Joy Ride

 I went for a drive today. My goal was to check out a road across town.

Our road was supposed to be paved this fall, finished by November 1. I had my doubts about that end date when they didn't even start preparing the surface until well into October. They spent four days grading, hauling and spreading underlayment, and rolling the surface. It was ready! They took that Friday off...and then it rained for a week. Okay. Certainly they would be back the following week. They didn't return, so last week I called town hall to get a status report. I was told it had been wet and then it was too cold. I asked if it was possible that it wouldn't get paved this year, and the answer was that that was a possibility. 

There was no progress this week, so I decided to take a drive across town to see if the other road that was due to be paved was seeing any action. Indeed it was! One half of the road was being paved as I sat there staring. So much for being too wet or too cold. 

I guessed it wasn't a good idea to call town hall until I had collected my thoughts. I started back toward home and kept driving to the river, just three and a half miles from my house. The day was bright and the river was calm. I decided to give my mom a call. We talked about kids and grandkids, landscaping, weather, Rachel Maddow and Brian Williams. It was a good conversation and gave me time to compose what I wanted to say. 

I took the long way home. I called the town manager as soon as I got home. Very interesting update ~ our road is on the schedule to be graded the day after tomorrow and paved next week. I am encouraged, yet I know enough about this process to not get my hopes up too high. 

The other thing I learned today is that I miss going for a drive. In the last eighteen months I have been somewhat of a hermit, often not leaving the house for days at a time. It felt good to venture out today. I didn't need to go far to feel like I'd been somewhere. 

Walking Again

Most of my life I have depended on my legs to get me where I want to go. We lived in Southeast D.C. until I was eight years old and then moved five minutes outside the city, where we could still walk to stores, bakeries, the library, movie theater, and school. I relied on my ability to get where I needed to be; my first job with a paycheck was at the local library in part because I could make the mile walk if I had to.

My first home in Maine afforded me the same luxury. I walked everywhere, and my kids did too. They all walked to middle school and high school because they didn't like to ride the bus. We often hit the pavement as a family to rent a movie or get an ice cream. If I timed it right I could do all my errands on foot within a mile of my house. I liked being on the move while being productive and self-reliant.

When we moved to our current home in the woods on a dirt road I was determined to find a way to continue walking. I measured out a mile in each direction and bought good walking shoes. Rain made the road muddy and winter was impossible due to ice. Potholes were ever present. Some days Ken and I would drive into town, park the car, and walk neighborhood streets. It was an occasional activity but not a working solution.

So after several months we invested in a treadmill. I thought Ken might use it too, but it isn't his cup of tea. I took to it immediately. We set it up in the family room because while I walk I like to be distracted, if not by the goings on along the road then by a movie or television show. [The early years in this house we had only the tv for entertainment because internet was slow and useless for streaming. That situation has vastly improved, and I am spoiled with the internet access we currently have.] The most recent treadmill placement was ideal because it was out of the way and easily accessible, so there was no excuse not to use it. I was walking daily....

until our issue with the water this summer. We had to empty the two rooms downstairs and most things, including the treadmill, found a place in the garage. The treadmill was still set up but it wasn't as inviting surrounded by furniture, boxes, tools, and recyclables. A couple days a week I would climb on and clock a couple miles, but the experience lacked the appeal it once had...

until this week. When we started putting the downstairs back together I suggested we keep the treadmill in the garage. While it isn't my favorite setting, I like the space we allowed ourselves as we intentionally moved furniture back into the family and sitting rooms. I purged all the things under and behind furniture, and we rearranged to maximize room to move. I just needed to find a way to feel the same intention with the treadmill, and with Ken's help we made that happen too. It took awhile but we cleared out the clutter and this week I climbed aboard, grateful to feel the movement under my feet. I am determined to keep moving. Some recent mishaps have reminded me that I am lucky to get up and go as I wish. 

More on that next time~ 

Of Flowers And Fire

On Sunday we stopped to see a neighbor in our old neighborhood.  He started laughing because he had just posted a picture of our old house on Facebook ~ he said he takes one every year because "our" lilacs signify spring. We could smell the blooms from his driveway.

I need to research if lilacs might grow in the shade of our current property.  I am going to try forsythia seedlings at the edge of the woods.  A splash of color would be a welcome replacement for the rhododendron that were eaten by deer.

