Eagles Over the Kennebec

What went before: Thanks to all for the outpouring of positive energy for Trooper. He seems to me to be more relaxed, and we haven't had an episode of him hitting me in the arm, or sitting by my feet and crying since we got home. So, fingers crossed that we've hit on something helpful.

Er -- about Catholic school. Y'all have to remember that this was back in -- well. does a quick calculation -- 1957. People nowadays treat their dogs with more care and gentleness than '50s kids ever got. IMHO. And Catholic school was worse than how it was on the outside. Also -- I was a Repeat Offender. My mother sent me to school early -- Not Quite 6, against ALL the advice that she wait until I was Not Quite 7 -- I was left-handed, I couldn't talk straight, I was already in the "retarded class" (the fact that I could read anything that was put in front of me was discounted because -- I dunno. Maybe because I read the words in the "right" order proved that I just didn't care about talking right?)

In any case, no -- I wasn't kidding, and I wasn't the only kid who got stapled to the bulletin board, or had their knuckles whacked, or -- nuns were inventive, let's just say that. I'm sorry the image disturbed people -- it's just a Thing That Happened, and it was a long time ago.

Thinking about this a little more: It's one of the Universe's jokes, I suppose, that I wound up in a career where I was required to sit-or-stand in front of large groups of people and talk.  Even though I had a most excellent front man in Steve, I still had to occasionally same something.

Saturday. Gloomy, though not particularly foggy here by the river. Weatherbeans are calling for temps around 50F/10C again.

Breakfast was oatmeal, cranberries, walnuts. Second cup of tea to hand. Soup defrosting for lunch. I'm a little dizzy this morning, and got off to a slow start. Good thing I can do most of what I need to do sitting down.

I hear from Informed Delivery that my watch, originally scheduled for delivery on Monday, will be delivered today! Ahem. By 6:30pm. I take leave to doubt this, and expect I'll see it on Monday, per the original plan. If you'd like to start a betting pool, please step over to the left side of the room by the plants so you don't impede the folks who want to get to the drinks, or the books.

In Real Life News, the hospital in Augusta, which will be taking the brunt of patients cut loose from Inland Hospital when it closes, is quietly freaking out. It's been revealed that they, too, are in financial distress (honestly, they've been short of cash, doctors, and beds pretty much since they opened). Fun times.

Today will be Sedentary, given the dizzy thing. I will have to go downstairs to perform my duty to the cats, but that can wait a bit. Hopefully, the dizzy will abate.

We pause here for an Advertisement, a PSA and! and Author's Plea.

Advertisement: Don Blyly, aka Uncle Hugo's SF Bookstore, is mailing out signed hardcover copies of Diviner's Bow as I speak. If you want a signed copy, email him at unclehugoATaolDOTcom. If you ordered Ribbon Dance from Uncle last year, and your credit card information has not changed, tell him that, too, and you can have your book in hand BEFORE the release date.

PSA: Related to the above: If, after you finish reading Diviner's Bow, you find you want to talk about there, a Spoiler Space has been created for that purpose, here.

AUTHOR'S PLEA: I know it's early days, and Amazon won't open its review page until the release date, but please consider reviewing the book after you have read it. Reviews are vital. You may think that a series that's been around since 1988 and has a devoted fan base wouldn't need reviews -- and you would be wrong. The Liaden books have been around for so long, they're just part of the general landscape -- people take them for granted. (This also happened to us when we went to cons -- "Oh, it's Steve and Sharon. They're always around." Until, yanno; they're not.)

And with all that out of the way -- My plan today is the comfy chair in my office: writing, homework, correspondence, aaaand . . . yeah, that's it. The cats are all in their comfy spots, having enjoyed a mid-morning snack of crunchy salmon treats from Blue Wilderness, and despite the predicted race for Warmth, it's a little cool in my office, due to lack of insolation.

Anyhoots, we're pretty much content, if a little sleepy, here at the Cat Farm today.

Who else is having a contented day?

