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Buckaroo Cowgirl, Abe Lincoln and Andy Warhol….. and……
A little hen. Oh the humanity!
Sometimes, when you pin everything on one idea it can pay off in spades. Other times, it can feel reckless and you find yourself saying ‘what a colossal waste of time’. Like maybe you rushed the research, hung your hat on a picture and called it a day. I found myself in the latter camp this weekend, though we managed to salvage the second day. I planned everything, had the maps, had the cabin. The only thing I didn’t factor in was the ‘too good to be true’ scenario, which we were staring down the barrel of from the get go.
Let’s start with the map and directions. They took us to another town. We pulled up in the driveway of a lovely German couple working in their yard, he splitting logs and she pulling weeds. They were terribly charming and the man said “Das the correct address, but dees ist not Sullivan, ist Hancock” and she said (while trying not to laugh) “You need to git ovah dah breege to dah next town”.
Not a good sign.
So we get to the cabin eventually, and let’s just say the photo you see in this post, the advertised photo, is missing a few things that really captured the feel of the spot. For instance, the chain link fence between the cabin and the water. Also missing: the giant cottage between us and the water, thus obscuring the “waterfront”. Add to this the 6 rowdy 21-ish neighbors with a dog that did not stop barking for a split second and I think you’re starting to get the picture. And it’s not exactly the picture of peace and quiet. I can also add that it was raining, and it was much colder than the weather report (the cottage was not heated and though I packed for cool weather, MP did not and he therefore got so cold he considered sleeping in the car). Did I also mention MP was sick? And that it was a small bed and he was coughing in my face all night?
We decided to head into Bar Harbor to eat, and while it was certainly not the worst in terms of ‘touristy’, it was not the sleepy Maine town I was picturing. 3 large tour operators arrived while we were eating our lunch. We just watched the people pouring out of the buses and I imagined how horrifyingly crowded it must be in July and August if May is considered the ‘off season’. On the plus side – dog are allowed everywhere, even in restaurants! As you can imagine, that swings the entire region into bonus points with me.
I wanted to get up and go home the next day (one of the perks of living so close – makes it easy to scrap a plan gone bad), but MP insisted we tour Acadia and make the best of it. I was reluctant, but he was right. So, so worth it. Incredible vistas and scenery so overflowing with shades of green, yellow and blue…. it is still all I can see with my eyes closed. The history of the region was really interesting and we went on an auto-tour that took us along roads that zig zagged through private and park lands. And just when we were about to pull out of town, the rain stopped… the sky cleared… and it turned into a beautiful day.
Oftentimes, I’m reminded that I am just a wee bit out of place in this town. Whether it’s the sweet owner of the little sundry shop next door to my office telling me to my face “you don’t belong in this town”, or more subtle moments.
I am working on a local project: classic regional renovation. A beautiful, large, old Victorian, tragically massacred in the early 80’s with vinyl siding, kalwall, mirrored closet doors and alarming bathroom situations all chopped up into multiple rental units. This particular project has an even creepier feature in a basement rental unit: a hatch in the floor of the first floor ‘living room’. Upon lifting the lockable hatch, one finds a dirty basket hanging from a string and pulley system. I stumbled across it while documenting the existing conditions *shudders*.
Walking through the project with the first of many contractors, I showed him all the existing conditions in relation to the drawings and proposed work (read: full gut) to familiarize him with the scope. He was a typical local guy in that, well, he didn’t look like a “contractor”. He was about 10 years older than me, and looked more like a professor: clogs, corduroys, and a nordic sweater. His truck was not a big Dodge pickup, but a modest van plastered with bumper stickers that said things like “free tibet” and “the proud 48%” and “if you’re not outraged then you’re not paying attention”. In other words, born and raised locally. When we got to the room with the hatch, me in all my awkwardness lifted it and said in a deep voice“it puts the lotion in the basket” and then let out a very hardy guffaw at my own joke. But he just stood there looking at me, without even a trace of a smile.
Me: *awkward, stifled laugh*…. you know…haha…”it puuuts the loootion in the baaasket”.
Him: Nothing.
Me: *still awkward* You know, from Silence of the Lambs”. (Mind you, I am crouching on the floor next to said hatch and he is standing above me, staring).
Him: Rests his chin in his hand.
Me: “Have you seen that movie? Silence of the Lambs?”
Him: “Uh, no. I had no idea what you were talking about. Is that a line from the movie?”
Me: *awkward laugh is now a skeptical smile* ” Yeah. Do you seriously not know that movie?”
Him: *extra condescending, without a hint of humor* “Never seen it. It’s not my thing. I must have missed it”
Me: *closes hatch and moves on*
I mean, I get it if you’re not into horror genre films. I happen to love horror films, and enjoy scaring the crap out of myself. But, Silence of the Lambs is more than just horror. It’s a really great film! Unparalleled in the suspense/mystery genre of films, and in my humble opinion, nothing has come close since. But that line! Even if you haven’t seen the movie, you know that line from the film, right? Because when I went back to the office and told my bosses about it, they too had no idea what I was talking about! Granted, with wasn’t a musical or show tune I was referencing so I’m not surprised, but still. I’ve never seen ‘Gone With the Wind’, but I get the jokes!
