Climbing Gorham Mountain

Yesterday was perfect. The high didn't reach 70 deegrees; the sun was out early. A few clouds were scattered across the sky. After a perfect mailboat ride to NEH, we grabbed a quick breakfast at the Mainsail and headed into the park. We were lucky enough to find a parking place in the Gorham lot and we headed up  the mountain. As usual, the views changed from good to great to magnificent as we ascended. If I had been worried about whether I would be able to climb easily this year, that worry disappeared with this climb. In fact, it seemed easier and shorter than we both remembered. Before we knew it, we were at the top, having a light lunch and a glass of wine. Mountain climbing is always easier with wine. We were the envy of all the families at the top, since we had no dogs, no kids and WINE.
After more than an hour at the top, including thirty minutes or so picking huckleberries so I can make a pie tonight, we climbed back down and headed to the Hanneford's in Bar Harbor to pick up a few groceries. We made the mail boat with time to spare and arrived home to skies that had clouded over.
We walked up to Ann's around 6:15 to have dinner with the whole crowd--Ann's meatloaf, Michael's fried squash, steamed kale from Ann's garden, and baked sweet and white potatoes. And wine, of course, for everyone but me.
After dessert--Ann's hard gingerbread with fresh whipped cream--we moved into the other room for music. Phin played guitar and Tony played banjo and the rest of us sang, mostly old folk songs: O Mary Don't You Weep, Keep on the Sunny Side, By the Waters of Babylon, and others. We sang until a little after 10 and then finally dispersed. Phin and Tony went back  to the boat house to get ready for the kids who came today. Michael and I walked home in the dark.
I was ready for bed, but Michael wasn't, so we started watching Moonstruck. Less than halfway through I decided that I was going to bed, so I left him sleeping on the couch. He came to bed eventually, and even though both of us awoke earlier, we stayed in bed until  10, when I got up and started breakfast. It had been pouring rain all morning, but by the time we wanted to head to Ann's to wash our clothes, the rain had stopped. Ann had a fire going when we arrived, and we've been sitting and chatting with whoever shows up ever since. Michael's gone back to the cottage to get the berries so I can make the pie for dinner. Jim will be making India food, and I'll provide dessert. It's not a pretty day, but it's a good one, as most days are on Islesford.

Lobstah, lobstah, lobstah

So last night we had lobster for dinner--again. How many times can you have it and eat it before you get tired of it? I don't know the answer to that question, but I'm willing to be a test subject. Nine lobsters for four people, nine lobsters pulled out of the ocean mere hours before we cooked them. Five were hard-shelled, and four were peelers, with a "soft shell" that still needed pressure to get into. The two that were not eaten last night will be chopped up into lobster rolls for a late lunch today.
Now  back to yesterday's title: Bread and Wine. We brought 16 or 18 bottles with us from Maryland, and bought more in NH, so we have boxes of wine to move to the cottage where we're spending the next seven nights. Whatever is left will be hauled back to Ann's next weekend as we prepare to spend our last few days with her.
As for the bread, Ann asked Phin to bring back a couple of loaves when he returned to the island on Thursday. Michael also went off on Thursday, and brought back three different kinds of bread from the farmer's market. Ann made biscuits, so now we're inundated with bread.
Some would call it a sign; we should be having holy communion at some point, but we're convinced that whoever is out there has blessed us beyond measure already, and we always feel as if we're communing when we eat, so all is well.
After dinner last night, when the dishes were finally done around nine, the four of us walked down to the dock to look at the moon and the stars. Seeing how lovely it was then made me eager to see the full moon next Saturday  night after the festival. Pray, whomever your target of prayer, for clear skies and enthusiastic but docile crowds at  the festival. Pray no one--dog or human--mars anyone's lawn with excrement.
In case any of you are wondering what else one does on an island, we have a charity buoy sale this afternoon to benefit the library, a charity bird sale tomorrow afternoon to benefit the neighborhood house, a bake sale from 10-2 to benefit the church,  a lecture about the mural that Maine's governor had removed from the state house, the town fair all day Monday, a town meeting Tuesday night, a movie Wednesday at the neighborhood house, and I'm not sure what else because I plan to be otherwise engaged hiking in the national park.
I need to stay longer just so I can get some relaxation in at some point. Temperature today at 2:25, 76.

Bread and Wine

So, last night's dinner was, like, pancakes and bacon and homemade peach ice cream. Like, we all were dozy and in bed by 10:30.