I don't know what to call our yard other than "the woods."  We do have a few flowers~

Wild ladyslippers pop up everywhere

Hardy perennials grow on the hill

Bleeding heart thrives in a corner

The flowers that grow here are able to take care of themselves.  The trees and fallen leaves that cover most of the landscape require little maintenance but demand a certain amount of caution.  We are aware of the fire hazard of the layer of dead leaves and take measures to insure the safety of "our woods."

So I was alarmed three weeks ago when I saw smoke rising from the adjacent property recently purchased by a couple from out of town.  I trekked into the woods to see what was up and met the new owners, happily tending a good-sized bonfire.  I introduced myself, shared my sense of alarm at the sight of smoke, and asked if they had a burn permit.  They did.  I asked how they got one without a water source on the property.  They showed me three five-gallon jugs of water they'd drawn from the nearby stream.  I told them there were strict guidelines for having a fire in this town; they said they were aware of that and had procedures in place to be safe.

Two weeks later I got a call from the neighbor on the other side of us.  There had a been a fire in the woods behind our property.  The new neighbors had not sufficiently doused a fire, the embers reignited, and the flames took off through the underbrush.  Thankfully the fire department arrived in time to contain and put out the fire.  He told me he talked to the new neighbors, who said they weren't planning to have any more fires.  I sincerely hope they hold to that~

View from the road

Stretch of scorched ground

Stone wall that edges our property

I may be a city girl at heart but I take guardianship of "our woods" to heart, too.

November Update

I drove home in the dark last night.  I stopped on the way to vote.  I was tired and almost didn't, but someone I know was on the ballot for select board.  I know what that feels like and wanted to lend my support.  Parking was easy, and I was quickly in and out.  I was in favor of all three referendum questions, and they passed, so I felt a part of that.

I was getting home later than usual because I had an appointment with the osteopath after work, my third visit in a month.  She's doing some heavy duty work to get my body figured out.  During the second visit she noted that my aorta was palpable.  She advised me to ask my primary care physician to schedule an ultrasound of my aorta.  I had a physical planned for later that week, and my primary care doctor agreed that I should have an ultrasound.

It came up again at yesterday's appointment.  The doctor mentioned she saw my aorta pulsing.  She felt my wrist and said my pulse was bounding.  She said it could be normal for me, so we'll see what the test shows. 

Next Tuesday morning I have enough tests scheduled every half hour to hold me for awhile, starting at 7:00 with the ultrasound and continuing with a mammogram, bone scan, and fasting blood work.  The last three are routine.  I've promised myself a big breakfast to celebrate afterward, and I'm treating myself to a haircut in the afternoon.

I thought October would be the month to get myself in shape.  I am still working toward that goal, but I did accomplish something else....

I am now the proud owner of a smart phone.  I have been on my daughter's cell phone plan for years.  For months we have been talking about updating her phone and bringing my communication into the 21st century.  I didn't feel ready, but I don't know that I ever would on my own.  Each day I learn a bit more. I have sent and received a few texts.  This evening I added a few contacts.

I never know when I might want to call a friend ~

Change Takes And Gives Time

Don't rush April.  Unfamiliar words but ones I uttered more than once this year.  I thought the month was almost over only to realize we were barely halfway through.   

Part of it was the weather, slow to warm and unable to encourage all the usual suspects to bloom before May arrived.  Maybe I thought rushing the month would also rush warmer temperatures, but that didn't work.

Part of it was the way I have been paying attention to what I am doing and how I am feeling and asking why.  This is hard to describe without sounding like I've been totally self-absorbed.  I have not turned into a complete hermit, and it's not like the people around me are aware of what I'm doing.  When my chest feels tight, I think about where I am, who I am with, and what I am doing.  When I am feeling relaxed I ask the same questions.  I focus on my breathing and take stock of what the rest of my body is doing and feeling.  This process makes me hyper aware of the passage of time, and the result has been a lengthening of my days.

And part of the reason for the longer-than-usual month of April is that I am changing patterns and routines.  Before I do something physical I ask if there is a way to do it I haven't tried before.  I have rearranged furniture in the three rooms where I spend most of my time.  I have stopped trying to manage my emotions ~ the tears come and I allow them to flow; I laugh more easily; I have said what I felt instead of squashing my words, and yes, I have felt the need to apologize.

During my massage on Friday I said that the tightness in my chest now feels like more of a vibration than an ache.  The feeling has become a signal to pay attention.  My massage therapist picks up on those small changes and notices the correlating changes she feels in my body.

