The People Along the Way - San Francisco

Note to my reader(s) - my ill friend mentioned in the previous post is still fighting, and showing signs of progress. Thank you for any prayers you may have offered.

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I have always had a soft spot in my heart for Northern California. Not the least of which was for the fact that I conceived my daughter 2 hours south of San Francisco 16 years ago.

This was the third time I had visited the area. The first time was with my ex, when we conceived my daughter; the second time was but a day’s drive through with my parents, my 4 sisters and my 9 year old living souvenir, Taylor. This third time, I came for a work / industry conference. (Note: Taylor's 15th birthday was during my sojourn to San Francisco - please submit this to the Bad Mommy of the Year Awards)

I buckled myself in for the long (thankfully direct) ride from Miami to San Francisco last Saturday morning. I was just about to (prematurely) take a celebratory photo of the empty seat next me when a middle aged, slight in build, ethnic (either Hispanic or Asian) man sat down in what was to have been my leg rest. I nodded politely and made the universal sign for “not interested in chit-chat” by taking out my iPhone earbuds and plugging them into my ears. Mind you, this is my MO during any air travel. Though I cannot sleep (and perhaps because of this fact) I tend to keep to myself and read or stare out the window for the duration. The only seat mate who can pry me out of this habit would be my daughter. (Or perhaps a celebrity. But the likelihood of encountering a celebrity in coach is pretty minimal.)

I needn’t have worried about the slightly built ethnic man as he removed a (pink and black) sleeping mask from his carry on and positioned it over his eyes just after take off.

Heartened by his demonstration of non-interest, I sat up a little and glanced towards the aisle, somewhat willing the drink cart and the Diet Coke to come my way. It was then that I noticed my seat-mate’s peculiarity. His silky gossamer (now I notice it is hot pink edged with black lace) sleep mask took on a bit of an S & M feel as he had snaked both of his arms under his own seatbelt and had clasped his hands in supplication, cupping his crotch - the total image of which would have been appropriate in a Mistress’ dungeon.

Needless to say, I chose to avert my eyes as much as possible from my seat-mate for the duration of the flight to California and switched from Diet Coke to a mini bottle of cheap but still useful Cabernet Sauvignon.

Once landed in San Francisco, I had a couple of hours to kill and took a cab after checking into my hotel in Union Square to Pier 39 and Fisherman’s Wharf. Having been to these touristy destinations on two previous trips, I felt free to just wander, people watch and have an over-priced lunch at the only restaurant that did not have a wait on Pier 39. I did have a moment of panic when my credit card was initially declined when paying for my lunch. It turned out that my hotel (in the first of what was to be several transgressions by this particular hotel) had charged my credit card for 4 times the amount of my stay, amounting to over $5,000. I am a person of modest means and usually charge very little...so my credit card company had wisely seen to it that a hold was put on my account.

The hotel staff member I spoke to was apologetic, the charge was removed and I went to bed early, my circadian rhythms still very much on an East Coast vibe.

I was up bright and early the next morning to join a colleague and some friends / contacts of hers on a tour of wine country...in a limo. Yes, ‘lil ole me, on a LIMO tour of Napa Valley. It was decadent and perfect and I have decided is the ONLY way to tour Napa Valley. I thanked my colleague for inviting me and our hosts for having me repeatedly and stopped just short of genuflecting.

This was only my second time to Napa Valley. The first time was during that first trip to North Cali with the first husband. Back then, we actually had to drive a rental car with map in hand (before the days of GPS) and one of our stops was at the Sutter Home Winery and we thought that it was the ultimate in wine. (Give me a break, I was 25 years old.) And as a matter of fact, Taylor was conceived during an evening a few nights later when we split a bottle of Sutter Home White Zinfandel. (AKA the go-to girlie drink of the early 90’s)

This time, our group was under the advisement of the limo driver, who is a Napa Valley native and who took us to several vineyards and wineries that fly under the radar for most tourists. We made 4 stops - Jessup Cellars, Silver Oak Cellars, Regusci Winery and Chimney Rock Winery.

