A Good Night’s Sleep

Last night, I went to bed at about 11:30 p.m., and I slept straight through until nearly 8:00 a.m. without waking up once. Now for younger folks, this might not sound like much of an achievement. It might even sound a little boring.

But as I have, ahem,  reached a certain age, a full night’s sleep often eludes me.

And why did I sleep so well last night? It wasn’t because of medication—I didn’t even take a Benadryl.

Could it be because the Affordable Care Act (ACA) was not repealed, and I still have affordable health insurance, at least for the moment? (With the Republican plan, it was estimated that we’d have to pay over 50 percent of our income for my health insurance. There was no way we could afford this, even if we cut out all our simple pleasures.)

Ever since Trump was elected president, I have been worrying about my health care. Simply put, I did not have a Plan B if health insurance jumped to over 50 percent of our income. And this past few weeks, when the drumbeat for repealing the ACA grew ever louder, I have been worrying even more.

But it seems the Republicans are a house divided—the proposed replacement bill was too drastic for the moderates and not draconian enough for the radicals. Hence, not enough votes to repeal the current ACA. President Trump and House Speaker Paul Ryan pulled the bill, and as Ryan noted, the ACA is the law of the land for the foreseeable future.

No wonder I slept so well!

Now, if only the Republicans would work with the Democrats to fix what is wrong with the ACA. I know some people whose insurance premiums, while not technically unaffordable, are too expensive and will not cover certain tests. The ACA was a start, not the finish, and with proper amending, these problems could be fixed.

But at least the Affordable Care Act wasn’t ditched, and maybe, just maybe, it will someday be put to rights so that the ACA benefits all who need it.

I can hope.

 

 

 

Abby Paige at the Franco-American Centre: Tous mes Cousins / All My Cousins

Last night Clif and I went to the Franco-American Center at the University of Maine at Orono to see Abby Paige, a terrific performer and writer.  She presented her work-in-progress Tous mes cousins / All My Cousins, an  “intimate new bilingual play about what it means to be French, to be family, to be Franco-American in French Canada, and to be fed up with Jack Kerouac.”

The talented Abby Paige

A very brief history of Franco-Americans in the United States: From the post Civil War era to the 1930s, one-third of French Canada immigrated to the United States, mostly in New England.  Impoverished and hungry, they came to work in the factories the region was so famous for. In forty years, towns went from having no French speakers to having anywhere from 25 percent to 60 percent of the population speaking French. Having so many French-speaking Catholics settle in Yankee Protestant towns brought, shall we say, a certain amount of tension. And discrimination. For those of us who are of French Canadian descent—and I am both on my mother’s and father’s side—there is a distinct feeling of not belonging, of not being French Canadian and of not being fully American.

This is an ideal, albeit uncomfortable, place for an artist to be, the rough grain of sand that produces the pearl, as the saying goes. Abby Paige, who was born and raised in Vermont, is of French Canadian descent on her mother’s side. She now lives in New Brunswick, and Tous mes cousins / All My Cousins explores the notion of not being French enough in Canada and perhaps being too French in the United States.

Abby Paige does this brilliantly, with multiple characters and their monologues—herself, a breathless teenager, an uncle, and Jack Kerouac, who both irritates and fascinates her.  Abby Paige’s transition from one character to another was seamless, and when she went from being the teenage girl to being the uncle, she was almost unrecognizable. I especially loved the uncle’s monologue, where he told of how he occasionally went to an Italian friend’s home, where spaghetti was served—a real treat as the uncle didn’t get this at home—and where there was a picture of Mussolini in the basement.

We learned from the discussion after the presentation that to many French Canadians, Franco-Americans are failures who deserted their homeland. To my way of thinking, this is a mighty strange way of looking at the situation. After all one third of the population left French Canada because conditions were too miserable for families to thrive. Abby Paige explores this dichotomy in Tous mes cousins / All My Cousins in a scene where she speaks halting French at her son’s bilingual school in Canada and endures the patient but condescending attitude of the teacher.

Tous mes cousins / All My Cousins is an impressive beginning of an exploration of not only identity but also of the history of New England and French Canada. I’m really looking forward to seeing the finished show.

 

 

Happy First Day of Spring!

All right. It’s the first day of spring in the northern hemisphere, which certainly includes Maine. And here is what it looked like this morning at the little house in the big woods.

Blog friends in warmer climes, eat your hearts out.

