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Showing posts from July, 2010

Midsummer night's dream~

Midsummer eve~
Click on photos to enlarge them.
What better way to spend a midsummer evening than a picnic on the lawn overlooking a vineyard … listening to live music … drinking wine … watching kids play the air guitar… smiling at the others enjoying the same thing  … while the setting sun puts on a fantasia in light?
Being there with friends, maybe. But last night we made a last minute decision to go to Westport Rivers Winery for the Friday night concert. We tossed sandwiches and fruit into a cooler and went by ourselves. We sat in the crowd, eating and drinking to the mellow sound of One Bad Ant, a local singer—Gary Duquette--with his unplugged mix of country songs. Good stuff.
 Summer concert~
The evening was a people watcher's delight, and I'd often find people watching back. I'd been glancing at a nearby woman who reminded me of a younger friend. This is just how she'll look when she ages—pleasingly plump and like she's a lot of fun. The kind of person who'…

Tour de Maine

While Alberto Contador and Andy Schleck—and, of course, Lance--raced along the oxygen-thin ridge of the French Alps, Bruce and I hopped on our own bikes. We rode two "stages" for a total of fifty miles, compared to the twenty-stage, 2000-plus mile run of the Tour de France.

Our "alps" were the rolling hills of coastal Maine where the oxygen is at a comfortable sea-level dose, no matter how high the hill might seem to the biker. And we weren't racing. But still… I'll bet every one of the eighteen of us on the trip thought of Lance with great respect at least once, especially when puffing up a steep incline. And there were a few!

When my friend Amy suggested the Maine Coastal Camping Bike Tour sponsored by L.L. Bean of Freeport, Maine, I thought it sounded fun. What better way to explore than on a bike, where the sights and scents are not held at bay by the walls of an air-conditioned car? The website promised a leisurely paced weekend bike tour along scenic …

Ready to rumble!

Toby and Tucker, the two young cats we adopted, race and romp through the house while we sleep until their fur is flying. I wake each morning to the muffled sounds of padded paws pounding up and down the stairs, and to a living room rug from which I vac enough fur daily to knit a small kitten.

Becky had become sedate in her dotage, so having two spunky young cats in the house feels a little like the not –so-gentle reminder you get the first time you have the grandchildren overnight. Oh, yeah! The young have energy. I'd forgotten just how feisty young cats could be.

The leaves on the houseplants bear punctures from feline fangs. Swishing tails knock picture frames off the end tables. The cats discover that nibbling my toes is a good way to get attention at 2 a.m. (and 4:30 and 6:00…) And I no longer have the Galileo thermometer on the bookshelf…or anywhere. It shattered during an early morning chase, scaring the cat that knocked it off as much as it scared us awake.