Eagles Over the Kennebec

Saturday. Sky half grey and half blue. Going to be warmer than lately, but by no means hot.

Slept long and late. Breakfast will be sausage and cheese on an English muffin, and lunch will be the lonely pork chop waiting in the fridge.

Thirty-seven years ago today, an orange-and-white UHaul truck with a governor on the accelerator, closely followed by a black Chevrolet Beretta, entered Maine via Routes 2 and 4 in Farmington and made their way to Skowhegan.

In the UHaul was Steve Miller, PIC, copilot Arwen deGrey, and what was left of the Miller and Lee Household -- records and books; a stereo system; an old wooden Philco cabinet radio that didn't work, but served as our mantle; kitchen supplies, and an almost-new microwave oven; two Kaypro computers; a 9-pin printer;, and two so-called computer desks, brand-new and still in the box.

Piloting the Beretta was Sharon Lee, copilot Archie McGee, and passenger Brandee Whitchin. In the trunk was a copy of the manuscript titled Carpe Diem, the Important Life Records of both pilots and cats, a dictionary, a Scrabble set, suitcases, and cat supplies. In the back seat were a few small boxes of this 'n that, and the cat carrier occupied by our passenger.

We arrived in Skowhegan and went to the address that had been given us, to pick up the key to the rental house. Instead, we came away with our deposit, in cash, because the daughter of the gentleman who had rented us the house had left her husband during the time the happy caravan was climbing slowly north from Maryland, and needed a place to live.

We then went downtown, to let the editor at the Skowhegan Reporter know that Mr. Miller, whom he had hired after two extensive phone interviews, was in town and ready for work. Unfortunately, in a game of Editorial Spin the Bottle indulged in by the owner of the syndicate the Skowhegan editor had been reassigned, and the new editor had neither news of, nor desire for, a spanking new reporter who didn't know the beat.

Considerably let down, the Plan in shambles, but still determined to proceed, the pilots drove out to the edge of town, where they found a campground motel that was in the process of being shut down for the winter. The combination of Steve's golden tongue and the kindness of the campkeepers saw us in the possession of both a very tiny cabin, and a promise that they would tell the crew to winterize that cabin last, so we could have time to find a more permanent solution.

That done, we drove to the other edge of town, rented a storage unit, stashed our stuff, went to the local Hannaford, got salads from the salad bar, and the big bottle of Gallo, returned to our cabin, and the cats, We ate, played a game of Scrabble, and went to bed.

The next morning, there was snow on the ground, and, after dining well at Burger King, the pilots drove to Augusta to return the UHaul truck, then came went back to the cabin in Skowhegan, and sat down to make a New Plan.

What's everybody doing today?

Asyouknowbob, tomorrow is April 1.  In addition to being the last day that interested parties may pre-order a personalized copy of The Gathering Edge, it is the anniversary of the day 39 years ago when Steve Miller and I combined our households, and informed our cats that no, we were not joking.

On April 1, our blogs, emails, walls, and various feeds are April Fool Free Zones.

Thank you for honoring the spirit of our day.

This was not the day I had planned.

I had planned to do some business emails, then get with the manuscript, and finish the squaring up of the Big Narrative Lump, and indeed, the day went agreeably in that direction for about two hours.  Then, I noticed that Belle's back foot was bleeding.  Steve and I did an examination, and determined that, yes, this was a matter for the vet, so we called, and achieved an appointment for 2:30 today.

After that, it was my turn to call The Guy From Dead River (for those coming in late, the whole house generator was installed yesterday, so yay!  However, the generator needs propane to operate, and, as reported earlier, siting the propane tanks was apparently going to be A Big Problem).  This would have been, you understand, on the order of the sixth phone call we'd made to the office since the site visit.

I actually reached someone who could help me.  She informed me that this project was going to be Very, Very Difficult, involving two guys for six hours and a ditch witch, it was going to cost A Bundle of Money, and! -- insult to injury -- the work can't be done until November 16.  At 8 a.m., naturally enough.

This is the point where you'd walk away and call the next vendor on the list. Sadly, there is no next vendor, so I agreed to Terms, and ask you please to all join me in hoping that the damned ground doesn't freeze before November 16.

Grr.

I did a little more work, Steve made us a lemon and chicken soup for lunch, and at precisely 2:30, we were at the vet's, who was saying, "Good grief, what happened?"