My favorite of the stops by far was Jessup. Our group of 5 was treated to a private tasting complete with different cheeses, crackers and chocolates to help enhance the flavors of the wines. Our host, a sommelier-in-training, was wonderful and his uniqueness also enhanced the experience.

He was a tall and robust man, with friendly crinkling blue eyes and a blonde goatee that might remind one of a Scandinavian version of Grizzly Adams. This likeness proved to be prophetic as he later told us a story that had our group talking about him for the rest of the trip.

After someone in our group had brought up Oprah (the why, I believe had something to do with Real Estate), our Jessup host casually mentioned that he had met her, and that she was not the friendliest person, but perhaps it had been a bad day for her. When pressed as to how he had met Oprah, he told us the story of having been mauled by a bear as a child; specifically he was picked out by a man-eating bear in a camp full of boy scouts. The story was terrifying and defied belief, though it’s truth was carved in scars upon his head and on his hands, clearly made by the bear's teeth. He was non-plussed by his own story and seemed to take some pleasure in it - not just by shocking us tourists, but by reminding himself by the re-telling of how wonderful his life is now. He is very close to receiving his certification as a sommelier, he truly relishes what he does and he is engaged to be married. (And oh yes, to close the loop, he had been on an episode of Oprah about people who had survived animal attacks - that is how he had met her)

Meeting our Jessup host, the sommelier-in-training, was one of the highlights of my trip and solidifies what I love about travel - meeting the people.

My Conference began in earnest the next morning. I spent the next couple of days listening to amazing people both in my industry and adjacent to it. As my own company has recently dipped it’s toe into Social Media, I found a couple of sessions extremely relevant. One was with a couple of attorneys who had a give and take presentation about the FTC’s recent rulings and one was with someone who was from “behind the curtain,” an employee from Facebook.

I do believe that a lot of us listening to the Facebook employee were so taken by her insights and message that we would have held her down after the session ended to tell us more. And she was so energetic and excited about the subject matter, she would have stayed.

All in all, I did drink “the kool-aid” of the conference. This particular non-profit organization really does a phenomenal job of making newcomers (like myself) feel welcome, encourages sharing of information to promote best practices and knocks down walls of preconceived competitiveness.

The end of my stay was marked by two more diametrically opposed experiences.

I had a closing session early on Wednesday. My flight was slated for 8:45 PM, a red-eye from San Fran back to Miami.

I checked out before my early session, and asked to have my bags held until later in the afternoon. I then went to the concierge desk and asked to have the ‘Super Shuttle’ scheduled to take me to the airport by 7:00 PM.

My last session wrapped up around 1:45. I then went to the Bank of America ATM I had espied earlier, withdrew some cash for the trip home and sat in the posh hotel lobby.

I was uncomfortable. I didn’t really belong in this lobby anymore. Though I am a corporate professional, I felt like an interloper or a squatter of some sort. Thus, after seeing the Super Shuttle on the curb, sitting idle with no passenger, I decided to see if I could move my take off time up by a couple of hours and at least feel like a squatter in an International Airport, where everyone is - it kind of levels the playing field.

The woman at my hotel concierge desk couldn’t have been less helpful. Though I let her know that the shuttle was sitting outside without passengers, she said I could not possibly take that one. While at the desk, a young woman whom I vaguely recognized from the conference and inquired about the same thing. Could she hop on the Super Shuttle that was currently parked on the street? How much was a cab to the airport (three times as much.) The young woman walked away.

I dejectedly walked away from the concierge desk and was about to settle into one of the lobby chairs when the young woman came charging back through the doors and said quickly and quietly but excitedly, “You want a ride to the airport? Come on! He has room!”

