I'm Back, Baby

 

Did you miss me?

I didn't think so, but there HAVE been numerous developments since the last time I bored the daylights out of you.

Here are some of the highlights:

...sweet Buddy looks like this

 

...my back still hurts

...golf remains a riddle wrapped in an enigma to me

...Nan has gotten lovelier

...the rational, fair-minded portion of our population (I'd calculate about 53% of us) is ready to see Trump and his merry band of insurrectionists in front of a jury

And...wait for it...about 42% of whatever time I have left on this hot planet will be spent in the great (and temperate) state of Maine. Specifically from June through October hard by Penobscot Bay in the unassuming town of Stockton Springs. You won't find it on the map above. It sits drowsily between Belfast and Ellsworth. You could look it up. I'm hoping to include lots of pictures in these entries to give you a feel for this new, very exciting chapter in my life.

So how did all this Maine business come about? Well, like many of the nicer aspects of the past six years, Nan is at the center of it. About five summers ago, when she and I were fairly early in our relationship and she mistakenly thought I was charming, Nan proposed a month-long stay in Maine over July. Two weeks in Belfast and two weeks in Boothbay Harbor. To understand the appeal of this proposal, you need to know something about Destin, Florida in the summer. To wit:

That right there is a pretty representative example of what the sun looks like in Destin from May to October. It is relentless, merciless, and freakin' hot. Every day. Every night. Get your Gold Bond ready folks 'cause there's a whole lot of chafin' goin' on.

But it's not just about the Destin summer heat. For me, admittedly a curmudgeonly sort, it's the people. It's the millions of people who visit Destin every summer.

Many of them are from Arkansas.

They arrive in gigantic trucks and SUVs plastered with Trump bumper stickers and AR-15 decals on their rear windows. They don't want me to get an abortion. They worship at the altar of the Second Amendment. They think I should help pay for their child's parochial education. They want to lock HER up.

OK, I tend toward hyperbole although I wasn't kidding about millions. And sure most of them are just good ol' folks with families looking for a memorable vacation on some of the nicest beaches in the United States, a perfect grouper sammich, some slaw, and a few cold 30-A Beach Blonde beers. God bless 'em. Nothing wrong with any of that. It's just that there are so damn many of them. From Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Tennessee, Georgia, and, yes, Arkansas they trudge over one of the bridges that connect Destin to the rest of Florida, hop on the parking lot known as Rt. 98, head to their week-long rental, and attempt to make a dinner reservation. Unless you own one of those restaurants, it is hard to get very excited at the sight of all those license plates.

So the thought of spending July up and down coastal Maine sounded pretty, pretty good. Of course there are many other folks who have that very same idea. Not many from Arkansas but good ol' Rt. 1 can get a bit dodgy in the summer. After all, we're not off the grid here in coastal Maine. But somehow it's, well, different. As I send out these entries, I'll try and identify the important differences and who knows? Some of you may decide to wandah up heyah to find out for yourselves.

Here's the little story of Nan's recent Stockton Springs condo purchase. For several months this past winter and spring, in the unlikely event that you needed to find me, all you'd have to do is look toward my favorite chair and there I'd be mindlessly watching Law and Order SVU reruns. I enjoy them because I never remember who the creepy perp is. At some point I would realize that I hadn't seen or spoken to Nan for several hours. Her presence could be felt in the condo somewhere but it was ephemeral, neither here nor there, kind of vague.

During commercials or after the surprise SVU verdict I'd call out to her.

"Nan?"

"Not now," she'd respond.

"Not what?"

"Nothing"

"OK."

People, this is what passes for conversation among the 60-80 year old set.

It turns out that virtually every day Nan was hopping on her computer and probing the real estate listings for the mid-coast of Maine, from Harpswell to Bucksport. She is no slouch when it comes to real estate issues. She definitely knew what she was looking for.

I'm more of a repeated episodes of Law and Order kind of guy.

Anyway all this research led to the realization that there wasn't much to buy up here and what there was was quite overpriced.

Yet still she persisted.

When we arrived at this year's lovely rental near Boothbay Harbor (picture below), Nan was even more determined to snag a place where we could spend our future summers. And yes, I have been included in these plans. I believe my legal designation is "tenant-at-large" or possibly large-tenant.

 

Incredibly, there was a new listing posted just as we arrived in Boothbay. It was for a condo in a small (16 townhouses) development in Stockton Springs, a tiny hamlet just downeast from Belfast, a part of Maine with which we had become familiar these past five years. One visit to the condo was really all it took.

For me. 

Nan needed a second look.

I'll spare you all the negotiation details. They were gentle.

Barring any unlikely snags, Nan will pass papers on the 19th of August. We'll stay an extra two weeks at our new summer spot and start to get it ready for our grand arrival next June.

As they say, "Ain't Life Grand!"