Because I have been black-belt dieting for the past couple of months, I have not been going to the Flaky Tart, one of my favorite places to eat in Winthrop. No matter how good the food is at a restaurant, it is very difficult to control the amount of calories in any given meal. When fall comes, I told myself, I’ll stop by once a week or so to have a cup of the Tart’s delicious soup, which even a black-belt dieter can have without guilt. (Note: My black-belt dieting is working, and I have lost over 60 pounds.)

However, yesterday, even though the day was rainy, I walked into town to go to the library. By the time I came out, the rain was pelting down, and as I came to the Flaky Tart, I decided that a cup of tea and a small treat might be just the thing. I could sit at a table by the window, have my snack and tea, and hope that the rain would let up when it was time to walk home.

As it turned out, there were no small treats, but there were homemade granola bars, or breakfast bars, as they are billed at the Tart.

“Well,” I said to myself. “Why not have one of those? You have a granola bar for your snack everyday.”

But the ones I have at home are not as big as they are at the Tart, and I knew I’d have to break the bar in thirds. Not a problem at all. I took a third of the bar, wrapped up the rest, and put it in my pocketbook next to the ginger cookie I bought for my husband, Clif. The granola bar was out of sight, and therefore out of mind, as the saying goes. It’s a silly trick, but it works.

I ordered some iced tea to go with the granola bar and sat at my favorite spot, that table by the window. I watched as cars went up and down the street. For the most part, the sidewalks were empty, and there is something melancholy about empty sidewalks on a rainy day.

Across the street, in the window of Pete’s Roast Beef, the “open” sign flashed off and on. In a big SUV parked next to the Tart, a little dog with a white and brown head barked as he waited for his person to return. I could see the dog’s mouth open and close, but I couldn’t hear the bark.

Soon, the granola bar, one of the best I have ever had, was gone, as was the iced tea. The sky didn’t look as gray, and the rain appeared to have abated, at least a little.

Time to go home to my own dog and another walk, if the weather allowed.

Once upon a time, there was a forgotten garden.

Where there had been flowers, there were now mostly weeds.

And remnants of an earlier time.

But although the garden was forgotten, it was not empty.

They are waiting.

Our vacation is over, and what a good one it was. We went to two movies—the excellent Beasts of the Southern Wild and the very good Safety Not Guaranteed. We went to the Theater at Monmouth and saw 4 plays in 3 days, and one of the plays—The Glass Menagerie—was so good that I think it’s safe to borrow a phrase—“alchemy in the theater”—from the late great Canadian writer Robertson Davies and apply that phrase to The Glass Menagerie. On the night we went, by the devastating yet poetic end, the audience was completely quiet. No coughing, no shifting, no unwrapping of paper. Just silence. As of today—August 14th—there are two more productions of The Glass Menagerie at the Theater at Monmouth. One is on Wednesday, August 15th at 1:00 P.M., and the other is on Saturday, August 18th at 7:30 P.M. I encourage readers who are within driving distance to come to Monmouth and see this terrific production.

Our daughter Dee, from New York, was here for the week, and what she wanted to eat were fresh vegetables, especially corn. In August, Maine gardens are pretty much at their zenith, and we had new little red potatoes, boiled; corn on the cob; grilled zucchini, summer squash, and broccoli; raw carrots and tomatoes; cantaloupe. All of this came from Maine, as well as the eggs we had for breakfast and the syrup we had on our waffles and French toast.

Midweek, our friends Judy and Paul Johnson invited us over for dinner, where there was more corn on the cob as well as grilled chicken with Moorish spices and a quinoa and kale salad. The evening was fine and we ate outdoors, and when the meal was over, Judy’s two young granddaughters ran and played in the fields surrounding the house.

Finally, we had a gathering of film buff friends over on Saturday for a pasta dinner with Clif’s famous grilled bread. For dessert there was homemade ice cream pie. I want to note that Shannon’s sauce with meat balls is well on its way to becoming famous and is certainly one of her specialties. She got the recipe from Cook’s, so I can’t share it, but it’s so good that Clif made sure we helped ourselves to some of the leftovers.

Dee left on Sunday, and after all the hubbub of the week, Clif and I felt letdown.

“Let’s go to the Red Barn,” I suggested, “for an end of vacation splurge.”

Clif didn’t argue, and although the day was overcast, we were able to eat outside. I had a lobster roll, Clif had fried chicken, and we both had a child-size soft-serve ice-cream cone for dessert. As we ate, we talked about our vacation—in reality a “staycation.”

“What did you enjoy the most?” I asked Clif.

“All of it,” he said. “I wish we could have had another week. One is not really enough.”

I couldn’t argue. And what better place to be in August than in Maine?

Our daughter Dee is visiting from New York, and we have a busy week planned: Four plays in 3 days at the Theater at Monmouth; a movie—Beasts of the Southern Wild—at Railroad Square Cinema; a gathering of friends on the weekend; meals on the patio; homemade chocolate chip cookies; and homemade ice cream pie. With its blend of the rural and the cultural, central Maine is a great place to be in August, when the days are usually hot but dry and the nights are cool.

Anyway, I’ll more or less be on vacation until next Monday.