She and I are both movie buffs, and we like to compare notes during my massage.  She was working on my right shoulder when I started describing the premise of one of my favorite baseball movies,  Moneyball.  It is the true story of how Billy Beane used statistics to draft and trade players based on their on-base percentages in order to build a winning team on a limited budget.  I had watched the movie the afternoon before.  As general manager Beane didn't care what position the player used to play; he could teach a catcher to play first base.  All that mattered was the player's ability to get on base. I described in great detail how Beane convinced players to stop doing what they thought they did best: Steal bases?  Not anymore - get on base and stay there.  Bunt?  Nope - hit the ball and get on base.  Billy Beane convinced players to change their habits and the team had a twenty-game winning streak, the first ever in American League baseball.

My shoulder released and I had an "aha" moment: It's not easy to change habits but there may be unexpected and extraordinary rewards when I do.  It's worth the effort to keep trying.

After the massage Ruth handed me a tiny orange origami crane she'd made that morning.  She reminded me that orange is the color of the second chakra, the place of personal power with ourselves and others.  Since February I have written daily in a small orange journal my daughter gave me.  I write one sentence about my day.  That simple act has encouraged me to start journaling again.

The journey continues....

*Follow-up note about the cat that showed up at our door one Friday night.  A woman who lives a quarter mile down the road, and deeper in the woods than we do, learned on Facebook from another neighbor that we had rescued a cat.  She called me Tuesday morning and I told her the cat was at the shelter.  The next day the shelter posted a photo of the reunion on FB.  Full circle.  

Cats And Dragons, Oh My

I think it's official:  we are the way station for wandering cats.  I don't want to think about why so many stray cats have made their way to our door, but #3 showed up just before midnight on Friday.  You may remember that that's how we wound up with Leo, who just showed up one evening and stole our hearts for two and a half years.  Then came the beautiful tiger kitten who wanted the safety of our porch and was a challenge to catch to take to the shelter.  Friday night's lovely was caught peering in the kitchen door and upon the invitation to enter was purring so loudly Ken could hear her across the room.  She introduced herself to everyone here and relished all affection lavished upon her~

I fixed her a dish of turkey, rice, and broth that she lapped right up.  She spent the night in the guest bathroom and explored every corner of the house the next morning.  I knew we needed to get her to the shelter for her sake and ours ~ I didn't want to get attached.  The people at the shelter took her right in, even though they were closed to visitors due to painting the entire interior of the building, and all said she would be easily adopted due to her beauty, disposition, and young age.  I nick-named her Bright Eyes and know she will make some family a wonderful pet~

* * * * * * * * * *
I had a request for a photo of the luggage I bought.  I think this angle shows the pieces most clearly~

It is the Extra Large Sportman's Expandable Pullman Set.  The little guy on guard needed surgery after too much loving from Mazulah at my daughter's house.  Baby Dragon needed a new eye~

He's the cutest thing, each arm and leg are made in one piece so you can make them longer or shorter by pulling them up or down.  I think a little boy I know may have fun with him when he visits in June. 

Change Of Place

Today I took my friend Ruby to our traditional "spring is here" lunch at Fat Boy's, a local institution where the special is a BLT made with Canadian bacon.  The sun appeared this morning, after 36 hours of snow, sleet, freezing rain, and rain.  I didn't want to tempt fate, but I thought we needed to do our part to encourage the onset of spring.

My timing was good.  Ruby said she'd love to go to lunch.

The phone rang after I called to issue the invitation.  It was Ruby calling me back.  She needs help to finish getting settled into her new place.

In late January Ruby found another place to live.  She started looking last fall when her daughter broke the news that she was listing for sale the property they shared.  Three weeks into the new year a friend in town offered to rent Ruby the in-law apartment on the back of her house, which is just a quarter of a mile down the road from Ruby's cottage.  It was the best case scenario because Ruby was going to have to move eventually.  The new place has privacy, plenty of room for Ruby and her dog, and lots of outdoor space with fields and woods.

Ruby barely had time to digest the reality of her move when she learned that her daughter had received an offer to buy the property, including the house and cottage, where Ruby has lived for the last fifty years.  Initially the new owners-to-be said that Ruby did not need to rush to move. 

Mid-February things changed.  Ruby got a call that she needed to be out of the cottage by March 16.  I visited with her before I left for California and offered to help her start packing.  Ruby had been paring down her possessions since last fall, but she was not yet ready to put her things in boxes. 