So, I found myself on an earlier Super Shuttle, chugging away from San Francisco, having a wonderful conversation with that young professional woman, who like myself had chosen to have one child, a daughter, and had made the sacrifices that always accompany reproductive decisions. It was a delightful conversation, and at the airport I gave her my card and wished her well and told her I hoped she was in time to tuck her toddler into bed.

My trip to San Francisco was a conundrum...it mixed past and present...pleasure and business and passed all too quickly. I am grateful that I had the opportunity to go. I recognize, that in this economy, a trip to solely enrich a career path is a rare thing.

And again, be it the conference, the tours, the city...I was truly enriched...by the people along the way.

Don't Sweat the Small Stuff

Never underestimate the power of prayer, the force of love, the gift of family and friends...nor conversely the ironic fragility and brevity of the beautiful life we are living.

I found out today that a friend and co-worker of mine had fallen ill. He is not someone that I speak to every day and actually, more recently his career path at my office had made our crossings of paths less frequent. But every time we do speak or hang out, his infectiously snarky, witty and wry nature makes me laugh. As his house is within a stone’s throw of my own, we kept making verbal promises to get together...to have cocktails and chat...and to let our mutually spoiled, over-indulged four legged fur children have a play date. Every time I thumb through my contacts on my phone and see his name, I think ‘I have to remember to call him!’ and smile with the promise.

His illness is as severe as it was sudden. A bacterial infection has compromised his heart, started laying claim to his organs and is threatening his life.

Upon hearing the news this morning, I set out with another co-worker and headed to the hospital. I had spoken to yet another friend and co-worker (shouldn’t we coin a term for these seminally important people in our lives? However, both Froworker and Criend sound too trite) who was already there and had been there for awhile. Although she had warned me not only about my ill friend’s appearance if I should see him, but also about the size of the gathering crowd, I was still shocked when I arrived - to witness the number of people that had gathered in the waiting room.

Titles, seniority and management levels were washed away with tears and brushed aside with tissues. People - family really - huddled in groups and milled about, murmuring words of comfort, whispering updates, prompting positive stories and updates.

I was heartened to hear while I was there, while waiting to be able to see him, that the physicians had identified the particular insidious bacteria that was invading my friend’s body had been identified and that they were going to war with specific ammunition aimed straight at it.

Also, permission had been granted that my friend’s fur child, who is his heart on four legs, would be able to come into his room for awhile. I know how deep my friend’s bond is to this animal and smiled outwardly and cheered inwardly when he was carried through the waiting room into the MICU room where his Papa was laying and fighting.

Indeed, when I was finally able to see my ill friend, amidst a tangle of tubes and importantly beeping machines, his fur baby was by his side on a table...quiet and still and intent, watching over his Papa.

My time with my friend was brief - I just wanted him to know that I was there, that I was still planning our puppy play date, that I fully expected his quick and expedient recovery and that I loved him. Despite the environment and the probing feeding tube, my brave friend was able to reciprocate the sentiment.

Though my visit was heart-breaking and the situation was tenuous, I left the hospital today with an overwhelming sense of gratitude, pride and community.

I have always known that I work for a great company. Since shortly after I started, it was always my goal to continue with this company until retirement. My company has consistently demonstrated generosity and equanimity even in economic times of strife. I have even often joked that if you were to slit me open, my blood would pour out in the various colors of our multiple brands.

And today, one of the values that our company heralds as one of it’s core - people - was abundantly apparent as we circled our wagons around one of our own. Family, irrespective of it’s origins, is a lovely and mighty force.

So What IS Normal?

(My Cousin, Nicole and myself at Michelle's Wedding)

I thought that I was done, finished, finito. This past weekend heralded the completion of “my year of weddings and events.”

As you may have read previously, I was honored to be the Matron of Honor for two weddings this summer. Additionally, my daughter traveled - and my family traveled...to Maine, to New York City and to the Florida Keys.

