Monday, August 27, 2007

This Week's Laundry


...is ALL DONE, thanks to my husband, and it's ONLY Monday!

Hanging Out with Patrick:

My Pride and Joy! I get the night shift in our household. I sure miss the all day and night shift, but that's another blog. If you know anything about me at all or read my other blog you'll know I love to be near the water.

On this absolutely gorgeous late summer day in Maine I just couldn't stay in this evening and watch every Pooh video imaginable, which is what, I think, he wanted to do. I opted for the ocean. Patrick fell asleep, but aha! I was prepared with my bag of books, notebooks, drafts, etc. I worked on a story that I've been doing for about a year, and also my The Freelance Writer's Bible* exercises which I really enjoy, and reading over notes, jots and tittles from the last year.

I enjoyed watching the Atlantic and people in between snores from the back seat and scribbling away in my notebook. And this is what I saw: kids running up and down the hill behind the lighthouse with their kites 10 feet behind them and Dad yelling, "go, run, yea!" over and over again. Grown sons with their aging parents and terrier from New York on vacation. One son had the dog, the other, Dad, who with small, slow steps and his son's arm got to enjoy the views. Two ladies in lawn chairs reading and chatting. A foreign Dad running with his daughter chasing his son and calling to each other. Sea roses in bloom. Blue and green every where. The ocean calm. Warm. Sunny. Just enough breeze. Perfect. One last August hurrah in Maine.

Relationship Strings:
On the way out, I saw the infamous FREE cardboard piece with piles of junk on a front lawn, right next to The Ducks sign. The lounge chairs caught my eye, so we turned around and went back. Just as I pulled in, another vehicle did and out jumped a Dad and his two girls. They were there for the "dragon", which I hadn't noticed the first two times by. The girls told me excitedly they knew these people and could come see the dragon whenever they wanted. Patrick decided he did indeed want to go see this dragon, even though he said, "Dragon, scare me?" a couple times. Of course, I had no camera. I debate this every time I leave the house, camera? no camera? I opted no camera tonight figuring I had enough so-so pics from the summer. Now we're driving back to S. Bristol later this week to shoot the dragon.

It was big, made of aluminum, chicken wire and something else, painted in authentic green with appropriate red and black, had lighted eyes and breathed smoke! The maker, maybe the women's son? told me he made it for Halloween and it had seen some parades and a local Harry Potter event. It was fun. So here we were 4 adults, 3 kids, not knowing each other chatting and laughing about a dragon and all the things the kids were saying on this women's front lawn. It was a moment out of a magazine for me.

When do people really take time to chat just because they are there. I certainly don't get enough of this kind of "community", albeit small talk with strangers, for my liking. For one thing, I'm a wallflower, but I miss community. I miss front porches. I miss neighborhood picnics. Heck, I've never had one before, so I guess I can't really miss it then. It made my night when I drove off and the sweet woman waved!

This is now the Relationship Strings part of my blog and it's mantra will be "Relationships are Important". Even if they are strangers talking about a green dragon. Incidentally I did not take the chairs. They reclined back so far I didn't know if they would stop. I did find three Tom Clancy hard backs and some glass bottles that I knew would interest my husband. Apparently the girls had scavenged all the FREE stuffed animals the day before from this lawn and the Dad was bemoaning how if I'd only come the day before I could have been so lucky to win the singing frog we were listening to just then.

*The Freelance Writer's Bible is by David Trottier, a writer and teacher and this is probably his text book. I love it! I bought it at my friendly, local Borders.

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