Notes from Maine - 2025/08/10
We paused ER (TV show from 1994) last night because of distant explosions. It was the fair, shooting off their farewell fireworks. King mentions our fair a couple of times in The Dead Zone, but I don’t think it’s where the characters go on a date in that book. I think that book starts in autumn, while our fair is always in August.
No matter, our fair is great and it concluded last night.
We were watching ER and didn’t make it over to see the fireworks. If we had gone, we could have gotten in line and driven through the narrow metal culvert that travels under the horse track. People park in the center of the track and set up picnic blankets to look up at the sky. They don’t turn the grandstand lights off, but it doesn’t matter. The fireworks are right in your face. You almost expect glowing embers to drift down like a blanket of summer snow.
ER is good too. That show went on for 331 episodes, each more than 40 minutes. So far, Mom has watched three full seasons on this trip. At her current pace, she would have to stay through to next year in order to watch to the finale. Eventually, she’s going to grow bored of Maine and want to return to Virginia. Maybe we’ll find a way to get her TV hooked up at home, or she can borrow DVDs from the library. More than likely, I’ll just save her place so she can resume watching when she comes back this fall. Last year we had such a good, scary October, going to Wallingford’s Orchard for the haunted walk. I think she wants to do that again.
My sister drove home yesterday. This past week, we went to the camp a bunch of times, working on various projects. The screened gazebo now has lights. It’s a wonderful bug-free spot.
Did I mention the last cabinet? Mom was finishing it in the laundry room a little while ago. It went up in the kitchen—the final piece of the puzzle. It still needs a door, but I have the wood downstairs to make one. It’s just to the right of the stovetop, and I decided it would be a good place to store stove-related cleaning supplies. I’m always going under the sink whenever there’s a splatter or spill. Makes sense to get the sprays and wipes closer to where they’re needed.
We still have three more weeks of August, but it feels like summer is winding down. These last couple of weeks have been dry—so dry—and it’s starting to show. The sun burns through the leaves, making everything yellow. The grass hasn’t grown an inch, but the weeds carry on, giving the lawn a shaggy look. I need to mow, I guess, but it’s hot.
This week we went to dinner and I recognized the server from last November. I finally got the rest of the story about what happened with her truck and her boyfriend. He was in an accident with her two kids aboard. Everyone was fine, it turns out. But last time we could tell she was distracted, worrying about events happening far away that she couldn’t control. She appeared confused when I asked about events from nine months ago, but then quickly warmed into the story. I guess that means that everything really did work out okay. It was already far back in her rearview mirror.
