Up, up and away

Presque Isle. August. 2008.

I've very rarely been to event that was so satisfyingly...happy.

The simplicity of a balloon launch is it's charm. The crowd who come to watch knows how to wait, knows how to be still, knows the pure joy of watching something as simple as flame lift human beings off the ground as gently as a breeze. Add some homemade pie and red hots to the mix and you get an afternoon of pure enjoyment, even if you are still on the ground.

I found myself laughing out loud as these huge balloons finally lifted off the ground. Something in myself rose up and floated away as well. An unrealized anxiety that I wouldn't find anything in my new home that would make me feel ridiculously good, with no reservations.

How often does that happen?














Not often enough. Next time, I'm going up.

Now I know.

Now I know why there aren't many bloggers in Maine. Everyone is just too damn busy.

In Brookline, chores were quick, thoughtless almost. It didn't take long to clean the kitchen. Or the minuscule bathroom. The hand-vac picked up most of the dust. The Impling and I spent most of our time out around Boston, in the park, doing errands in Coolidge Corner. Walking and walking and walking.

In the Shire, chores demand a to do list. Something I haven't used since my days as a professional graphic designer. To do lists were vital for keeping track of the 20 plus projects I had going at any one time. Now I have at least that many projects in keeping up with a house with not one, but two full baths and one WC; a big kitchen (with a dishwasher *kissing sounds here*) off a big bright wonderful room that takes an hour to clean each morning (fighting off mice and fruit flies is SUCH a joy); and lots of rooms to sweep and dust. So we got a Roomba. It rocks.

But even so, this is only the inside. Outside, we have the gardens and weeding, which is completely addictive. It's like nature's video game...the burdock is the mother ship that sends out all these little annoying alien weedlets, that my trusty fork and shovel and rake annihilate day by day. I need to start keeping score. Because yes, I am a major geek.

Then there is the cooking. I have increased my cookbook library by at least half since moving here. Julia Child, Jacques Pepin and Mark Bittman are my close friends now. I've made wild blueberry sauce, pilaf with pine nuts and raisins and cinnamon, salmon in a variety of incarnations, Crab Norfolk, crab salad with mango, crab cakes with a spicy red sauce, lobster sauteed with white wine and cream sauce...I'm getting hungry so I'll stop here. All seafood courtesy of our local distributor, by name of Chester, of unknown age (my neighbor, who is maybe 5 years older than me, said he was old when she was a little girl) and of infinite stories, deserving of a post all of his own. He is a Mainer. He is one of the Old Ones. He brings us yummy things to eat.

And of course, there is the Impling, who is growing in mind and body at an astonishing rate, absorbing everything around her with an indefatigable curiosity. Feeding her is my most rewarding work. So it is time to shut down the computer, go outside, and see what there is to see.

Then I have to figure out what to do with all the tomatoes and zucchini that bury the counter.

Ratatouille?