometimes, not. They have been pleasant and there hasn't been any whining...at least, not to Papa and Grandma. One cannot ask for more.

Boothbay again

What to do with a couple of kids on a beautiful late July Tuesday? Pop 'em into Autumn and off to Boothbay Harbor. Both Coco and Sam surprised us by claiming they love calamari... which, it happens, is not everywhere in BBH, where fresh catch is the rule. However, we found it at Andrews' Harborside and indeed, they polished off the little critters. I thought the fish sandwich, my former Midcoast #1, was a bit down from the peak, but still good. A grand trip on a glorious day.

Lobster boat races

Sam and Courtney were hosted on Friday and Saturday night by their two wonderful aunties, but on Sunday it was time to return to the dreaded Camp Arrowsic. Papa thought it would be fun to meet for the exchange at the lobster boat races at 10 AM in Harpswell. Great idea, Papa! It rained and rained. Can you see the racing lobster boats in the picture to the left? No? Well, neither could we. At 11:40 there were finally a couple of races, not too exciting to soaked spectators. However, the tide was out and the kids played a bit on the exposed strand. Jonas, Coco, and Owen had fun throwing sand and rocks into tide pools. When it was time to go (at last!), I told the three throwers that the adults were leaving, and that they could stay for three hours and we would return to pick them up. Owen immediately climbed back to the adults, as did Courtney, who said, "Jonas, you can't stay here. There won't be anyone to watch us!" To which Jonas replied, climbing instantly to the top of the Wicked Children Chart, "That's awesome!"

Two victories

Connie and Dave were here this past week, bringing good weather and good cheer. I am happy to announce two material successes by my brother. First, he fulfilled his quest to find American-made boat shoes in Lewiston, right at the factory. They are beautifully made of real leather and will last and last. The second victory was also the fulfillment of a quest--this time for his very own blog. And now, it exists! In a few days you will find the Nattering Nabob at http://nabober.blogspot.com/. Congratulations!
Boat shoes, boat shoes. When we were on the Saronic Gulf island of Spetses in 2008, almost all of the men wore boat shoes. Like Dave's only probably from the Pacific rim. This fascinated me. But not for long.

Tri athlete

For several years Emily swam in the Tri-for-a-Cure cancer race in Portland harbor. This year she cannot, because of her shoulder. And this year her sister Molly, our survivor, has taken up the cause. Molly has practiced hard, as the photo to left shows--motorvatin' out past Koofis Isle. Note the roostertail.
We are very proud of her for doing this... but then, we are very proud of her for many many things.
Emily is doing other good things right now, in Guilford with her aunt Nancy, who is having a hard time.
What a blessing for us old folks to have two daughters who are so generous and loving. Holy mackerel, indeed!

Banzai!

The Nipponese aerial attack has come to Fiddler's Crotch. The hungry, horny beetles are out in force, to the point where the Bloggah has abandoned the satisfying "clapper" method of disposal for the time-honored bucket of soapy water. I must say, there is considerable satisfaction in the application of an open-handed vertical chop that drops dozens of the lil buggers into the suds. Sometimes there is a "click" as one ricochets off the inside of the bucket.

Ain't it great to be retired and able to focus on those things that inform and delight?

Tourism

Hannah has been here for a while and brought with her the summer. She has had lobster up the waz and has not complained about it. On Saturday we did a circumnavigation of Arrowsic with Hannah, Em, and Julie Rust. Then yesterday Hannah and Molly and I went to Boothbay. So poor old Autumn languishes no more.
On the other hand, yesterday the Whaler motor did not want to start and discharged some oily gunk. It did run, but perhaps its time is coming round at last. Hope not.
Horrible wicked hot humid weather is on the way, while Marnie is in CT with Nancy. But yesterday I installed a portable air conditioner in our bedroom. We'll see what magic it can provide.

Berry pickers

The blueberries are in, an exceptional crop. Now that much of the sweetfern has been laid low, the bushes are happy. Sun and rain have helped them produce.
This past weekend we had a good crop of people, too, as the folks from Carlisle decided to come north for Saturday and treat us to a lkobster at Five Islands.
Then on Sunday we celebrated Molly's birthday with dark 'n stormies and steak.
All in all a great weekend, followed by some rest. Whew.

Why, Google, why?

Apparently this company employs thousands of engineers. I wouldn't have thought it would take so many to make Gmail worse with every iteration. Hell, I could probably do that myself.
And "Hangouts"? An abomination replacing a very helpful and elegant web tool. Perhaps what we have here is a corporate a-whole.

