The Maine Event

June 3, 2011

The updates here may be short and proverbially-though-probably-not-actually ‘sweet’ for a few days. The missus and I have decided to take a long weekend, as part of the Anniversary Celebration That Ends When She Says It Ends, And If You Really Loved Me, You’d Shut Up And Take Me Antiquing Or Something Equally Horrifying.

So we’re in Maine.

We drove up this evening, muffed the directions only once, and arrived a few minutes after 9pm to find the greater Camden, Maine area closed for the night.

Not ‘closed’, precisely. Just ‘closed to the idea of serving food to people who’ve been driving for five hours and would kill a busload of innocent children for a pack of Arby’s Horsey Sauce right now’.

“Your mass child transports are safe again, moms and dads. Stand down the alert.”

Luckily, it didn’t come to busocide. We found an open grocery store, prepared ourselves a sumptuous feast of packaged cheese and crackers and almost-day-old fruit, washed it down with some local grocery store beer, and thus regained some shred of humanity. Your mass child transports are safe again, moms and dads. Stand down the alert.

Tomorrow, it’s off to do… nothing, hopefully. Or essentially nothing. I could use a nice day of maybe walking around a little, punctuated liberally with bouts of sitting, eating, drinking, napping and lollygagging, in any combination thereof. Preferably, all combinations. Maybe I should make up a Bingo card to keep track. But that sounds like work. So, no.

At any rate, I’m looking forward to a nice quiet weekend, with no office drama, responsibilities, housework, pet care, fancy clothes wearing or schedule keeping involved. Just relaxing and letting whatever it is that flows in Maine flow right over top of me. I’m hoping for India pale ale. But I’m not picky. Just so long as there’s nothing but R & R on tap for the next four days or so.

I’ll let you know how many antique wrought iron doodads we buy. You can never have enough of those.

Or so I’m told.