As near as we can figure, Belle tried to get into the drop ceiling in the basement -- a favorite hangout for Cat Farm Coon Cats, though they really are Far Too Big to get into the drop ceiling in the basement -- missed her jump -- or insisted that she had so made the jump -- and in the process ripped a claw out of her back right foot.

The vet cleaned the wound, prescribed antibiotics (because Belle weighs very nearly 17 pounds, Belle gets to take Dog Drugs, which is to say 1/4 of a dog-sized antibiotic), and sent us on our way with instructions to watch the foot, and Belle's behavior, and call if anything changed for the worst.

I will note that Belle was a perfect lady on the ride to and from, and at the vet's.  Though her foot must have hurt a lot, she didn't utter a single curse, nor tried to discipline the doctor or her assistant.  I expect Maine coons to be mellow, but this was really above and beyond.

Home again, I did the dishes, and got back to work for another hour.  My concentration, however, is not what it ought to be going into this section, which needs a bunch of description, and is also somewhat scrambled on the Who Said What To Whom front.  Which is to say, the kind of stuff you need to bear down and micro-concentrate on.

So! That will be Saturday's job, since tomorrow, day-time, is filled with appointments, and that evening with the Rocky Horror Show.

* * *

In other news, I have been remiss in reporting the anniversary of our 27th year in Maine.  We crossed the border on, I believe, October 3, 1988, and commenced an exciting day, indeed, in which we found in short order that we had no place to live (because the daughter of the owner of the house in Skowhegan we had rented long-distance, had left her husband in the time it had taken us to drive from Maryland to Maine, and moved into "our" house); Steve's job, also arranged long-distance, had evaporated; that the Skowhegan library had on its bookshelves in 1988, SFBC editions of books that hadn't gone out since 1977, and the librarian of same advised me, earnestly, that, if I was a reader, I should go to the high school library to borrow books.

Yes, it was epic, that day; one of the Great Ones that you look back upon in calmer times and wonder how you had held your hand from murder and mayhem.

Still on topic -- in another three weeks, Steve and I will be celebrating the 35th anniversary of our marriage.  We moved to Maine together, where we knew no one, save Tom Easton and Barry Longyear, through SFWA, when we had been married less than eight years.  In retrospect, I'm not sure if that was heroic or stupid.

Whichever, it turned out all right in the end.

* * *

Yesterday, I did go elsewhere to work, and got a bunch of redlining done on the threads which are not the Big Narrative Piece.  In the morning, since it was sunny, and windless, I went out to Oakland, and worked at a picnic bench at the Messalonskee Lake Public Boat Landing.  I was wearing good Maine layers -- long-sleeve tshirt, long-sleeve denim shirt, long-sleeve fleece hoodie, jeans, and wool socks -- and it was actually quite pleasant for a couple hours, until the wind picked up.  Later in the afternoon, I moved my base of operations to China Lake, where I lunched, and worked in the car.

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Today's blog post is brought to you by Bob Dylan by way of Tom Russell, "Lily, Rosemary, and the Jack of Hearts."  Here's your link.

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Here's a shot of yesterday's temp office at Messalonskee Lake:

The sun rises today upon a day of celebration!  No, not Steve's birthday -- that's Tuesday.

Today!

Today, dear friends, marks one year since I renewed my membership as a gallowglass in the crack elite corps of Freelance Writers.

Let there be dancing, and singing, and merrymaking of all kinds!

1. Dinner last night at the Riverside Cafe was lovely.  I had spinach and garlic ravioli; Steve had a haddock fillet the size of Montana.  There was good music, the promise of more, and! there was dessert!

2.  I have today performed Marvels, and thereby retired the backlog of House bookkeeping.  All that remains is the SRM bookkeeping, in the fine tradition of saving the best for last.  This means — anybody?  Yes, you there with the purple hair?  Exactly, thank you!  It means that I’m behind on my email.

3.  I need three books, and Miller Library has them all on the shelf.  Have I mentioned lately how very much I like working inside of a library?

4.  The reading lamp in the living room died this morning.  This is not convenient.

5.  My cold has graduated from sandpaper throat to sneeze-and-drip.  Begone cold!  I have no time for this!

Yeah, like that’ll work…