God Bless America

Let's be thankful for our country and its ability ever to renew itself. Other powerful nations through history have trashed themselves, or been overthrown, by becoming ever more conservative and self-indulgent. Perhaps this is a natural trend as the stock ages and becomes self-satisfied. And of course we have a powerful drive in this direction in the US today, in the shape of a large elephant that harrumphs and farts every twenty seconds. But the freshness that is indeed "the real America" is constantly renewed, through the agency of freedom, by the young and the foreign-born in a way unduplicated elsewhere in the world. That is why, in difficult times and unpleasant hiatuses, there is always hope, and why, even in our disappointments, there is optimism about the future.

Starting to grow

We've had a lot of rain, and today some sun, and things are growing and happy. Here you see some of the flowers that Hannah planted behind the bunkhouse. We've had day lilies and now tiger lilies and other stuff, too.
The volunteers are saluting: lettuce in grandma's garden, tomatoes in mine, and even some volunteer beets in the cucumber patch.
And then, of course, there's the grass.

Hot hot hot

Heat and Humdiddity came to Maine today. A boat trip up the Cathance for an elegant luncheon at the Town Landing Place was a journey through a furnace. Later, a trip to Five Islands cooled us down a bit, but there was little air moving. We're not used to this!
Koof was here as participant and witness. He also witnessed the all-time biggest load of seaweed on the outhaul. Nice to have events for a visitor.
Koof and the photographer (guess who) had lobsters, while some of the rest of us ate fried food and the youth cavorted, as the youth will do.

Grandson of a Beach

Jonas spent about two hours mashing about in the receding tide, all by himself at Reid State Park. Eventually he brought a slimy, sandy trophy to share.

A thrill for the old coach

During a break from the Andover reunion we got to see Sam playing lacrosse in a jamboree in West Andover. . The goalie for one of the Concord-Carlisle teams was late, so Sam suited up and played well in the goal, making saves and looking for the clearing pass. Then the goalie showed up, and Sam moved over to the adjacent field, where he became a middie. His ground ball work was superb, defense too. Later, he scored.
Also a great joy for the old man was to see Sam's coach in action. Bart was clear and helpful to the kids, and I was proud to see our second coaching child. Molly led the way with the Seabridge team some years ago. Great family tradition recalled on this Father's Day.

Habemus Mooring!

Up the river this morning, many weeks late, came the barge with our "permanent" mooring! It took about 25 minutes to assemble it, then down she went. It will be a relief not to worry about the mooring pulling loose in storms... it is a 1000 lb block of granite, sinking now into the river bottom.
I will not miss dropping and hauling moorings each season. either.

Now Autumn will go in. Hope she runs...

I got a Chromebook

Nerd alert! Nerd alert! Seeing a special at Best Buy, I gave in to my worser nature, and bought this for $199. It is terrific -- as long as you have Internet. Boots from cold in 7 seconds, and instantly from sleep. I haven't yet found any computer task I can't do with it, but I'm sure there are some. The main thing is how fast it is, because it has just a tiny Linux OS under the Chrome browser. I much prefer it to a tablet. And I couldn't think of a good blog post.

Fun and Games in Carlisle

Bart and Andrea flew off to Calgary and gallivanted around Banff, while Papa enjoyed the privilege of tending some wicked children for a night or two. They have been fairly kind to the old coot, although his fajitas did not go over as well as he had hoped.
How nice and cheering it is that kids grow up. For a while it seems that maturity would never come, but suddenly, there it is!

We have a storm here, mostly rain. It is called Andrea. Good time to get outta town, mom.

Signs of Age from the Green Man

How melancholy it is when aging folks say: "I'll never see Paris again," or "This is the last time I'll be able to run the marathon," or other gloomy, whiny statements. But how happy it is when a fellow approaching 70 can say, "I'll never go under the trailer to paint the bottom of my boat again!"
It does look pretty good, a lovely dark green, and I am surprised at how far a quart of ablative anti-fouling paint goes, but  what the hell. Ah, the years can be kind.
In other nautical news, we have hopes that a mooring will be in when we launch Autumn on Tuesday.

Whaling

A hot hot Saturday and off we went to Boothbay Harbor in the old Whaler. The motor purred all the way. The boat is as sound as ever, but it deserves a cosmetic overhaul in the fall. I wonder how long the engine will last? Most parts cannot be replaced, as the bolts rusted when it was stolen and set adrift upside down. For now it is a champ.
Still waiting for the mooring guy to dump our new 1000-lb block of granite.  Autumn remains on dry land.