I don't know why I started that way, except that whenever I feel like starting a sentence with "So," I remind myself why I hate that when my students do it, yet we talk that way. Dilemma!

The fishing didn't happen because it rained, so Plan B went into effect. The funniest part was the making of the ice cream. The most important issue was having the freezer container in the freezer, and Ann had left it there since the last time we made ice cream up here, sometime in the fall, I think. We needed heavy cream, so I walked over to the store, but she had sold out of milk and cream for the day. Ann called her daughter Karen, who wasn't sure she had enough, but who suggested calling Dan at the Dock. Ann called and Dan said he had some, so she went down there and got it. I had already peeled and lightly sugared two large peaches, so as soon as she brought the cream I added milk, sugar, vanilla, and a drop of almond extract. Ann took the freezer container out, and then we went to get the rest of the ice cream maker.
Which was nowhere to be found. We looked in every cabinet large enough to hold it, in every cupboard where it ought to have been and where it would have been at any other time. The search was beginning to take on epic proportions, so I put the container back in the freezer. After searching for almost an hour, we realized that there would be no ice cream if we didn't move in another direction, so Ann called Karen again and asked if her machine was ready and available. We couldn't remember whether the ice cream makers were identical, so Karen decided to send freezer and all.Michael rode down on Jim's bicycle and came back riding with one hand, carrying a huge paper grocery sack in his arm. He said the gear missed during the ride and he  almost wiped out, but he did manage to get it here. Karen sent a small jar with about a quarter cup of peach schnappes to add to the recipe. All was well; the ice cream was ready for the freezer in 25 minutes or so, and everyone loved it. So Karen saved the day again. Pickles for the tartar sauce on Monday, and an ice cream maker on Thursday. Well done, Karen!
Ann's son Mark will be delivering lobster this afternoon for our dinner tonight. Nine lobsters, a mix of hard shells and shedders, for the four  of us. I'll make cole slaw, and that will be all we need. The rest is silence.

Life on an Artistic Island

Islesford is probably the most creative place I've ever been. The moment I step off the mailboat, I want to make something--write, Paint, crochet (what?!?), build a birdhouse--whatever. Today was the first session of our poetry workshop. Rick Benjamin, who teaches at Brown, vacations here and graciously conducts a workshop for 10-15 islanders and summer people several times a year. It's amazing what can come from the minds of people who are lobster fishermen, potters, housewives, and others. By the time two hours had passed, each of us had produced at least two pretty good poems. Mine are too personal to share in a blog; close friends will read them later. Suffice it to say, Rick knows how to give us poems and prompts that send us places we need to go to find the good stuff, often completely unexpectedly. We'll meet again tomorrow afternoon.
One would think that life on an island is quiet and boring, but there's little chance to become bored. There are meetings to attend, get-togethers to plan, and trips off-island to make. Grocery shopping can take either most of the day or one phone call, depending on what you want and how much you're willing to pay.
Michael decided to go off-island while I went to the poetry workshop, so he left on the 8:30 boat and won't be back til 2:30 or later. He was going to hit the Northeast Harbor farmer's market and then the grocery in Bar Harbor. The weather's been gray the past two days, so we're not inclined to go into the park. We might have to light a fire in the wood stove this afternoon if it cools off any more. The thermometer says 63 right now, at 12:45 in the afternoon.
Michael is going fishing around 4:00 for mackerel with a couple of the guys who are working at the Boatworks--Phin and Tony. If all goes well, we'll have a fish fry--more likely a fish broil--for supper. If not, Plan B is pancakes and bacon. Either will be followed by peach ice cream I'll be making this afternoon.
I'm trying to decide whether I should work on my syllabus this afternoon or just do crossword puzzles; I like having this time to myself. I've already finished one novel since I've been here--Kindred--and am looking around for another. I thought I had brought two, but apparently not. The library is pretty well stocked, so I'm sure I can find something to finish before we leave.
Time to make the ice cream!