Last Saturday was the wedding of my sister, Michelle. It took place in a lovely botanical garden in Fort Pierce, FL. It was my last wedding of the season.

My husband, my daughter and I drove the hour and a half back to our home yesterday. When I got here, I promptly threw myself into bed and stayed there...napping on and off and didn’t fully get up or shed my jammies until it was time to go to work this morning.

Then today, somewhat groggily, I began what I believed would be my ‘normal life’ once again. Driving Taylor to school, getting to work and immersing myself in e-mails, spreadsheets and presentations.

And then I realized this evening, after some thought, how far from getting back to what I would think of as ‘normal life’ I am.

• I am a single Mom for the balance of the week (Donnie had to travel yet once again for work and left early this morning) - not ‘normal life.’

• We still haven’t resolved the house status; leave it on the market at a much lower price or take it off the market? - not ‘normal life.’

• We also haven’t decided on whether or not we will retire my beloved Chrysler Convertible, Casey and get a new car (this decision being intrinsically tied to the one above) - not ‘normal life.’

• I am leaving for San Francisco for a conference in little over a week (and over my daughter’s 15th birthday, no less - yes, please add this one to my BMOTY award submissions) - not ‘normal life.’

• Though it is a bit farther off, I have once again volunteered to host Thanksgiving in my woefully small abode and must begin plans, calling people, organizing...again - not ‘normal life.’

So I just have to sigh with the realization that while the next few weeks and months on the calendar do not mark any marquee type events, my new but not ‘normal life’ will likely be only slightly less frenetic than the one that I have lived over the past 9 months.

I long to take a moment and smell life’s roses -

Does anyone else feel as though life is just rushing at them?

Paradise Found

Ahhhh, Key West. A vacation destination whose very name conjures in many people’s minds mind sun, sand, icy drinks garnished with the ubiquitous umbrella and a debaucherous nature second only to Las Vegas.

My Key West, while not chaste by any means, is quieter and certainly less flashy.

I love the architecture. The homes in Key West’s Old Town boast the biggest historical district in the US and derive their shapes from a veritable melting pot of influences. They hail their architectural notes from England, from ship builders, from the Bahamas and from economic and industrial necessity. Boiled down, they are referred to as “Conch Homes.” I must say that owning one, even as a rental that I can visit every so often, is my heart’s desire.

I love the history. Key West is the second oldest city in Florida (St. Augustine being the first - natch) It has a very colorful history of Indians, Pirates, Wreckers, Cigar Makers, Spongers, Politicians as well as (and relatively more recently), Writers, Poets, Musicians (Jimmy Buffet, anyone?) and dreamers. (Mel Fisher, one of the greatest dreamers of our time - “Today’s the Day!” - has a museum in Key West with his name on it and is a testament to all of us who dream big.)

I love the vibe. The acceptance. Be who you are, and what you will be. Key West was progressive in that it was one of the first cities in the US to openly embrace alternative lifestyles. Indeed, Richard Heyman, elected in 1983, was one of the nation’s first openly gay Mayors. But, the ‘live and let live’ culture is not limited to same sex relationships. It is pervasive throughout the Island. You like to knit? Talk to doorknobs? Walk aimlessly? Or somehow live on the fringe of society’s accepted norms? As long as your quirks don’t harm anyone, you are accepted here - and you will likely find other like-minded folks.

I love the people. In general the people, particularly the locals, are friendly. They smile, wave and ask how you are. And, after the slow burn which led to a fiery love affair with this place...I found myself cultivating relationships with some of the folks that I had come across during my visits. As time passed, I was no longer just a groupie of favorite destination...I had made friends. All of them different, and all of them important. I know that with certain ones, I have made a connection that is life-long.

To celebrate my sister’s bachelorette party this past weekend, I was able to take all four of my sisters to Key West. In a quite militant style, I took them on tours, on bike rides and generally schooled them on my adopted home. A couple of my sisters had only cursory visits in the past...one had only been exposed to the party side of Duval Street.