This morning, we got up early (for the third morning in a row.  Yes, I have a call in to the Auditing Department.), in order to adorn Princess Jasmine Sprite in her travel regalia -- the sparkly pink-and-purple leash, the red harness, the royal ladybug ruff, this morning augmented by the sable fleece blanket.

Her Highness had, sadly, forgotten the appointment she had directed Staff to make with her physician, and, as I gathered her up in my arms and started for the kitchen door, she made one loud, anguished cry that sounded for all the world like, "Dad!"

We settled in the passenger side, and she managed to work herself into quite a state by the time we reached her physician's office, where she immediately transformed herself into a Frozen Not-There Cat for the duration of the physical.

She is, as we suspected, Perfectly Healthy, weighing just a whisker (almost literally; coon cat whiskers are. . .not insubstantial) under 15 pounds.  She received her two-year distemper vaccination and was given a chip, which puts her in the vanguard of Feline Technology at the Cat Farm.

Princess Sprite is now resting comfortably on the blue rug (her Turkey carpet, formerly Trooper's Turkey carpet, formerly Sharon's Turkey carpet) in my office, after a brief sojourn in her Secret Aerie to recruit her strength and recharge her Princess Powers.

The mail had been delivered at home by the time we returned.  The mail consisting of two books, and! my new waterproof, lined, winter gloves from Duluth Trading Company.  I am remiss in reporting that my slip arrived yesterday, as did our Yule gift to each other -- a case of mixed wines from nakedwine.com.

I think that leaves two shipments outstanding, which I expect to see next week.

Speaking of yesterday, it turns out that though pickleball is on the schedule at the Champions Fitness Club in Waterville on Tuesdays and Thursdays, attendance is sporadic.  I went in yesterday, hoping for a game, waited around for half-an-hour, nobody showed, so I left to do errands.  Sigh.  Next opportunity to sport the pickle -- Wednesday morning.

I did learn yesterday that, if I decide to make enough of a habit of pickleball that I'll want my own equipment, I will not want a wooden paddle.  The paddle I was loaned last Wednesday was aluminum, I suppose, and it was like an extension of my hand; I hardly knew I was holding a paddle.  The wooden Club paddles weigh a ton, and I can see it wearing my wrist out inside of a (short) game.

Hmm.  I wonder if I can play left-handed, anymore.  Over the years since the nuns changed my handedness, I've become more and more right-hand-oriented.  Something to experiment with, I guess.

After supper yesterday, Steve and I drove out to Skowhegan, on purpose to visit the New Balance Factory Store, Steve being in the way of wanting a pair of tennis shoes -- about which more in a moment.  I did not intend to buy tennis shoes, myself, but a pair of blue cross-trainers with orange laces called my name and I did not resist long.  I'm wearing them right now, and myghod, they weigh nothing.  Maybe I'll be able to fly again, like when I was a kid in the first new sneakers of summer.

But!  We were speaking of tennis shoes.

I asked the young lady on the floor at New Balance for "tennis shoes," and she obligingly showed me the tennis shoes on offer, helpfully pointing out the pivot point on the sole.  Because "tennis shoe" is a technical term.

I chewed my lip for a minute, and then said.

"Back in the dark ages, we called all the kid's casual canvas shoes tennis shoes.  Nobody really played tennis in them.  There's another word -- sneakers?  Soft shoes that are not created for a single task, but that you can walk and play games in?  I'm looking for sneakers."

"Oh," she said.  "Cross-trainers.  Right over here."

On the one hand, good on her for being patient and guiding me to what I really wanted.  On the other hand, I feel like I'm needing to give a history lesson every time I want to buy something, lately.  Anybody else having this. . .experience, or am I just hopelessly behind the curve?

And! For those who Await, a photo of -- no, not the new sneakers -- Princess Sprite and Trooper, doing the taxes.

So I bought a book at the Harmon Museum -- yes, yes:  you're shocked.  The title is: The Great Steel Pier:  An Illustrated History of the Old Orchard Ocean Pier, by Peter Dow Bachelder (1998, Breakwater Press, Ellsworth, Maine).

