Next week, my husband, Clif, will be turning 60, and tomorrow we are having a chili party to mark the big occasion. Our daughter Dee is coming from New York, and the South Portland contingent—our daughter Shannon and her husband, Mike—will of course be there. We have also invited some good friends to help us celebrate.

The past two weeks have been a flurry of cleaning. If I were as good a housekeeper as my mother was, then there would have been no need for the flurry of cleaning because everything would have been clean all along. My mother was a legendary cleaner. Once, Mom won the services of a professional cleaner, and when that woman came to do her job, she took one look at my mom’s house and asked, “What am I supposed to clean?” Let’s just say that she would never ask that question in my house.

But I’m happy to say that the house looks pretty good. Still not as good as Mom’s, but not bad. Now, it’s on to the cooking. Yesterday I made a quadruple batch of crackers—the recipe is adapted from the one in Mark Bittman’s How to Cook Everything Vegetarian—and the crackers came out just the way I like—a dark, golden brown. Into a big tin they went to keep them fresh. I also roasted beets for the salad I’ll be making, which will also include lettuce, roasted almonds, and feta cheese. And I made a simple vinaigrette, using sage, oregano, mint, and rosemary from my garden.

So those things are done. Today is the day for my biggest challenge—the birthday cake. Cakes are not my strong suit, and it probably stems from the fact that I am somewhat indifferent to cake. It’s not that I dislike it, but when it comes to dessert, there are many choices I would make first, with pie being right at the top. (This might also explain why making pie crust is a snap for me.) Somehow, my cakes have a tendency to fall. However, there is one cake I have consistent success with, and, luckily it is one of Clif’s favorites—buttermilk spice cake. As soon as this post is written, I’ll be making that cake, and you can bet I’ll be praying to the cake gods to smile on me so that the cake doesn’t fall. (Quite sensibly, we have a Plan B: a cake from Whole Foods if my cake falls.)

After cake, there is a bit more cleaning, and then getting the ingredients ready for the chili. Then there is the cream cheese olive and rosemary spread to go with the crackers. A busy day!

I hope to get pictures of the food and the party tomorrow. When we have a party, I am usually distracted by my duties as hostess, and I might have my daughter Dee take pictures.

Now, onward to the cake!

Last Saturday, a fine September day complete with a glorious September blue sky, my husband, Clif and I headed to Marlborough, Massachusetts, to attend the wedding of Andrea Maddi, a young woman whom we have known since she was six years old. Andrea has been friends with our daughter Shannon all through the years, and we quite literally have watched her grow up. I always find these rites of passage very moving, even though it, of course, means that I am growing old. But the young are taking their place in the world, which is as it should be, and somehow this is a great comfort to me. We all move on.

Clif and I left early to head “south,” and like many Mainers, I am always a little nervous crossing the Piscataqua River Bridge, the big bridge out of Maine that goes from Kittery to Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Conversely, it is always a great relief to cross that bridge back into Maine, to be coming home. I know. I am a hobbit by nature. Home is best.

The trip itself was uneventful. We didn’t get lost, we arrived with plenty of time to eat our lunch—yogurt, pretzels, and an apple—and change our clothes at the hotel where our daughter Shannon (the matron of honor in the wedding) and her husband, Mike, were staying.

Andrea and her husband, Ben Arnott, were married in a little white New England church with its very own steeple. The church was on a green, of course, and just up the road from a grist mill with a water wheel that proved to be the perfect spot for wedding photos.

Andrea, elegant as always, was a lovely bride. She and Ben were clearly thrilled to be getting married, and truly they both had a beautiful glow on their faces. No amount of money or trappings can compensate for this glow, which would make even the humblest place shine.

The reception was at a country club not far from the church, and readers, the food was very good, probably the best I have ever had at a wedding. Some of the delights included little crab cakes; chicken wrapped in phyllo dough; creamy squash soup; a basil, mozzarella, and tomato salad drizzled with a balsamic vinaigrette; and for Clif and me, tender, juicy fillet mignon, cooked just right. (There were two other main meal choices as well.)

During the meal, we sat next to a young man named Gordon Stocks IV. (His young son is Gordon Stocks V.) Gordon is the husband of Glenna, Andrea’s bridesmaid, and Gordon not only proved to be “a good eater,” cleaning his own plate as well as some from his wife’s plate, but he was also lively and engaging. In the course of our conversation we learned that Gordon owns his own tree service business. He’s the guy you call when a tree comes down in an inopportune place like, say, across your driveway or on the roof of your house. Or, if you’re smart, you call him to remove a tree before it falls someplace you’d rather not have it fall. If the tree is big and in a tight spot, Gordon climbs the tree to remove it piece by piece, which is why he can be both a good eater and very trim.