As this was the first time all five of us had been on vacation together...as adults...without parents...I hired a local photographer. I wanted him to to take some photos as a memento of the occasion, and hopefully get a great shot of all of us as a gift for our parents. (One of the proofs, which did not make the cut, is at the beginning of this post.) We went to the Key West Botanical Gardens, which was absolutely beautiful and absolutely HOT! for the photo session.

I felt so proud as I led my 4 sisters through the streets on bikes, circling the Cemetery...and took them to Sunset celebration on Mallory Square...walked with them on the Ghost Tour...showed them the historical bits in East Martello.

It was like I was home.

And once I came back to my ACTUAL home yesterday, the one that is my current address, where I live while I pay my bills...I was a bit morose. Perhaps even a little depressed.

I yearn to go back. To the Island that holds my heart and now is the location of friends. I scour the Internet...Where is the cheapest house in Key West? What will it take to renovate it? How soon can I go back?

When I already live in an area that many would consider paradise, I think it may be selfish to push the paradise envelope farther.

But a girl can’t stop dreaming, right?

A Quick Post

I have been writing, I swear.

I have written invitations, thank you’s, e-mails (many of those, as they are the veins that my company’s blood courses through), agendas, and most certainly in my head and in the notebook where I scribble ideas for writing topics.

But not here, which is where I wish I had more time....or made more time....to do so.

I leave again tomorrow for yet another trip. This time, to my geographical heart, Key West. A trip to celebrate one of my sister’s impending nuptials. Five sisters in all and this will be the first time that all of us have traveled together, on our own, sans parents. I am sure this trip will provide much fodder for my writing.

Another topic of writing close to my heart - I have also gotten a glimpse of Taylor’s next phasing of adolescence. While still challenging, this next phase brings a cool breeze of fall against the last 12 months of scorching hot summer teen angst and disquietude.

I will be back on this page again. But before then, I will be stretching my legs, peddling my feet and opening my mind down on the Southernmost tip.

Sept 11th - A Rant

On the surface, I largely ignored the importance of yesterday’s date. Mostly because it is tough when I do take the time to reflect on the chaos, the fear, the utter horror and the collective loss of lives and innocence on that day. However, my thoughts have never strayed far from it.

I was already at work Tuesday, September 11, 2001 when the first murmurs of a commuter plane hitting one of the towers circulated in the office. I naively took the news in stride and tried to focus on my work. The subsequent hit to the other tower was verbally reported as a news helicopter that crashed into the other building.

Then reality sunk in. I kept refreshing news websites, but they were all intermittently down due to the unexpected large number of hits. In my office, people started to gather in the offices and conference rooms that were equipped with televisions to watch the carnage and the news reporters do their jobs while weeping.

I just stayed at my computer and shouted out updates as soon as I received them. After the plane hit Washington DC, I remember vividly reading the incorrect report that the entire Mall in DC was on fire.

It was then that I began to inwardly panic. We. Are. Under. Attack. My mind repeatedly envisioned the opening sequence of the 80’s movie, ‘Red Dawn,’ and figured that today would unfold along the same lines. It may not have been the Russians, but someone who hated the US was coming en mass to fuck us up.

Though it was delayed due to disbelief, my next thought was overwhelming and visceral - my daughter. I needed to be with her. I needed to hold her and protect her from whatever evil forces were intruding.

My company thoughtfully put out a memo via e-mail that stated we could leave the office if we felt the need to do so. Though under normal circumstances, I am a workaholic, I didn’t need a second invitation...I was outta there.

I dropped everything and ran to pick Taylor up from her school. I felt panicky as I drove the few short miles. She was surprised but happy to see me. (As the fates would have it, this was an “Early Dismissal” day.)

I can’t remember exactly what I said to her. I just remember that I told her that bad men had crashed planes into big buildings. I am sure that this day was not one of my prouder Mommy moments as she could not have missed the terror and despair on my face.