Items of note so far:  the first carousel -- the nameless "German made" carousel -- that burned down in 1923, it says here -- is claimed to have been "the oldest of its kind in existence," having been at Old Orchard Beach since 1892.  I'm pretty sure there were other carousels around in 1892 (Just as a for instance, Gustav Dentzel's dates of production (note:  Gustav Dentzel was a German native) proceed from 1870) so I'm not sure what this "of its kind" business is all about.  O, Good; more research...

The first carousel was, just to clear up my error, replaced by a Dentzel merry-go-round, which subsequently burned in 1969, due to that fuse-box problem we discussed.

Leaving carousels, it seems that Old Orchard has always had trouble pulling together for its own best interest.  The pier idea was first floated by prominent businessman Henry Staples in 1879, but the cost of building such a thing -- the first of its kind -- was more than the rest of the local business people wanted to commit to, and so the idea was put on hold until 1898.  This allowed other ocean resorts -- notably Coney Island and Atlantic City -- to construct their steel piers first.

There were also a couple of false starts.  One guy wanted to build a stone pier -- get this -- over Googins Rocks -- but that got killed by the very business people who didn't want to spend the money on a steel pier, because the stone pier would have been blocks away from their business interests at the core of downtown.

So, anyhow, squabbling and scheming and pearl-clutching aside, the pier did finally get built, and it was a monster -- stretching 1800 feet out into the ocean.  The term at that time was "ocean-going pier."

Cruise ships came down from Portland,  docked at the far end of the pier and unloaded 800 passengers at a go.  There was a little steam train that ran the whole length from the Velvet Hotel, at landside, to the Casino, just short of the cruise ship docking.

And then there's the schooner Grecian Bend, out of Nova Scotia, bearing a load of plaster rocks (no, I don't know why) and headed for Boston (maybe there was no plaster in Boston?)  Coming down coast, the schooner developed a leak and the skipper decided to lay over in Portland for repairs.  But the sight of the newly-constructed casino glimpsed through thick fog convinced him he was further south than he actually was, and - long story short, he came aground at Grand Beach, about three-quarters of a mile north of the pier.  Very near, in fact, Temp Headquarters.

Now, here's the thing about the Grecian Bend:  Her crew had jettisoned cargo in order to try to float her, but she was grounded but good.  The rescue out of Biddeford Pool were able to deploy their surf boat and bring the crew out, but the schooner. . .just sat there.

She was purchased by a junk dealer out of Portland, who determined to refloat her, but that didn't work out, so. . .

. . .he just left her there - a derelict schooner.  On the beach.  Three-quarters of a mile out from the newest Wonder of the Eastern Seaboard.

Grecian Bend grounded in mid-June.  Over the next few months, just, yanno, sitting there in the sand, with the tide coming in and going out every six hours or so, every day, the schooner "hogged badly" (that means that it bent convexly along its length), and, one would imagine, became buried even deeper in the sand.

Along about Thanksgiving, though, there was a storm.  A very, very bad storm.  A killer storm.  Shipwreck buffs will know it as "The Portland Gale," which not only killed the steamer Portland, and all of its 191 passengers and crew, but 200 other ships.

The Grecian Bend broke to bits during this storm.  Pieces of it were flung by the furious waves into the yards of the ocean-facing cottages; and a large section of the hull lodged directly alongside the brand new pretty pier, right at the high tide line.

Before the town could do anything about it, on December 4, there was another storm -- not as bad; "just" a nor'easter.  The wreck rose on the storm tide and ripped the back (or front-most, depending on how you count) section of the pier, where the casino and the cruise ship dock was located.

The casino was smashed clean off the pier, plunged into the ocean and was delivered onto the beach in a state described by one eyewitness as  "...more completely demolished than if it had been blown up with dynamite."

And this, children, is why we ought not to leave derelict ships sitting for months on our beach.