By the time I returned home Ruby was moved into her new place.  She says she is lucky to be where she is, but the transition has been chaotic.  It's hard enough to move when it's your own idea and you do things on your own schedule.  When you are 81 years old and forced to leave your chosen home, where you planned to live forever, it is emotionally and physically taxing.  Ruby is exhausted.

Her family and friends have been helpful with the move.  Every time I have been to visit I have asked what I can do to help, and she asks me to take the dog out or she wants to sit and visit.  When she called me back this morning I was ready to do whatever I could to help allay some of the chaos Ruby is feeling.

I arrived at her place ready to organize and put things in order.

Despite her phone call, Ruby didn't want my help with the apartment.  She asked me to take the dog out, and then she laid out plans for what we could do on our outing.  On our way to lunch we stopped to see her daughter's apartment, and after lunch we stopped to buy dog food.  Back at her place we took the dog for a walk and sat at the picnic table soaking in the sunshine.

Ruby thoroughly enjoyed lunch.  She repeatedly commented on the beautiful day and the warmth of the sun.  She said that things will eventually get settled at the apartment, that today she was too tired to do any more.  I needed to honor that, as much as I wanted to do more.  So much has been out of her control that it's important for me to help in ways that she feels will help her the most.

The most I can do is be her friend.     

Holding It In

I have been holding my stomach in for 25 years.  

In my lifetime I have felt the best physically when I was pregnant or breastfeeding.  My body knew how to be pregnant.  Breastfeeding came as naturally, with the bonus of knocking off any gained "baby" weight lickity split.  I moved from regular clothes into maternity clothes, and then I went right back into regular clothes.  I have never taken that for granted.

Being able to maintain my weight has been the one bright spot in being me.  I am an average woman ~ height, size, build, looks.  There is nothing remarkable about me.  My dark hair used to set me apart, but that didn't come without its drawbacks, as in dark hair all over my body.  As a girl I wore knee socks with shorts, until I became a teenager and begged my mom to let me shave my legs.  I learned to pluck eyebrows at an early age - the unibrow had to go.  By my mid 30's my dark hair was streaked with gray so that one distinction came to an end.

I had my youngest son when I was 31, almost 32.  He weaned himself when he was not quite a year old.  I had heard stories about how women's figures started to spread in their 30's.  I was determined that would not be me.  It was at 32 that I made it a practice to hold my stomach in.  It became second nature so I haven't thought about it in many years.

I have always been active.  I don't sit for hours at a time, as I get up periodically, and I never pass up an opportunity to run up or down the stairs at home or anywhere.  I am a walker.  I'm also lucky that I have a metabolism that works well.  Or at least it did until menopause.

For eight years what I eat has mattered.  That I stay active has been necessary.  I have gained a few pounds but not so anyone else would notice.  My clothes still fit.  When pants get the least bit tight I back off the carbs and sweets, and until this year that has always been enough.  This year it has been tougher to stay on top of keeping my shape.  Part of it has been the accumulated years of changes in hormones, and part of it has been that when I feel down I crave sweets and carbs and a bit of wine at dinner sure does help....

This situation was part of the reason I returned to acupuncture treatments.  I know when my system is out of whack, and I am there now.  My next appointment is this Friday.

The other thing that has happened is that massage therapy has been working muscles deeper and deeper.  Ten days ago the target areas were my thighs, lower back, and hips.  Any changes in one area affect other areas, throughout the whole body really.  Last week my legs were sore, and all the driving didn't help.  The leg muscles are connected to the abdominal muscles....

This weekend I noticed how sore my abdomen was.  In the middle of the night last night I envisioned all kinds of mysterious things that might be wrong as I tried to get back to sleep.  I just had a physical and no red flags were raised, but that's a hard argument to make at 3 a.m. when your body can't get comfortable.  I had friends coming today for coffee so I had to get up and moving or I might have stayed in bed once I found an accommodating position.

My visitors today were the "Crafty Ladies," so  named because we get together every couple months to visit and work on our projects, knitting or embroidery or sewing.  We all live in Bowdoinham and met today at my house, the first time all five of us have been together for months.  The other four women are well into their 70's, still active and interesting and fun to spend time with. 

When everyone left I breathed out a sigh and realized I was feeling a bit better.  My chest has been tight for weeks but feels better when my focus is elsewhere and when I remember to breathe.  Apparently I had been breathing all day.  Then, for some reason I can't explain, I relaxed every muscle in my body, even my stomach muscles.