Sorry about the little unintended break in the action. I had a trip scheduled to visit my father in North Carolina and I find the time leading up to my visits with him cause a certain amount of paralysis for me. I find I get a maudlin outlook on everything because my mind wanders back to the memories of my childhood and my Dad; it’s very, very difficult to slowly lose a parent before your very eyes. I’m in the phase where I am still absorbing what I saw and heard, slowly processing the state of things and what it all means. So, I promise not to drag the internet into it. Instead, I will tell you why I love dogs by way of a funny story sure to go down in family lore.
It all started innocently enough with a late afternoon walk. Just a little fresh air and potty break for the dog. I took Fin and Floria with me and MP straggled behind. My father lives in the mountains of western North Carolina, and the scenery is stunning. Lots of forests, nature and wild animals: a neighbor had a mountain lion in her driveway! Walking along, Fin noticed something in the woods and we went in to explore. It was an old tree fort that was too tantalizing to an 8-year old to resist. We hung out and let him explore to exclamations of “I can do it/ climb it/ reach it” among the loose boards and rusty nails, taking photos and laughing.
I discovered the fort owners had a very cool firefox and Fin volunteered to test it. The drop was- at most- ten feet, so I figured why not. It looked sturdy and I could not say no to his massive grin. Good fun, all around…. that spilled over into the house (much to Milo’s envy) when we returned.
The next day it was all the boys could talk about: Milo wanted in on the firefox action. So, during Floria’s nap I stayed behind with my father and stepmom while Floria slept and everyone else when to play in the woods. And by everyone, I mean Lottie the 8 pound Chihuahua went too. And what did I say at least 400 times as everyone was walking out the door? Internet, I said PLEASE WATCH THE DOG. I said it to any and all that would listen. Now, keep in mind we are in a strange land with strange smells where Lottie has never been. And keep in mind that while she is clever and tough (she is not a little purse-dog), she is still a tiny city-dwelling specimen. Cut to my stepmom and I sitting quietly at the kitchen table talking for about 45 minutes when we hear rustling and commotion. I of course assume Little Miss is awake & into something and so we chose to ignore the sounds hoping she would go back to sleep. But it does not let up and I decide I need to go lay down the law and tuck her back into bed. As I am walking past the front door I hear definitive scratching, breathing and crying. I open the door and there is Lottie: trembling and losing her mind. How she found her way (Half a mile! Uphill!) back I do not know. But she did. My stepmother and I are stunned and staring at each other with an awkward laugh/smile…. and then I realize that this might be a Lassie moment (trouble at the old mill!). I mean, the only way she could have found her way home alone down a road surrounded by forests and mountain lions was if something terrible had happened to the exploration party… leaving all of them incapacitated… and they sent Lottie to deliver the message. Because why else would this little dog be back at the house in the mountains all alone? Right? Are you with me here?
If you’re me you decide that’s the only logical reason and you put on your shoes to go help them. And that’s when you find your husband running up the hill, out of breath and laughing/freaking out that he lost the dog. But you’re holding the little dog, the dog you love like a child and center your days around. That dog.
Then it dawns on you that no one was watching the dog at all. People were having fun and she became frightened about something (my guess is the echo of a distant hunting rifle) and found her way back by smell or memory or just that magical dog sense we humans don’t understand. But, she found her way back. Alive and unharmed.
The best part of the story for me…. once I got over the dark, disturbing ‘what ifs’… was the awkward fear on everyones’ faces as they were telling me their horror of noticing Lottie was missing in the middle of the woods. Not so much for Lottie, but for themselves and the reality that I would most likely kill them if anything happened to the dog. None of us can get over the image of a tiny black Chihuahua in the middle of the very foreign Blue Ridge deciding that the woods are no fun and she wants to go back to the house. Screw the tree fort! She wanted dinner! And so she heads back, all alone, at the edge of a strange road until she comes to the correct house… where I happen to be.
Additional info here.
So, in addition to True Blood, HBO has brought us Little Britain and Summer Heights High this season. I can not explain to you the absolute howling that comes from our living room on Sunday nights thanks to SHH. We think it’s hilarious and can’t make up our minds as to which character is our favorite (I may have to go with Jonah, MP favors Ja’mie).
I love the vernacular- familiar but oh so different. The school uniforms crack me up, and my husband and I have to taken to saying “Puck You” and “Mees” (Miss) about everything. The humor is about as un-PC as it gets and it seems the majority of the dialog is ad-libbed. I haven’t had this hard a laugh since Absolutely Fabulous (and that says a lot).
Best of all:
more about "Will Ferrell Back As Bush ", posted with vodpod