What interested me about Gordon and Glenna is how they have constructed their lives. Gordon has chosen a fairly nontraditional career. Let’s face it, not every young man wants to be spend his days shinnying up trees and splitting wood. But Gordon loves it, the challenges as well as the physical work. Glenna freelances as a graphic designer and also tends bar a couple of nights a week. This allows her to spend much of her time with her little son.

Early in their relationship, Glenna and Gordon bought a two-family house in town. Over time, this allowed them to buy five acres in the country and have a house built, where they did much of the work themselves. They have a garden and want to expand it as time goes on. Glenna, a girl after my own heart, would like to have chickens and other farm animals, too.

Through common sense, hard work, and careful planning, Glenna and Gordon are thriving in a time where it is not always easy to thrive. Not everyone could choose the path they have taken, but it certainly shows how with creativity, it is still possible for young couples to live a good life.

This, in turn, brings me back to Andrea and Ben. May they, too, thrive in these challenging times and live a good, creative life.

On Saturday, My husband, Clif, and I went to South Portland to visit our daughter Shannon and her husband, Mike. We brought along our dog, Liam, and Saturday was one of those brilliant September days that gives the month its shining reputation—warm but not hot with a deep blue sky and nary a bit of humidity to mar things.

This beautiful Saturday especially felt like a gift as it was the day we celebrated my birthday. Because the weather was so fine, we could do two of my favorite things—eat outside (at the Lobster Shack in Cape Elizabeth) and take a walk on nearby Crescent Beach.

An aside: Even though I was born in central Maine, about 50 miles from the ocean, I have an affinity for the sea. Mountains have beauty and grandeur, but there is something about them that makes me uncomfortable. The seaside is where I want to be.

So to the ocean we went, eating fried clams, scallops, and lobster rolls on the large terrace at The Lobster Shack. Then, it was on to Kettle Cove where we could park the car and walk the length of Crescent Beach, which does indeed have a crescent-like curve. Rocks, a sapphire-blue ocean that glittered under the sun, the sound of the waves on the beach, the pungent smell of the mud left by the receding tide, the beach grass on the edge, Liam doing his best Sheltie prance up and down the beach, and the family all came together to make this one fine day.

After that, we went to Shannon and Mike’s for cake, ice cream, and presents. Who could ask for anything more? Well, there was one more thing I would have liked—to have our daughter Dee join us. But she lives in New York. As I’m fond of noting, if only she lived in Boston. But never mind! Even without daughter Dee, it was a splendid day.

If last Saturday wasn’t the biggest day of the year in Winthrop, then it must come close. It was the day of the lobster roll luncheon at the Congregational Church, the annual art fair, and the library book sale. Our little town—population circa 6,000—actually had throngs, yes, throngs, of people on the street as they looked at art, bought food from various civic organizations, and meandered to the lovely green at the Congregational Church for more goodies, and most important, lobster rolls.

Since we live only a mile from town, the first big decision my husband, Clif, and I had to make was whether to walk or to ride our bikes. At first we decided to ride our bikes, but books were to be involved in this outing. Let me confess that our house is bulging with books. The bookshelves are filled, and books are tucked into every conceivable space. This year, I vowed I would only buy one special book from the library sale, and thus we could ride our bikes.

When I stated this lofty goal to Clif, I immediately realized how ridiculous it was. “Let’s bring backpacks and walk,” I quickly suggested.

“Good idea,” Clif replied.

So with our backpacks, off we went, bright and early, jaunty even though it was already a very hot and humid day. The book sale was held at the town office, and we were there well before the doors opened at 9:00. There was a line, and we were close enough to the front so that I noticed the usual group of booksellers who always come early enough to be first. They swoop in to buy cheap books, which they in turn will resell at higher prices in their own shops. The competition among booksellers is keen, and I once witnessed a nasty exchange—at a library sale in Brunswick—between two booksellers jockeying for position in line.

I have never had a run-in with booksellers for the simple reason that we are not attracted to the same books. As soon as the doors opened, I rushed over to the cookbook section, grabbed everything that looked interesting, and retired to a corner where I could decide if I really wanted all those books. The answer was no, but I came away with plenty, as this picture shows.