Dinners on Islesford

We arrived on the island and, as usual, started cooking. It seems almost unbelievable to me that just a few years ago my credo was, "I'm not on vacation unless someone cooks my food and makes my bed." Here, Michael and I do a lot of cooking. Oddly enough, I don't really mind it. Sometimes we cook in tandem, as we did last night: he did the ribs and the potato salad; I made the coleslaw and the apple pie. We had Finn and Tony from the boat works in addition to the four of us currently a part of Ann's household, and everyone seemed to really enjoy themselves.
Monday Michael and I went off-island to begin to acclimate ourselves to hiking in Acadia, and we did some grocery shopping as well. We picked up a 3.3-pound salmon fillet, which Michael broiled Monday night. I made fresh tartar sauce, and we sliced several of the tomatoes we brought with us from Maryland.
Wine is an important part of our meals here; we brought 16 bottles from home. We stopped at the New Hampshire Liquor Store and bought more, including four bottles of champagne. I am being very careful about how much I drink so I don't have an a-fib incident.
Today we sat at the bar in the Islesford Dock restaurant and introduced Ann to the Dark and Stormy. The kitchen is full as Ann, Michael and Jim try to fix spaghetti with fresh tomato and basil, steamed sugar snap peas, and a spinach salad. There's simply no room for me--sigh.
Life is good.

You're HOW Old?

I can't believe how long it's been since I posted; I had to go back and re-read my last blog to understand how negligent I've been. In my own defense, I left for Louisville a few days after the last post, and I made the decision not to write while I was gone. I went south (not exactly--Louisville is actually north from here, but it feels like the South) and Michael went north, to Maine, the next day. Paranoia made me think I shouldn't divulge that we were both out of town at the same time. So sue me.

I went to my forty-fifth high school reunion yesterday afternoon. I missed the last four--and the sixtieth birthday party three years ago--for various reasons. Thus, it had been at least 25 years since I had seen almost every one of those people. The two I spent the most time with at the 20th reunion are both dead now; I wasn't sure what this one would be like, but I was determined to go.I had in my mind that now that we were all 63, the old insecurities would be gone, and I was right. At this point, who had held what job, who had gone to what college, who had made a lot or a little bit on money, who had maintained a physique and who hadn't, didn't seem to matter at all. People I barely talked to in high school, because we were in different classes or ran in different circles, came up to me, happy to see me, eager to know what I'd been up to. Girls who had been good friends were friendly, cordial, occasionally indifferent. Guys I wouldn't have spoken to in school out of awe or simple shyness were affectionate, animated. We talked about grandchildren, retirement, our parents, our future plans. We spent half an hour remembering the 24 (out of 175!) of our classmates who are dead now, and we tossed a wreath in the river in their memories. We ate crabs and hot dogs, drank beer and wine and soda, danced a little to an oldies band. Mostly, though, we talked, and talked, and talked. We talked to our classmates and we talked to their spouses or significant others. We joked about our common ailments and shared our happiness that we weren't among the twenty-four. We exchanged email addresses and phone numbers, urged people to sign up on Facebook
I don't think Michael really wanted to go; he never said that to me, but he acted as if he was fulfilling a duty as he got ready. In the car, he was angry because I didn't know the exact address or even which road to take to get to Dan and Ginger's estate--and I do mean estate--on the river outside of Cambridge. Not too long after we got there, however, Michael began to talk to people I introduced him to and then to a few of the people he knew already. I've often said he's never met a stranger, and that's pretty much how it went all evening. At the 20th reunion we were joined at the hip; yesterday we were apart more than we were together. Occasionally we would make eye contact, just to ensure that the other person was all right with the way things  were going. At one point we decided to leave, but then we were sidetracked by new people and conversations. For a little while, we just sat and looked out over the river, but then people came to us and the conversations started again.
All the way home Michael questioned me about this person and that one. What were they like in high school? Which one was he? What did so-and-so do after high school? Luckily, the reunion committee had put together a booklet with our senior portraits, our current names and addresses, and blurbs and photos that we sent in to update everyone. As Michael said this morning, "You would think it was my high school reunion considering how much I care about these people." We've both pored over the blurbs and photos and portraits, trying to put faces and names and memories together.
It was a good day. As I told several people last night, and as they told me in return, whether we stay in touch outside of these reunions doesn't really matter; what matters is that these were the people with whom we spent some of the best and some of the worst times of our lives. We shared early fun, teen angst, identity crises, little victories--unforgettable memories. And since each of us has his/her own memories, sharing them becomes an exercise in humility, revelation, and hilarity. There were few regrets, but there were some. There was an acknowledgment of the unforgivable bullying of one classmate and his total forgiveness of it.
Many of us acknowledged not being comfortable in high school, but all that was wiped out by our comfort with each other today. I couldn't be happier that I was there. I'll attend the fiftieth if I'm able, and I hope the 24 won't have grown, not even by one.