An amazing thing happened ~ my ribs opened and relaxed and my abdomen didn't feel sore.  I have been holding my stomach in for so long that I forgot what it felt like to relax those muscles.  I tried not to think about how I looked, stomach relaxed, but to focus on how I felt.  All evening I went back and forth - holding in and relaxing - and the relief from discomfort still surprises me.

It might have been laughing with friends, or being in the company of older women who are comfortable with who they are, or being tired of feeling sore ~ whatever it was that caused me to do it I am glad I was able to let go.

I think my body is tired of holding it in ~ 

Saying Is Believing

Today I had to go to the grocery store.  This is a chore I sometimes put off until I can no longer wait, and today was one of the days I had to go.  Last weekend we ate most everything in the fridge because I knew we'd both be gone for a few days.  I scraped together a meal last night, but we were at the end of the line for dinner ingredients.

So I went.  I didn't intend to do a massive shopping spree but to buy enough to get us through the next few days ~ fruit, veggies, milk, juice, and bread.

I always start in the produce section.  I have tried to start elsewhere in the store but I feel disoriented and wind up backtracking.  I was selecting brussel sprouts when I spied a gentleman out of the corner of my eye.  I offered to move over but he said he'd wait and not to hurry.

This guy looked familiar....

I said, "Mike?"  And he said yes.  Then he said hello and asked how I was doing and if we lived in the same place.  Mike is the realtor who sold us our house.

He remembered the last time he saw me I was running for local office in 2008.  I had to explain how I lost the election, although I was the only name on the ballot, because the old- timers in town decided that a new community member could not be trusted to be elected to the select board.  They launched a clandestine write-in campaign and their good ole boy won.  Thank goodness I can laugh about it now.

Mike looks the same.  We chatted for a bit.  He asked what I'm doing now.

I wish I had a nickel for every time I've had to summarize "what I'm doing now" in the last six years.  I can now say in two or three sentences that I have not been successful in changing careers, I am planning to return to teaching, and I will start with substituting.

He asked where I was planning to start and I said close to home.  Turns out his wife works as an ed tech in our town's elementary school and has for some years.  She likes it.  I asked her name and told him I would introduce myself when I saw her.  He said he'd tell her to look for me.

Now I really do have to submit the paperwork....

Ruby's Cottage

My friend Ruby lives in a cozy cottage.  It is a converted garage, set up like a studio apartment.  She has a kitchen, bathroom, and living/bedroom/dining area that's comfortably heated with a wood stove.  She has a two-year supply of wood cut and stacked on her side deck.  Her front deck is for sitting a spell.  The back deck is her dog's domain, fenced in and safe for a dog who jumps several feet in the air when she's ready to come inside. 

Ruby shares eight acres with her daughter, who now lives in the farmhouse where the family of three children grew up.  Ruby and her dog Kelly have their independence and lots of outdoor space for walks, gardening, and soaking up the sunshine.

Ruby owns her home and has no debt.  She's very proud of that fact.  She had planned to always live in her cozy cottage.

The plan has changed.  Ruby's daughter is selling the farmhouse.  Ruby has every legal right to maintain her cottage and surrounding property per the agreement drawn up when she sold the farmhouse to her daughter; and in the beginning she was going to stay put.

Then the realtor explained that it would be difficult to sell the larger house with an independently owned cottage just across the driveway.  Upon consultation with her daughter, Ruby has decided to allow her cottage to be part of the total sale.

A future that was secure is now uncertain.

Ruby has no idea where she and Kelly will go.

Since I heard the news I have had several conversations with Ruby about what comes next.  Her cottage is a refuge for me, where we have had many long talks about life and living.  She gets out her 4-cup coffeemaker to brew the coffee she keeps for when I come to visit.  We share news of our families and tell each other our deepest joys and concerns.

At the end of our visit yesterday we said to each other that things will work out.

I pray that's true. 

First Saturday In November

The day started with a bang.  Literally.  Loud.  Close by.  Early.

It was the first day of deer season, and there are those who take hunting very seriously.  There have been trucks parked up and down our road for weeks, men with orange hats and guns [bird season comes in October] scoping out the area.  There are rules about starting after sunrise and ending by sunset.  Those times are sacred.  No matter the weather or how dark it is, it's the official start and end times that matter.