Clif found a few science fiction books, and now laden with books on a day that was getting hotter by the hour, we buzzed through the farmers’ market, saying hi to Farmer Kev, Marinna of Snafu Acres, and Karen of Wholesome Holsmstead. Today, there was no room in the packs for food from the farmers’ market.

“That’s all right,” Karen said. “You certainly support us.”

We sure do, and next week we will be at the market to buy some things.

We strolled through the art fair, and there were several artists who caught our attention, especially a young man from Waterville—unfortunately we did not get his name—who specializes in paintings of warehouses and industrial buildings. It seems to me he is good enough to go beyond sidewalk art fairs and eventually be shown in galleries and museums. He has the talent; all he needs is some luck.

In the middle of the fair, we fortified ourselves with some hand-cut fries from one of the local civic organizations—I can’t remember if it was the Lions or the Kiwanis. My, those fries were good and at $2.50, a real bargain.

After that, it was on to the Congregational Church for a much-anticipated lobster roll. But first, we stopped at the goodies table to choose dessert, two handmade lemon cookies, moist and chewy. (I could have one right now with a cup of tea.)

We picked up our lobster rolls, and found a place to sit in the shade. The temperature was well over 90 degrees by this point, and the shade was very welcome.

As we were eating, a young man and his grandmother asked if they could sit next to us in the shade. Of course, we answered. I noticed the that the young man’s T-shirt had the logo “Rambler Productions.”  Being a nosy person who is interested in movies, I asked him about it. From Spencer Roberts—the young man’s name—I found out that Winthrop High actually offers a film class and that the new high school has some decent equipment. I also learned that Spencer is a film student at New England School of Communications in Bangor, Maine.

Spencer told us that two summers ago, he had helped worked on a film called The Putt Putt Syndrome, parts of which were filmed in beautiful downtown Winthrop.

“Winthrop?” I asked in astonishment.

“Winthrop,” Spencer answered. “At Norcross Point and at Dave’s Appliance. I shot some behind the scenes stuff for the DVD, and I was a gofer, too. The movie is going to be showing next Saturday [August 27] at Railroad Square in Waterville.”

I had known nothing of a film being shot in Winthrop. How had that escaped me?

“We’ll have to go the movie,” I said, reflecting on the things you can learn at a lobster roll luncheon in a small town.

Spencer and his grandmother left. Clif and I finished our lobster rolls and headed home. Between the books and the heat, the walk was a real trudge, and I was happy to reach our shady yard, ditch the knapsack, and sit on the patio.

Slowly, slowly, I recovered from the heat. I had iced tea, a snack, and plenty of books to peruse. A perfect way to spend a hot afternoon.

On Saturday, we celebrated the one-year wedding anniversary of our daughter Shannon and her husband, Mike. My, what a frenzy it was last year at this time, with getting wedding favors ready, picking up flowers, hosting a bridesmaids’ luncheon, and the myriad of things that seem to go along with having a wedding. But a lovely wedding it was on a perfect August day, sunny and hot but dry.

In our family, we like to celebrate almost any occasion by cooking a special meal. Since it is August, and we were hoping the weather would cooperate so that we could grill food and eat on the patio, we planned our menu accordingly. We decided to go light on the appetizers, having learned that too many appetizers spoil the appetite for the main meal. We had tortilla chips and salsa, always a favorite with Mike, and our favorite retro clam dip along with regular chips.

Luckily, the weather did cooperate, and this Saturday was as fine as the wedding day itself. This meant we could have grilled bread, a course unto itself. Over the years, my husband, Clif, has developed quite the knack with grilled bread, and he stretches and pulls the uncooked dough like a pro. In fact, he has become so good at it that grilled bread is now the expected summer treat when family and friends come over, and if for some reason we don’t have it, then they are disappointed. All you need is good olive oil for dipping.

For the main meal, we all agreed that steak, corn on the cob, and garlic, basil mashed potatoes would be just the thing. Not only was it the main meal, but it was also a Maine meal. The steak came from Wholesome Holmstead in Winthrop, the corn from Jillson’s Farm in Sabattus, and the potatoes were Farmer Kev’s, also in Winthrop. Even the butter—Kate’s Butter—came from Maine.

