Joe and I are in Maine (Southwest Harbor, same island as Bar Harbor) for a couple days. I have a completely enticing stack of books, but I’m also trying to reacquaint myself with my laptop as a non-Internet-vehicle and write. There’s a yard framed with aging lilacs, a back porch, unrestricted sunshine access, and un-Thai-restuarant-scented breezes; things that make a city dweller purr and sprawl.
The midwife whispered to the baby yesterday, doubtfully asking if she was going to stay in there for another week or two, so it feels like a good time to write as much as possible.
Last night, an over-buttered lobster roll with fried pickles. Tonight, mussels from a man named Rat who does his own roadside marketing.