Living in Maine

It has been known for Maine residents to make snide allusions to our state slogan, "Maine.  The way life should be".  Such comments are usually made when we find ourselves trying to find our car under a mountain of snow or trying to start a generator in a blizzard.  But yesterday I found myself thinking of our slogan with nary a touch of cynicism. 

When we bought Blue Skye, the sellers told us that the appliances were all old and ready for the knacker's yard.  And so it was that one by one, dishwashers, refrigerators, stoves and freezers all ended their days trundling up the drive in the back of our pickup on the way to the dump.  But not the enormous Maytag washer and dryer in the basement.  These gentle giants have run many times daily for twelve years now.  A few years ago I stuffed an enormous comforter in the washer.  It was well beyond anything sensible to try and wash and the machine baulked.  I found the file given to me by the last owners and discovered that the machine had been purchased in Waldoboro 25 years ago.  It was not with a great deal of confidence that I telephoned the number to discover that the Maytag guy was still in business.   I  told him that I had "a complaint".  "Really?" he said.  I told him that my 25 year old washing machine had stopped working. I thought he'd laugh and tell me to go soak my head.   "I'll come have a look" he said.  "OK" I said, getting a pencil, when can you come?"  "I can come now, if you like" he said.  In about 20 minutes he arrived and in about 10 minutes the machine was sloshing away as usual.  Yesterday, a few thousand loads of laundry later, my dryer started making a screechy sound.  I called the Maytag guy."  I wondered if his phone had rung since I called the last time because he seemed to know who I was right away.  "It's the dryer" I said.  "It's doing this" and I imitated the sound.  "Well, I've got to come out that way today so I'll call in".  In less than 15 minutes his car pulled into the driveway.  And in less time than that, a pile of coins and a mountain of fluff were placed without comment on the top of the dryer and a new wheel doodad was installed and the dryer purred to life.  "You're a genius" I murmured.  "Naw," he said.  "I used to have one of these."  I wanted to ask how it had died, but it seemed a bit personal somehow, so I just said, "Well, thanks again".   No doubt the next owners will look at these antique appliances (and the wooden counter tops in the kitchen amongst many other things) and replace them with acres of stainless steel and granite and Maine will be a little less like life as it should be. 

Spring Spring Beautiful Spring

Apologies to all who clicked on my blog only to find that I wasn't there. I notice all my followers have disappeared, having nothing to follow.    I'm not sure where I was.  Under a snow bank somewhere I expect.  The inn was closed.  I was closed.   
But now it's spring, the blackbirds came back to me, the geese are nesting, cardinals tap at my window, nuthatches have set up house in the bluebird box and every day brings a new arrival to our feeder.  My breakfast table is again filled with guests and I've returned to my post in the kitchen, happily setting tea towels alight and pouring orange juice into my shoes. 

But this morning something happened that was so weird that I had to tell somebody and all my guests have checked out - so here I am.  I was telephoning through a credit card payment and apparently (!) misdialed and got instead an extremely chirpy woman who announced rather improbably that I had reached the palace of pleasure and pain.  I could hear sounds of somebody washing dishes in the background while she assured me that I was about to experience such delight and agony as to be indescribable.  I hung up but can't help wondering about her and about this peculiar world I find myself in.  There is nobody here but me.  Would she tell me to get a hammer and bang myself on the head?  Why would I do that?  Why would I require some lady busily washing her dishes to tell me to do that?  Please don't answer these questions.  Anyhow, I have to go.  My computer informs me that I've got mail.  It's from Anthony Weiner.  I wonder what he wants. 

Smoke Alarms are ringing

No doubt you have all had a nice weekend while I have endured a less than gratifying one here at chirpy, cheery Blue Skye.  Good manners preclude me from sharing with you the highlights of the last few days, for while my guests can and do review me with gay abandon all over the internet and beyond, I cannot respond.    Suffice to say that smoke alarms were involved along with a very cross woman wearing earphones and bunny slippers who berated your blogette at 7 this morning.  Now I don't know about you, but I prefer to have a cup of coffee before being berated.   In any case, you may want to revise your daydream of running a B&B in beautiful coastal Maine. 