Hadlock Falls - finally

Years ago, in Provence, we decided to climb the Luberon, not knowing how trail demarcation worked. We followed a clear yellow trail, up and up and up for a long time... and then, in bright yellow letters: FIN.
On Friday morning, in Acadia, we set out to find the park's only waterfall. However, the bloggah musta got the directions wrong. An hour later we were far far away. At least it was mostly on carriage roads. Undaunted (well, daunted a little), we returned after a picnic lunch above Sand Beach, and found the damned thing. It was worth the trip.Hadlock Falls. Not great by national standards, but whatever.
Grand time in Bah Haabah.

Summah!

Here we see Grandma checking out her future home on the water, a nifty Hinckley Picnic Boat. The mate from the boat saw her "Phillips Academy" sweatshirt and congratulated her on it. Unfortunately, nothing came from this, and our boats are still not in the water.
On Memorial Day we had clams and lobsters (and hamburgers and onion rings) at Five Islands. It was sunny and the wind was calm and there were no bugs. Just can't beat it.
Summah is heeah!
Whaler went in on Tuesday. S'about time.

Forget me Knot

These little blue forget-me-nots are very pretty, aren't they? However, they have multiplied much faster than rabbits--each day ten new plants. Grandma loves them, but one of these days they will rise up and gobble her! They seem pretty dangerous to me.

Grandma spent an hour this morning clipping the diseased sprigs from the viburnum beyond the blue wave.
I tell ya, it's a battle every day out there.

Still no boats in the water.

BONG BONG

The Range Light Keepers have resurrected a bell-striking mechanism for the bell that used to hang on the belltower upriver. They put it all together at the fire station, and the apparatus will strike a bell, just like the old one. We heard it on Sunday, and it is glorious. This will be a display in the Maritime Museum, starting on June 7 (maybe) and running all summer. It should be a big hit there.
The plan afterwards is to move it all to the bell tower, and perhaps to actuate the mechanism from the MMM tour boat.
The real old bell, removed sadly and incompetently in 1972, will also be returning , but just to the Museum. The USCG won't let it go back on the belltower. I believe they are still embarrassed after all these years. And they should be.

Communing

Maggie made her first communion on Saturday in a lovely service with lots of music. Afterwards there was a happy gathering and an all-white cake. A good time was had by all, some more than others. I had to attend a lacrosse game at Andover, while others were fortunate enough to attend Suzanne's excellent dance recital. And my hero is Alex's boyfriend Bobby, who played marathon hockey in the basement with Sam now that Papa has hung up his skates.
Bart treated us to a hibachi dinner in Billerica which was rather wild but very good eatin'.

Tick...TOCK!

Sagadahoc County is the epicenter of deer tick life in Maine. Both householders at The Crotch have had lyme disease, not seriously. This horrible disease can cause severe neurological damage. Although people think the disease is carried by deer, a more important and immediate carrier is RODENTS. These lil creatures scurry through the woods, and ticks hop on for the ride. While the coyotes are working their magic on the deer, it is up to your bloggah to take on the rodent community. As of yesterday, chipmunk season was open, and the count so far is two. You should know that these cute lil tick-bearers are terminated humanely; that is, they are zapped with the rat zapper!

Bunkhouse Upgrade... or...

Or not, depending on what you have come to Maine for, and the weather, and your age, and so forth. But after wrestling with the Internet and various devices, I finally managed to get Roku working in the Bunkhouse. It is presently connected upstairs, but it can easily come down for grownups.
A necessary concomitant is that the range extender is now working well there and so the Internet is alive throughout the bunkhouse with a strong signal.
Sorry, forgot the nerd alert!

Love a Parade

Brunswick has more parades than any other place I've heard of. Yesterday we attended the "Species and Art" parade. Jonas and other first graders made banners and carried them proudly (no, I lie, the parents carried them) following the junior high band. All sorts of species were represented: a snail, a giraffe, a bee, you name it. The banners were made with the help of Spindleworks, a sheltered studio that does great work with art for mentally handicapped people in Brunswick. Many of those marched, and loved it. What a neat town.

