I am sitting out on the patio and Carmen the dog is hunting moles and voles in the backyard. We have the house to ourselves for a few hours while Kate and Bruce are enjoying the thrills of a nearby amusement park. I’ve been using this gift of time to catch up on a little reading, and now writing, as I remembered with a bit of a jolt that I have a blog that doesn’t maintain itself. The temporary break from reality for the past couple of weeks has been welcome!
While Kate was away at chamber camp (for further on that see this post: I’ll live), Bruce and I worked hard on catching up with all that we had let slide a bit while she was home in July. And when I was nearly done with my part of all that, I enjoyed a half day at a spa thanks to a particularly good Living Social deal, with a masseuse working out my over-large collection of kinks and a nail stylist repairing my abused hands and feet. As I sit here, drinking out of my soup-bowl-sized “Spinning. Because Knitting isn’t weird enough.” mug, I am remembering July was to have been for spinning and the Tour de Fleece. I failed utterly and didn’t spin even once, the guilt for that particular failing I remember relinquishing at one point during the deep tissue massage. Life went on.
The chamber camp, by the way, ended well. Kate was one of the better pianists, and youngest, and the piano quintet she participated in was outstanding. Knowing better now how to cope with certain quirks of the organization at this camp, Kate is convinced she wants to go again next year, and stay for two 10-day sessions instead of one. My response? I quoted her texts (see link above) and she laughed. “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” Julian of Norwich’s feast day is the same as our wedding date. Which means I should probably remember her words more often than I do.
After six days without Kate, Bruce and I took Carmen the dog to the boarder, traveled meanderingly through Vermont to New Hampshire, stayed in a B&B for two nights and noodled around Monadnock for a day or so, and then met up with Kate and drove to Maine.
A small digression. If you clicked on that last link, you were treated to this somewhat myopic line: “The mountain has a long and interesting history that dates back to the 17th century.” I’m sure its long and interesting history is much older than the mere 1600s. Perhaps that should be worded “long and interesting Euro-American-centric history” or “Our particular perspective on the mountain has a long and interesting history which supersedes and precludes any interest in that of all peoples who might have been here before European settlement.” It’s a lovely place, and I cannot imagine that European settlers were the first to find it so. There now. Back to our regularly scheduled drivel.
We spent three lovely days (minus one) in Portland. The first day I had a vicious migraine. Kate and Bruce went to a local amusement park (do I detect a theme?) and I lay in bed pressing frozen wet washcloths to my neck and temples, musing with gratitude — when I could entertain coherent thought — on bountiful linens and the presence of a freezer in our hotel room. That episode dictated what we did over the next two days. We walked the city, old parts and newer. We visited a beach, stood in the sand at the water’s edge and let the waves ebb and flow our cares away. We took a mailboat ride through the bay for no reason whatsoever except to be out on the water and purposeless. We visited the art museum across the street from our hotel. We ate seafood and chocolates with caramel and sea salt. We slowed down. It was very good.