On the last full day with our company, we honored their request. No more road trips, no more sightseeing…. just a relaxing day at home.
Or more specifically, the man cave/Barn Mahal.
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T. was like most men who cross its doorstep, instantly smitten and a wee bit jealous. I believe he mentioned wanting one, but I don’t think his wife was on board.
The day was spent playing Name That Crap..
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(Early vacuum cleaner)
Playing pool…
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With some interesting techniques…
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Shucking corn..
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And introducing our southern family to fresh Maine lobster.
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G. was a little leery at first.
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But ended up making friends.
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Never having cooked a live one before, T. was fascinated.
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And after some quality time with the bugs…
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Made his own friend.
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And then dropped him in the pot.
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Unfortunately it was at that exact moment our grill ran out of gas and things had to be moved indoors.
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Finally…
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We had a happy southerner.
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Back in the man cave, cracking instructions were given.
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And everyone enjoyed lobster.
Except me of course. I came up allergic to the succulent crustacean about 9 years ago and am unable to eat it without becoming violently ill.
Boo to that.
😫
The night ended with cocktails and a birthday cake that elicited a good bit of laughter.
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T.’s late father was a career Marine who, when done talking to his children would bark, “Dismissed!”
And since it was our company’s last night in Maine..
I get worried when my husband has to repair/replace something inside our home. He’s fine with rough carpentry and rustic places like the barn… but the house?
Where I have to live?
I prefer professionals.
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I was cringing the whole time he and a friend were removing the old front door…. and lost count of how many times I said be careful.
Note – he wasn’t careful. And it was the friend who put a drop cloth down on our brand new floor.
Thank you friend.
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The fact that they got it out in one piece without breaking the glass is a miracle.
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I think even the husband was surprised.
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Giant hole in the house?
Check.
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Door frame on a shrub?
Yup.
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There was even a door under the truck.
The reason for that placement was clearly above my pay grade.
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And now that we had a big hole, it was time to fill it.
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After checking to make sure there was no rotted wood underneath as was the case with the other two doors we replaced.
After our walk on the beach, G.’s pants were wet so she changed into shorts. This left us trying to dry her clothing in the sun on the roof of the golf cart while we had lunch…. and that required a readying hand.
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The only lunch available this time of year was at the Inn.
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It’s a grand old building…
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That seems to have new management every time we visit.
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We were the only people in the dining room which didn’t bode well.
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Kelp burger?
Hmm… no.
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Tiny flavorless rubber mussels, brightly colored but mediocre cocktails and disappointing sandwiches left us unsatisfied …
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But the view was nice.
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Another shoreline walk on Hamilton Beach…
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And then we drove by my old home.
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Old is the proper adjective because the original section of house on the right was built in 1842.
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And while the old girl still has good bones, I admit to being disappointed by the crumbling stone wall…
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The untrimmed shrubbery, overgrown lawn…
And general feeling of lackadaisical upkeep.
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When we lived here everything was neat as a pin and my father had glorious rows of red roses on the inside of the front wall. I lived here from age 14 to 20 and the place is full of memories, not to mention ghosts of those I’ve loved and lost.
River's world..... 