Once home, I put her in her room to watch a movie and nap and then barricaded the doors and the gate. I sat shaking, on the couch and watched the news.

I made phone calls...to my family and to friends. I needed to hear that everyone I loved was grounded and safe. It must have been a universal feeling as my phone rang incessantly with incoming calls. One of them was from my future husband, who was at the time just a friend. He was stuck in the Orlando airport. He was booked on a flight that morning to Boston, where he was to have had an interview for a potential new job.

It was a relief in the ensuing weeks to celebrate my birthday and to continue to parent my almost 6 year old daughter. My psyche needed a break from the endless stream of news on the TV and the internet. It was just too overwhelming and heart-breaking to take in and mentally digest.

However, I realized that I had turned inwards too much and had ceased to be participatory in life and present for Taylor. This was made abundantly clear one evening about a month after 9/11. I was in the kitchen and making dinner for Taylor and I. The evening news was droning on in living room.

“Mommy, MOMMY - come quick!” Taylor screamed. I ran into the living room, wiping my hands on a dishtowel and looked down at my unharmed, beautiful daughter. She pointed at the TV where the evening news was replaying events from that horrible day. She had tears in her eyes and the fear that squeezed them there was apparent.

“The bad men crashed the planes again!” she wailed plaintively throwing her little, innocent body into my grasp. I woke from the stupor I had been functioning under and murmured reassuring things into her ear while holding her closely. It was just a video, the bad men weren’t coming to get her and she was safe.

While I suffered no immediate losses on September 11, 2001, my heart lost a little chunk of itself for the sorrow for all who did.

And I am angry, deeply angry at all of the human beings who planned, carried out and condoned the actions.

May you all rot in hell for coldly and cruelly taking the lives of almost 3000 innocent people that day...for removing the innocence of America....for making the entire globe live in a place of fear...and other for many unhappy, unnatural things.

But selfishly and personally...god damn you for making my daughter’s world an unsafe place to live in.

Taylor and I returned recently from Maine. (Donnie stayed behind to drive down to Connecticut for business.)

It was the first time that I had been back to my Husband’s home state in 2 years and it was my 5th visit in the 6 years he and I have been a couple.

My first visit in, 2004 (with Taylor in tow - she has always accompanied me or later us, on our sojourns to Maine) was when Donnie and I were newly in love and doing the long distance thing. The official goal of this particular trip was to “Meet the Parents” as well as the “Protective Friends of the Inner Circle.” The trial by fire went well - I now address Donnie’s parents with the familiar Mum and Dad and one of the inner circle of friends was actually my Matron of Honor at our wedding. But, a side benefit of that trip was that I fell in love with this quiet, throw-back, nature-infused part of the world that was very unlike anything I had ever known.

Subsequent events brought us back to Maine over the ensuing years, including one rainy weekend in October of 2005 for Donnie’s parent’s 40th Wedding Anniversary and the wedding of our good friends, Tim and Britney. (Hereafter and forever known as “The Weekend I Didn’t Get Engaged” - but that is another blog post of its own.)

Our last visit in late summer 2008 was for his 20th High School reunion, which took place in a giant field...complete with strains of 80’s rock coming from a cover band on a wooden stage that overlooked dozens of campers and tents.

Despite our almost yearly trips back to central Maine, Donnie has spoken wistfully and fondly of the Piscataquis Valley Fair and his desire to go home for it. The Fair is an annual event that has been (in part) run by his parents for many years and has been a big part of his and his sisters’ halcyon childhood memories. However, the timing of the fair in late August was always inconvenient as Taylor was always in her first few days of school by then.

But this year, I finally capitulated and booked a week-long trip for Donnie to go and be a part of the Fair preparations with his parents and also got Taylor and myself up there for a long weekend.

The experience didn’t disappoint. Our vacation was jam-packed with activities. And of course, the Piscataquis Valley Fair was our Copernican event.