The Wimmin Strike Again!

One of the best things about being a woman is having female friends. Whether one's marriage is great, good, bad, or nonexistent, female friends, if they are good ones, are  comforting, entertaining, supportive, and absolutely necessary. Men have friends, but usually not the kinds of friends that women have. And perhaps the saddest thing in the world is to be a woman with no women friends. I don't mean acquaintances, either; I mean real friends with whom you can share everything, knowing your secrets are safe, knowing that they love you unconditionally. There's no jealousy, no idle gossip, no back-biting. These are the people you could call in the middle of the night, the ones who would hold your hair back if you were throwing up, who would drive to your house to take care of you if you were alone and needed care.
I have such a group of friends; we call ourselves The Wimmin, and each of us has a special wimmin's name.
There are six wimmin: Lucy, Ethel, Dagmar, Audrey, Demonia, and Maxine. .Five of us--sans Maxine--took a girls' overnight to Tyson's Corner, Virginia, this past Saturday. We secured excellent and economical lodging thanks to Demonia's daughter, who works for the hotel chain and got us  the friends and family rate. Before we checked in, we went to the Silver Diner for lunch. It was, as always, excellent, except that Audrey, with so little flesh on her bones, was cold. Next we drove to the hotel and checked into three rooms. Audrey's main goal was to bask in and around the pool. The rest of us wanted to do some shopping. We started by driving a mile or two to the Container Store, home of all things for organizing, storing, or otherwise holding everything. We were there a long time and we bought lots of stuff--a case of clear shoe boxes, folders for school papers, colored clothespins, a folding drying rack. From there we went to the TC Center, a very large mall with lots of great stores. We introduced Dagmar to Levenger's, home of the Circa organizing system, fine leather accessories and high-end pens. She got a free gift. Then we went to Sephora and bought girlie stuff--lotions and lipsticks and combs--oh, my! We stopped in several department stores, clothing stores, and assorted other places looking for a purse for Demonia to carry when she attends a wedding in a couple of weeks. No luck there--our choices were either the wrong size, the wrong color, or, worst of all, the wrong price. Who woulda thunk it? $350 for an envelope clutch? Yow!!
When we were all in, we called Audrey--who had stayed in the pool for three hours--and told her we were coming to get her so we could all go to dinner. She had asked if we could have Thai food for dinner, so we found a place in the mall that was well-reviewed, and it lived up to those reviews. I don't remember its name, but I think it is the only Thai restaurant in the Tyson's Corner Center. The food was quite good, very flavorful. We saved dessert for the room, however.
Before we left the center to get Cynthia, we had stopped at the Godiva store and bought a box of 16 assorted truffles. Our plan was to get into our jammies, meet in one room, and watch a movie, so that's what we did. The selection on the pay-per-view wasn't great, but we decided on the latest version of Jane Eyre. It was rather dark and gloomy, in the way that it always is, but it was a pretty good version of the book. We ate truffles, opened a bottle of champagne, and lounged. Around 11, we all scattered to our rooms and went to bed. Demonia, who had a room to herself, had a wonderful night's sleep. Lucy and Dagmar played tag-team snoring, until Lucy went into A-fib and had to get up to take medicine. After almost two hours and two doses of meds, she finally converted .Over in Ethel and Audrey's room, however, bad things were happening. Ethel had been feeling stuffy and bloated earlier in the evening, but sometime in the night she woke up with nausea and unpleasantness in the bowel area. She and Audrey didn't get much sleep. In the morning, Audrey got her some ginger ale  and left her alone, as was her wish. The other four of us went back to the Silver Diner for breakfast--most excellent once again--and then back to the mall for some last minute shopping. We knew Ethel needed her sleep or needed to be left alone close to a bathroom, so we felt we were doing her a favor.
We went into a few more places, including both Barnes and Noble and a henna tattoo kiosk, and then headed back to the hotel to pack and check out.
Luckily for her, Ethel was feeling better, but Audrey drove so she could relax. Demonia was going in a different direction, so we said our good-byes and headed off.
I'll be back tomorrow with the adventures that didn't start until we tried to leave Virginia; suffice it to say it involves Sunday elections and Peruvians by the thousands, not to mention an entirely unintended drive through our nation's capital.
Good night.