Ken used to hunt, as a kid in Maryland and later when we first moved to Maine.  Then we had children, and none of them wanted anything to do with hunting.  Ken lost interest in going out on cold and/or wet mornings on the off chance he might bag a deer.  The one year he got one we ate well all winter.  If you are fortunate enough to get a deer, you don't waste the meat. 

Now we live right in the middle of prime hunting territory.  There are rules about how far hunters have to stay from houses and roads.  Private property is a gray area; our land isn't officially "posted" though I put up No Trespassing signs.  I've not seen hunters near the house, but I wear a red hat when I'm outside.

It's hard for me to think about the fate of animals that eat our acorns and sleep in our leaves when the weather gets cold.  I like having deer in the yard, even if they do eat my hostas. 

We need to get through November.  Then we can all peacefully co-exist until next year. 

Timber Frame: The Start

Ken has been interested in timber frame construction for as long as I can remember.  Last summer we stopped at a place off the interstate that has model structures set up.  In July the local Long Branch School, a place to learn traditional skills, advertised a timber frame class for mid-August.  Ken expressed interest and I encouraged him to sign up.  The class started Thursday, and he has been working long hours with five others to build a 10 x 14 timber frame from scratch.  The best thing is that we were the only ones interested in buying the finished product, so the timber frame will be ours and will be constructed on our property.

The work started two weeks ago when we had to decide where to put the building that we are calling the "shed."  One of the instructors came by to see if the spot would work and what Ken would need to do to prepare the site.  Last weekend we had 10 yards of 3/4 inch stone delivered, and the adventure was underway.  Here is the start in pictures~

raking out roots and stumps that were loosened with the tractor

ten yards of crushed stone delivered

unloading railroad ties that will be used for the base

setting the perimeter

leveling railroad ties that will support the timber frame

timbers are delivered at the work site in town

using a chisel to finish a mortise where a tenon will be fitted

Power: On

Late yesterday afternoon we were making plans for dinner at our favorite diner when there was a knock at the door. It was our next-door neighbor who wanted us to know that power had been restored. His wife had called him at work, and on his way home he heard our generator still running. It was doubly nice to talk to him because he shared that they have a new baby at their house.

On our way to dinner we checked out the status of the telephone pole, which hadn't been replaced after all. The power company sawed off the splintered top and extended the pole with an insulated pin. Good as new.

I got home from dinner just in time to host a monthly neighborhood meeting in a quiet living room fully lit, thankfully, by electricity. It turns out the store-bought cookies were just as good as my usually homemade ones.

This morning it was time to tackle the laundry that has accumulated, along with all that my son brought home with him. There will be time to vacuum and get organized. It doesn't feel so much like a chore now that I have the luxury of turning all the appliances on.

Homemade spaghetti is going to taste good tonight.

A Guy I Know

Today I took my 2001 Outback in for an oil change. The problems we've had with the other car have made me vigilant when it comes to sounds, smells, and warning lights. I asked my mechanic to check for oil leaks and problems with the muffler.

My mechanic is the guy who manages the garage. He has a soft spot for Subaru vehicles and more than once has worked on my car on his own time. He doesn't do all the work on my car when I take it in, but he always takes a trip out to the garage to see if there's anything that needs special attention.

Today the shop was fairly quiet and we had a chance to chat. He recently shoveled out his '98 Legacy from a snow bank, jumped the battery, and got it back on the road for the first time since October. He talked about the snow that is accumulating on the roof of his "camp" and I asked him where his camp was located; it's four hours north of here, about an hour from the ocean. I said how nice that it was close to the ocean, and he replied that he lives right on the ocean. That led to a conversation about where he lives, the great seafood restaurant near his house, and how his road gets plowed out.

Every time I take my car into the shop, we find something new to talk about.

I watched him interact with other customers while I waited. He gives each person his full attention and makes them feel like their car will get the care it needs.

It turns out that my exhaust pipe was bent, and with a bit of heat it was bent back into shape. He said there were no obvious leaks, oil or otherwise, and that the engine was surprisingly tight for a car ten years old with 153,800 miles on it. I thanked him and left with a smile on my face.

People are so interesting. Everyone has a story and most people will share theirs if you give them a chance.

My Timing Could Be Better

This is the last week of my Buddha Chick class.

Tuesday of next week is the last night of my computer class.

I didn't plan this very well. As of December 8 I will be without my carefully planned schedule of contacts with the outside world. If I'm not careful I will replace it with too many calories and a brouhaha of the worst sort.