Prior to leaving I made joking remarks about the skillet tossing contest to Donnie and his friends and family. Thusly, I found myself signed up on Saturday for the official Skillet Tossing Contest. I didn’t even warm my arm up and left my chances to the skillet tossing Gods(esses).

The Skillet Tossing contest is divided into groups, according to age. I found myself in the second heat along with my two sisters-in-law and my good friend, Lori (afore-mentioned Matron of Honor.) I was ever-so-grateful that I was not alone and prayed quietly that I would not shame my Maine family.

I quickly was ‘learned’ that a Skillet Tosser is not limited in her throwing technique, (overhand versus underhand) but must she (yes, one must be a she - this was a completely female competition - with a touch of misogyny) not touch the line. I choked a bit on my first throw as the MC / Announcer / Barker was heckling me a bit about having married into “all of those Merrills.” But, on my second throw, I tossed my skillet 35 feet. I felt I had thrown respectably and knew that some other women had thrown a shorter distance and some much farther...but was not prepared for what was to come.

Apparently, there is a skillet throwing dynasty in central Maine...and these women are uber-competitive. 2 women in my age group and one older shamed me and all the rest. The longest throw was over 80 feet...a distance I would consider driving.

After getting spanked in the Skillet tossing contest, (well, actually my Mother-in-Law placed 3rd in her group), we all wandered off to take in the rest of the fair.

There were rides (not that I rode them), livestock displays as well as horse and tractor pulls. I was sorry to miss the Frog Jumping Contest and the Pig Scramble. Taylor happily joined Allie and their contemporaries for a few blissful, unsupervised hours at the Fair. The rode the rides, and walked the traditional teenage loop around the valley which was undoubtedly steeped in hormones.

Later that evening, we celebrated Ronnie’s 40th Birthday Party (Donnie’s best friend from waaaaay back and the husband of my friend Lori.)

On Sunday, a group of us went boating and tubing on Sebec Lake. As Taylor had spent some quality time tubing on Sebec during her Epic Summer Trip in July, she had been looking forward to getting her parents on the tube...and watching while we were tossed about like rag dolls and drowned like rats. We ended the day at the lakeside camp of a friend of a friend for tidbits and drinks. The view and the camaraderie made me question my intended choice for my housing dollars....should we forget getting a house in Boca and instead just invest in a camp on the lake in Maine?

Monday we spent with Donnie’s wonderful parents. Taylor got an invitation to go back out on the lake that day and I pretty quickly acquiesced. I knew that Big Don (As he is known in these parts and also as Donnie’s Father) wanted to drive us around and show us some land and figured that Tay would be sad and surly if she came with us knowing that she was missing out on the comparatively fabulous time on Sebec.

After a scrumptious breakfast served by Deanne, Big Don sat shotgun in our rented mid-sized vehicle and directed us to a spot about 15 minutes North East of Milo. Big Don had set his sights on a good-sized plot of land and was considering purchasing it.

Unreachable by any vehicle save snowmobiles or four-wheelers, we walked the path alongside the untouched piece of Maine land that he was yearning for. I was struck by the beauty and wildness of undeveloped land. During our hike, Big Don showed us where he would plan on building a road, which trees he would sacrifice to the lumber industry, where he imagined a bridge crossing the creek and where he thought a good spot for a camp might be.

After our adventure, the Merrill family (Donnie’s parents, Donnie and I, Taylor, sister Dina, sister Darcy and her two children Jake and Hillary) convened at Don and Deanne’s for a farewell feast of lobster (natch - we were in Maine) and steak.

The next day, after tearful goodbyes, we were on our way home...back to South Florida and the crazy, faced-paced tempo of the life that we know.

I love Maine...I love the wildness of the terrain, I love my husband’s family and friends, I love the architecture of the homes and buildings, I love that this area doesn’t just give lip service about days gone by...but actually lives by a credo of a better time.