Pip and Chin

American credit cards do not work in many places in Europe and other parts of the globe. Although the Yanks invented the computer chip, our cards don't work in automated machines elsewhere, like gas stations and subways, because they use a magnetic strip, rather than an embedded computer chip. Coupled with a PIN number, the chip provides security much greater than the strips. On one trip to France we had a Travelex chip'n'pin card that worked most places, but the conversion rate was usurious. Then I heard that AAA was offering such a card, and got one, only to find that it is a chip and signature card, totally worthless in automated machines. However, now banks are coming around, and we are getting chip'n'pin cards from USAA, which is doubly excellent. If you are going to Europe, or Australia (I understand), these are really handy.
Just another excuse to cross the pond.

Another dog problem

In pickups, coupes, sedans, sports cars here in Maine, we see dogs at the wheel, their snouts out to catch the wind, not a care in the world. For a while we thought this was sort of cute, and very Maine. However, liberty breeds license. I was alarmed to read, in last night's Times-Record, that a dog had been drinking before it took to the road. This is unsafe behavior. What makes it worse: it was a police dog! I can only hope it was off duty.
You can bet things will only get worse, as dogs love to one-up each other. I am particularly concerned for our friend Dodger, the McIlvains' dog, who will probably be texting next time he hits the road.

Woof woof

Do you think this is cute? I don't. It is one thing to paint lil chickies at Easter (not too cute, either), but quite another to paint a DOG, fagoonesssake. We caught the tail end (yes, I meant it) of the First Annual Wag-a-thon at Dana Point the other day. Of course, Dana Point is the hometown of Andy Reid, right?
We just got back home. What a wonderful week of beach and food, and friends... but it's just a tiny bit wacky out there.
Break out the coffee brandy, Grandma.

Great Balls o' Fire

We are in Laguna Beach for six days, visiting Tom and Gerri Regan. The VRBO rental is superb, high above the town, on the rim of a canyon,  with sea views and sunsets and so forth. It feels rather like a luxurious gite, especially as it is administered by a lively French lady called Nelly. For some reason she mentioned Jerry Lee Lewis. I said I had met said miscreant (he tried to snake my date at Colonial Club), and she said she had met him, too, "in Paris: he ees un great pianist!" I love SoCal. In short bursts. Off for some Mexican food. There is no Mexican food in Maine, although there are Mexican restaurants... mostly run by gringos.

Mooring

Today we arranged with Herb Freeman to install a permanent granite mooring for Autumn. This is a major advance, we hope. Also, we consulted him about a ramp and float coming off our rocks. We will think about that this summer.
Such thoughts are welcome these days, as the daffodils bloom and the fresh wind blows.
Meanwhile, it's off to California for a week!

Invasion

The house was roaring with wicked children this weekend. Lots of games were played, though how much actual PROGRESS occurred on these game boards is questionable. No blood was spilt, as the frisbee golf game seemed to lack its usual intensity and proficiency, and Maggie dubiously drank a vile concoction mixed in glee by her grandfather... and thereby began to recover her voice, missing for two weeks. Possibly it was the threat of more vile concoction that brought back the voice, one never knows.
Supper for 15 at the Cabin and then a stop at the DQ-- you could almost believe it was summahtime.

Egotism

As one ages, it is hard to accept, sometimes, that one is just...

.....

an afterthought.


Sic transit gloria mundi.

Dingle dongle - more tech

NERD ALERT. Wow. It seems like just a month or so ago that I read about a $50 barebones "computer" for experimenters or life in the jungle. But I ran into a tiny Android device that plugs into the HDMI port in any TV and bought one. It has amazing specs and works remarkably well. Watching HD travel videos on our 42-incher makes us eager to hit the skies, and of course Grandma was rocking out to the rock videos. It is a full computer, very fast and able. Cost $44 with free shipping, takes USB keyboard/mouse. Amazing. Here is a nice Chinese fella showing it off on YouTube. Holy mackerel.

The Paschal Boat

As we were peering down at hole #4 on our Easter frisbee golf game, Grandma spotted a hull down at the river's edge. Gregg and Toby went to rescue it, and at risk of life and limb, hauled it ashore and up the bank. It is the derelict hull of a Cape Dory 7 1/2 foot sailing dinghy. The hull seems mostly sound, but the rest is wrecked. I have advertised it as lost, but if it goes unclaimed I think I will attempt to rebuild it and maybe teach someone to sail. It is a bit small for Papa, but I do like its lines and lineage.
This blog has been silent for some time, as the bloggah has not felt inspired. And still doesn't, much. How about you?