I got a call today to see if I am interested in a cookie swap this year. No, I'm not. I don't want all those extra temptations in the house. For the last six years I have found a way to balance my food & drink input with my post-menopausal body, and I've done a pretty good job. Just in the last few weeks I have felt out of balance and realized that I need to recalibrate; I need to cut back on sweets. Right now there are Oreos, which I bought for my son, and Dunkers, from Trader Joe's, in the house. I can limit myself to one of each and hold that line. However, having a dozen different kinds of Christmas cookies in the house is not a good idea.

Town politics are about ready to implode. There will be a letter in tomorrow's local newspaper from one selectman, who is a lawyer, to another selectman delineating all the ways the latter has broken the law. Two of the three selectmen have been having discussions about town business in a local restaurant, and that breaks all kinds of rules. The town manager plans to take medical leave because of the stress she has been under. All of this has been brewing for months with a certain faction who want to "take back their town," but from whom we're not sure because those that are screaming the loudest and spreading rumors are the ones who have majority representation on the select board. There are many of us who want to support the town manager, who has brought the town back from the brink of red ink, but we've had a hard time figuring out how to help. Slowly but surely the truth is coming out, and there's talk the town might be able to enlist a mediator to help get town government back on track. We may need a new selectman or two in the process.

I've been tempted to get my hair cut. Again. I went three weeks ago and now have all kinds of layers I don't know what to do with. Each morning I decide to give it one more day. This is not a good time to make a decision about a return to a short hairstyle.

So, yes, my timing could be better. I'm not sure what I could have done differently, but I'm not looking forward to being left completely to my own devices. I have plenty to do. I always have plenty to do. It's the regular contact with the outside world I will miss.

I wonder what classes are being offered in January....

Days Of Bounty

On Saturday Ken and I drove to Vermont to visit friends in Brattleboro. While we were there they took us to their local farmer's market, the likes of which I have never seen. It was amazing and my photos do not begin to capture the bounty of items for sale, food available, or fresh produce heaped in baskets. Artisans offered their wares in booths that circled a grassy area where people gathered to talk and eat ~

We lunched on Thai food, a BLT made with locally grown products and fresh-baked bread, fresh-squeezed lemonade, and homemade cookies ~

Basket after basket of fresh produce made my mouth water ~

On Sunday I called my friend in town who has offered to share the bounty of her garden. She starts work each spring, hand tilling the soil and adding only natural ingredients for enrichment. This year she constructed a system of hoses she can keep in place, which eases the work of watering. She says that after five years she has the garden she dreamed of. On one side grows garlic, onions, cabbage, squash, cucumbers, and green beans (not seen just off to the left) ~

On the other side grows Swiss chard, kale, beets, potatoes, carrots, and corn (which isn't ready to harvest yet) ~

There is a separate plot for tomatoes, which aren't ready yet either. We came home last night with vegetables to have with dinner every night this week ~

Nothing defines late August better than a harvest of friendship and fresh vegetables.

Small Town Politics

The governing body for my town meets every other Tuesday evening for 90 minutes. In this town of 2,700 there may be a half dozen or so people in attendance at each meeting of the select board.

I went to last night's meeting because I heard that the issue of Comcast's contract with the town might be on the agenda. The residents on my road have been trying for a year to get cable pulled down our road.

Ken and I arrived ten minutes before the meeting started. The parking lot was full. The meeting room was full, with more people arriving every minute. We pulled chairs in from another room and sat on the side of the room in the front. There were at least 60 people in the room and dozens more in the hallway because there was no space for them inside.

We looked over the agenda. There was no mention of Comcast. There also wasn't anything on the agenda that seemed to call for the number of people in attendance, few of whom we recognized.

It didn't take us long to figure out what was going on.

In February there was a special election to fill one of the three seats on the select board. The office of the state's attorney general is now investigating that election. According to an article in the local newspaper, a complaint has been filed that makes accusations of impropriety on the part of staff in the town office.

That's what the people there last night wanted to talk about, but they were told in no uncertain terms that the topic would not be discussed until the investigation has been completed. The agenda was moved quickly and the meeting lasted all of 25 minutes.

Ken and I had no idea of what was afoot, but I'm glad we were there to support the beleaguered town manager. Everyone I know says she has done a lot of good for this town.

No one I know knows the details of the current brouhaha.