Have you done your debate prep?  Are you ready to shout at the television on Tuesday?  All you Romney supporters can just oil your hair and slap on the aftershave and you're ready to go, whereas we have to urge  our reluctant candidate to show up and stay awake.  Like Burgess Meredith in Rocky,  we have to
slap his face and throw some water on him after a few minutes.  Come on Barack, you can do it.  Come on, bop him on the nose JUST ONCE.   Do it for the dog on the car roof.  Better yet, send  in Michelle.  Now THAT would be a debate worth watching for an electorate used to dancing with the stars and singing with the idols.  That the spectacle has little or nothing to do with defining who can lead the American people intelligently, with integrity and a vision worthy of this country, is overlooked.  But.  I'll be there nonetheless hoping that when Romney pulls out his ACLU card, Obama will do a Seinfeld "Really?"

What makes a duck laugh?

Everywhere you look here you see geese soaring back and forth across the marsh,  quacking ducks sound like they are laughing their heads off,  flocks of birds rattle the leaves and chipmunks tear back and forth across the lawns with their cheeks stuffed with whatever it is chipmunks stuff their cheeks with.  Soon we'll be splitting wood, putting away the flower pots and piling up the pumpkins. I adore autumn.  Yesterday we had two rainbows over the hayfield - I mean, come on!  How can you not love that??  All this poetic, autumn is so sad baloney is written by people who have never been to my house in autumn or who don't take my brand of anti-depressants - but that's another story.    As I write, two guests linger over the breakfast table and I linger over a final cup of coffee, trying not to see the looming mountain of ironing which covers my exercise bike.  

Political Conventions

After a fortnight of political conventions I'll just say this:  the democratic mob looked like a jollier one to be part of.  The Republicans looked crabby.  I grew up in a house where my mother was famous for inviting our friends to stay for supper without really considering whether there was enough food.  When we'd raise our eyebrows knowing that we had 5 pork chops for 8 people she'd say, " If all your friends are interested in is the food, they can go home and eat. Dinner is about more than food."  I don't know about you, but I'd rather be at the party than home alone with the door locked eating my own pork chop. 

From today's paper

Favorite news story this morning:  police say a man at a movie theater in Nevada accidently shot himself in the buttocks during a showing of The Bourne Legacy.   One more reason to forego the cinema.  Currently we don't go because we can't hear the movie over the sound of chewing. 
Second favorite news story this morning:  state employees here in the Land of LePage can now keep guns in their locked cars in government carparks in Augusta.   I guess if they find themselves in a life threatening situation in say, the cafeteria, they can run to the carpark, unlock their car, get their weapon, run back to the cafeteria and defend themselves.  I feel so much better knowing this.  Don't you? 

A fire in August

I trust you all had a wonderful August.  I've been a tad busy.  I inadvertantly celebrated  the busiest weekend here by starting a fire in the middle of breakfast service for 14.  There was a time when this would have thrown me off my stride. There was a time when I made do with one chin.  Things change.  So I turn around to see a tea towel and a pot holder blazing merrily on the stove and I immediately have an out of body experience which enables me to watch  from a perch on the ceiling fan as this amazingly competent woman who turns out to be me, casually tosses all the flaming articles into the sink and continues cooking the sausages.

I've had a run of really interesting, nice people here with the occasional weirdo thrown in to jazz things up. (You know who you are.)  And they have been generously tolerant of the foibles of this innkeeper.  A wonderful example of my style of innkeeping was made apparent yesterday when I came into my kitchen to find a note from a guest telling me that he had answered the front door and dealt with an inquiry in my absence.  Now if I could just get them to make their own breakfasts and beds ...