Although my gardens are little frowsy this time of year, there is no sweeter place to be in the summer on a fine day than on our patio. The crickets sang their end-of-summer song as we toasted Shannon and Mike and worked our way through appetizers, grilled bread, and steak, potatoes, and corn. By the time we had finished, dusk had settled over the backyard, and with it the evening dew.

Inside we went, for cake, ice cream, and tea. The cake, as is the tradition, was the very top of the wedding cake, bagged and frozen for the past year. I did wonder what that cake would taste like, but truly it was pretty good. Not as fresh and as nice as it was on the wedding day but nonetheless still enjoyable a year later.

Naturally, a gift was in order, and we decided to get a food processor for two of our favorite foodies. I use mine a lot, and I know Shannon and Mike will use theirs a lot, too.

Happy anniversary, Shannon and Mike. May you have many, many more!

Addendum: Ali, of the blog Henbogle, asked for the clam dip recipe. Here it is, copied from one of my previous posts about clam dip and nostalgia.

Clam Dip
Adapted from the recipe on the can of Snow’s minced clams

1 (6.5 oz) minced clams, drained. Reserve the liquid.
¼ cup of sour cream
1 (8 oz) package of cream cheese, softened
1 clove garlic, dry roasted and finely chopped
¼ teaspoon of Worcestershire sauce

Note about the garlic: Raw garlic has a bite that often leads to indigestion. To mitigate this, heat a fry pan (do not add oil) and place the unpeeled garlic in the hot pan. Flip, stir, or toss the clove from time to time. What you want are a few brown spots on the skin, but not too many. In other words, don’t burn it. Let the garlic cool a bit. Peel and chop. You will have a lovely, mellow clove of garlic, still flavorful but without the overwhelming presence so often found in raw garlic.

Beat the cream cheese, sour cream, and enough of the clam liquid so that the mixture has a smoothness and texture that you like. I use 3 Tablespoons, but this is a matter of taste. If you like a thinner dip, just add more of the clam liquid. After you have a consistency that you like, blend the clams, garlic, and Worcestershire sauce into the cream cheese and sour cream mixture. Chill.Then, get a bag of ruffled chips. If you have orange or yellow bowls for the chips and dip, then use them. Put on Carole King or James Taylor or any other of the great singer/songwriters from the 1970s. Invite some old—I mean this literally—friends over.

Then, as you listen to King and Taylor, dip those ruffled chips. And wax nostalgic.

Last week, Helen McGowan Michaud died. She was the mother of my friend Debbie Maddi, and Helen had been sick for several years. Naturally, I wanted to cook something for Debbie and her husband, Dennis, and from personal experience, I know that during such times, one’s stomach can be very queasy. Unless someone in the family has diabetes, carb-heavy meals, soothing and a little bland, are just the thing, and accordingly I decided to make macaroni and cheese for Debbie and Dennis. I would also make them some bread and bring cucumbers from my little garden.

Helen was born in 1916 in Ashland, Maine. (In time and location, she was not far apart from my grandmother, who was born in 1911 in Caribou, Maine.) An outgoing, energetic woman, Helen raised five children, worked in the grocery store she and her husband co-owned, was a library trustee, a member of the Historical Society, and the Music Booster Club. And Helen played the piano. According to the obituary in the Bangor Daily News, when Helen was younger, “for many years, along with her brothers, she played in the McGowan Family band throughout ‘The County.'” Aroostook county, that is, for readers unfamiliar with Maine.

I had the good luck of not only meeting Helen but also of going on an outing with her, Debbie, Debbie’s daughter, Andrea, and my own children, Dee and Shannon. We went to a place called Coos Canyon, in Byron, Maine. Coos Canyon is a 1,500-foot long gorge where the water sometimes rushes and sometimes is very calm. It is a perfect place for picnics and swimming, if the water isn’t too rough.

I remember how ready Helen was to have fun with us and the children, and even though she was not a young woman then—this must have been twenty years ago—how spry she was, nimbly stepping over rocks and roots. Yet despite her zest and energy, Helen was easy to be around, and this is not always the case with energetic women (or men!).

In Battles at Thrush Green by Miss Read, I came across this line about a friend of one of the main characters, someone who “loved life” and had “a great capacity for enjoyment.” That to me, captures Helen. A wonderful thing!

When I delivered the macaroni and cheese, the bread, and the cucumbers, Debbie asked me, “Do you remember the trip we took with my mother to Coos Canyon?”

Yes, I certainly do.