There is a group of malcontents in town who hold clandestine meetings and keep their cards very close to the vest. I know a few names but I don't know any of them personally. I do know they were behind the secretive write-in campaign to defeat me last June when I ran unopposed for a seat on the select board.

That's all I want to know.

I have been told that this is how small town politics work. I don't think it has to be that way.

There is a small group of us who have started meeting to share ideas about what we want for our town. We keep minutes of the meetings and are putting together an email list. Our goal is to find out what matters to people and to invite people to get involved.

The group I belong to talks about how to build community.

That's what small town politics should be about.

Cookies, Cookies, Cookies

I hosted this year's cookie swap. Ten women times three dozen cookies equals a lot of cookies! The ingredients were as varied as the stories behind what people decided to bake this year. We each went home with a wonderful assortment of holiday treats.

I was so pleased to be able to have the swap at my house that I made the most of being hostess ~ I baked pecan tarts and a cranberry-upside-down cake, which I know everyone liked because they want the recipe. Many people had not been out to this end of my road before. I made it clear that I'd love to have them come again.

Wanted: Local Woman Who Enjoys Politics

I felt deflated when I hung up the phone.

My friend in town is moving to Boston. She is one of two friends I have here. I met her when I wanted information about the 2008 presidential caucus. She is the chair of the town's Democratic committee, and we hit it off immediately.

We both love politics. Our children are grown. We have similar interests and have both been trying to start a new career.

Her husband has taken a job in Boston, which is exciting for both of them and will open up possibilities for her job search. She shared that it's also scary because it means starting over in a new place where they don't know anyone. They have lived here more than twenty years.

I will miss talking to her and attending meetings with her. She is organized, knowledgeable, and passionate about politics.

I have offered to continue to help with the local Democrats, but I do not want the position of committee chair, which is a lot of work and means constantly trying to get other volunteers to help.

So her move will leave a hole in my daily life. As happy as I am for her, I am that sad for myself. In the year and a half that I've been active with local politics, I have not met anyone else who has the same interests or wants to be as involved.

I will miss our conversations about what's possible.

What Is That Noise?

For some weeks my 2001 Outback station wagon has been making a noise. The sound is a dull "thunk" beneath the driver's seat when I shift into reverse or accelerate from a stopped position. The noise is short-lived and disappears once I'm in motion.

I've been treating my car, I call her Lily May, gently because she was due to be inspected this month. I name my cars in hopes that the bond will prevent them from breaking down on some lone stretch of highway. So far, so good. Lily May is named for two of the characters in The Secret Life of Bees which I was reading when I bought the car.

I took her to the local garage Tuesday morning. I described the sound to the mechanic who said he'd see what he could find. Minutes later he returned to the waiting area with a stricken look that said she-is-going-to-think-I-broke-her-car.

"You have a broken u-joint."

The mechanic who works the desk was up and on his way to the work area in one fluid movement.

The two returned together and said in unison, "I've never seen a broken universal joint on a Subaru."

They ushered me to the bay where my car was up on a lift and showed me the broken joint on one end of the drive shaft, which joins the front and rear axles and makes it possible for the car to move. When the car would start moving the detached rod bounced up against the bottom of the car, hence the "thunk" sound. With enough momentum the rod could have busted through the floor of the car or taken out the front end or caused any amount of damage. But it didn't.

The guys said I could take the car home while they tried to find a used part, which would cost half the price of a new one, while me, who lives on a dirt road where potholes are year-round realities, felt like I had used up my portion of luck on this round and opted to leave my car at the garage.

Meanwhile, there was a small problem with our other car, a 1999 Legacy sedan called Loretta, named for her zippy get-up-and-go attitude. Last Friday she wouldn't shift out of park. Then hours later she would...but we didn't want any one of us to get stuck somewhere.

Loretta decided to shift Tuesday evening so off we went to leave her at the garage with the thought that it was something easy to fix, a sensor or casing between the shifter and the brake. I was hopeful.

Wednesday morning I called to ask if they had found the problem. Yes, they had. There was a mouse nest in the shifting assembly. The nest had been removed, the car was running fine, and the bill was $36.10.

That evening I told my son, who drives Loretta when he's home, what the problem was. He was philosophical. "It's because we live in the woods, isn't it?"

Well, yes. But it's also because we live here that we found a garage we can trust that has mechanics who will do all they can for the lowest price to keep our cars running.

It evens out I think.