Last night, dinner with family at sister's camp with s'mores (nothing local about it) that the kids were psyched to make and the adults were not as enthusiastic about eating. Frankly, the majority of the marshmallows ended up on the ground, which is just plain gross.
|what a bunch of fatties|
Today, I tried to do a bit of work but I didn't even succeed at that. I had a very unreliable Internet connection so wiggly ear sister and I went into town to use the Internet at the Skidompha Library but it was closed. (In the interest of being honest, I mention the library because I love to use the word "Skidompha.") We went to the Maine Coast Bookshop where we couldn't find seating so we walked across the street to Damariscotta River Grill (thinking we'd have a cocktail and maybe some Internet) but they didn't offer Internet, so we went back to the book store where all the tables had miraculously cleared out but, as we discovered after ordering our coffee, the tables had cleared because the Internet was down. So, we chucked it all and walked over to King Eider's Pub for a martini. I'm done picking fights with the cosmos.
But exercise? No. I did not walk. I did not run. I did not kick.
Sorry, that's a private joke that I should probably share. I have a friend who is a remarkably beautiful skier. When we were in college, she decided she might want to learn how to snowboard but she wasn't sure how to go about it, so the conversation turned to the whole "goofy foot" discussion about whether she should face downhill with her left foot or her right foot. She didn't know which. So, someone asked her which foot she kicks with. Her answer: "I...don't."
She doesn't walk. She doesn't run. She doesn't kick.
|pretty christmas cove|
Lunch today was Coveside in Christmas Cove. New owners--the same guy who owns Newcastle Public House--and you know what? Best frigging Bloody Mary with the best frigging BLT ever. No lie. Dinner tonight with the family was old-school beef, butter, and potatoes--and more than one joke about traveling back in time to the 1950s--and I have no idea whether anything was local. I'm on a slippery slope of negligence here.
Otherwise, I have little to report other than an ever expanding waistline and a cushier tush.