The thought had once appalled me. Like was this the epitome of laziness, that you really didn’t bother to get dressed for the day? Or that perhaps you’d gained so much weight you wanted something that would hang loose rather than accentuate anything?
Skip ahead to retirement and then the Covid shutdown, and I’m having to admit there have been days when I’m living happily in sweats, especially in the depth of a northern New England winter.
Sometimes I even think of it as luxury, not having to venture outdoors.
I know the big scenes around here are irresistible, but for me these snippets sometimes say everything about the place, too. Small spaces can be precious, too.
Just think of the little breathers in the nook at the rear.
You know, dead in their tracks, as the expression goes. Just falls over, with a thud. Our younger daughter used to fall asleep like that, too, dropping off in mid-step.
In my relocation, I’ve often been on my own. And that means fully recognizing my tastes in food, rather than relying on my wife’s memory of what delights me.
Let’s go.
Real vanilla. And yes, I now know there are differences between Mexican, Madagascar, and Indonesian beans, which are really orchids. These are quite distinct from that artificial stuff, by the way. And for the record, I’m not a chocolate guy, but if you must, make it dark or white but not in-between.
Butterscotch and toffee. I’m a sucker.
Butter or olive oil. As my wife says, quoting others, fat carries the flavor. One, though, is better than the other in the cardio category.
Garlic. Onions and I don’t get along, but this alternative is glorious, especially in the ones we’ve raised. It even saved our marriage.
Leeks. Ditto.
Miso. I’m fond of Japanese cuisine, OK?
Rice vinegar. As I was saying?
Sesame oil. Ditto.
Rosemary. Maybe it’s the way it goes with lamb and other Greek dishes. Or simply the way we grow our own.
Fresh, coarse, ground pepper. Anything wrong with the basics? Well, we could add parsley or basil here, if we wanted.
“I looked out in the yard and seen a magnificent eight-point buck eatin’ apples.”
Wild ones, fallen from the tree between us.
“And the velvet was gone from his antlers, right?”
“Yep.”
With only a flash a few days earlier, I had noticed something different in its bearing. Like being a kid no more but a handsome young prince. One with a shiny sword ever so proudly.
Yup, home prices went through the roof in most of the country – but not here.
A common sight throughout Downeast Maine is abandoned housing in varying stages of decay. Seeing an old dwelling like that, your initial impulse is that somebody, somewhere, ought to save it. You know, live out in the woods, free from hassles, and all that. It’s gotta have a charming history, right? (Rusting trailers and mobile homes somehow get less sympathy, if any.)
Abandoned housing comes in varying stages of collapse.
Then reality kicks in. Most of these would cost a ton to renovate – and many are tiny. Insulation, plumbing, and wiring are only the beginning. It’s cheaper to start fresh, if you can. Jobs are scarce, often towns away, if you can find work, so unless you’re retired, that’s another strike. And if you are retired, you might check out far to the nearest doc or clinic. I have to wonder, too, why anyone would want to live that close to the highway and its noisy traffic, other than maybe getting priority plowing after a snowfall. As for the mosquitos and black flies?
Others might tell you it gets boring. No malls or big-box stores, much less neighbors or a real supermarket.
Even as a summer home, then, there are drawbacks. Wouldn’t you rather be on a lake or the ocean?
It’s not all out in the wilds, either. Eastport has three in a row here.Each with this notice attached, declaring a building dangerous, unsafe, and not habitable.
I get a lot of compliments on my gray messenger bag. It goes almost everywhere with me, containing my reading glasses, cell phone, camera, and emergency meds, as well as maps, notebook, and often reading. This is yet another of those accidental shots when I’m recharging or handling the said Olympus.
Once the renovations are finished in our old Cape, we’ll be looking to pick up where we left off in Dover, back before Covid interrupted travel and entertaining.
In no particular order, among the guests we remember fondly:
Primary election volunteers who often slept on our floors, including a Congressional chief of staff, a British journalist, an authority on smallpox and anthrax, and Muslim college students from Detroit.
Chinese college students doing volunteer internships.
The quirky, queer, Quaker comedian and performance artist and Bible scholar. Seriously.
The retired economics professor and Friends committee colleague.
My usual roommate at Yearly Meeting sessions.
My best friend from my high school year, despite my living on the wrong side of the tracks.
My former landlords in the Happy Valley.
The other Quaker among Baltimore Mennonites and his wife.
The Passamaquoddy traditional healer and his apprentice.
My goddaughter, most recently from Germany, and any of her friends, including the one who grew up to become mayor of a notable Maine city.
Jnana's Red Barn 