But somehow, despite the snow, I do have spring in my heart this morning.

Maybe it’s because of the weekend, where we had this

and this

and this.

Happy spring to all!

Ta-Dah! Our Fortieth Anniversary Arriveth!

Forty years ago today, two very impractical and disorganized people got married in a little chapel in Vassalboro, Maine. I’m sure many in attendance wondered if the marriage would last four years, never mind forty. I’m referring to Clif and me, of course, and wonder of wonders, the marriage has lasted.

Why have we stayed together so long when many marriages fail? If I had the answer to that, I’d write a bestseller and make tons of money. Alas, I don’t have a definitive answer.

There are some glimmers, though. Along with being impractical and disorganized—alas, we are still both that way—we are also creative and persistent. At first glance, those two traits might seem like a consolation prize, but in our marriage, at least, they count for a lot. We both value the creative life and the sizzle it brings to all that we do. Clif’s creativity falls more to the visual and graphics, where mine is words and story. It’s a great combination that we have employed many times over these forty years.

We both love opening up our home to friends and family, to gather around the table to eat and talk. In our younger days, we had large gatherings, and the little house in the big woods was often filled with people.

Now that we are, ahem, more mature, and have slowed down, our gatherings are smaller and much simpler. But as Clif noted today, it’s better to get together here rather than at a restaurant. There are no time pressures, and we can talk as long as we want. In the winter, we enjoy our good-sized dining room, and in the summer our patio.

Politically, we are in perfect accord. Again, this might not sound like much, but to us it’s of vital importance. We were left-leaning liberals when we met, and forty years later, we are still that way.

We both love movies, books, plays, lectures, and art. Biking. The outdoors. Our children and our friends. Going and out and having a good time. Staying in and having a good time.

And maybe those above-mentioned things are enough, that we have such a strong common core that it compensates for being impractical and disorganized.

All I know is this: The cherry on the marriage sundae is that after forty years of being together, Clif and I are still good friends. For that, we are oh so grateful.

Here’s a collage Clif put together of our forty years of marriage.

 

 

Back on Track with Anniversary Brouhaha: To the Red Barn

As regular readers of this blog know, Clif and I will soon be celebrating our fortieth anniversary—on Sunday, March 19, to be precise. To mark this milestone anniversary, Clif and I decided to celebrate often and early with a week of special outings in central Maine.

As it is March and still cold and snowy, most of what we did involved food and eating, although we did throw in art and a movie for some variety. We were moving right along with our staycation/celebration, but then Mother Nature had other plans, in the form of a blizzard.

That knocked two days off our fun as we hunkered down on Tuesday and then cleaned over a foot and a half of snow. This took us right to Wednesday, and I don’t mind admitting that Clif and I were just plain pooped when we had finished cleaning all that white stuff.

Our friends Judy and Paul did bring us lunch on Wednesday—deli cheese and ham, potato salad, sour dough bread—so it wasn’t a complete bust. In fact, lunch was very tasty indeed, and I will be keeping such lunches in mind for other occasions, with pesto and mozzarella added for vegetarian friends.

On Thursday, the dog was ill with digestive problems, and we didn’t dare leave him.

Fortunately, Liam was back to his old self on Friday. The day was sunny and warm—for March and for Maine—and Clif and I knew where we were going for lunch: To the Red Barn in Augusta.

We also knew what we would order—a seafood basket, filled with flaky fish, sweet little shrimp, even sweeter scallops,  delectable clams, and French fries.

And for dessert? Why, a whoopie pie, of course, to round off this wicked good Maine meal.

Now here’s the astonishing part. For this meal, with its fresh, fresh seafood and homemade whoopie pie, we paid $20. Total. Admittedly, Clif and I shared the basket and the whoopie pie. We even shared a drink. But still. For most adults, there is plenty of food in a Red Barn basket for two people, and half a whoopie pie is more than enough after all that fried food.

A teenage boy might not be satisfied with so much sharing, but Clif and I are way past our teenage years.

The storm that was supposed to hit Maine this weekend decided to bypass us. Hallelujah! This means we can keep to our schedule of anniversary fun.

I’ll report back tomorrow.

About Yesterday

First the good news.

There was apple pie, in honor of pi(e) day.

And we didn’t lose our power. Hip, hip, hooray! Make that a double hip, hip hooray.

But, oh, how the snow came and the wind blew. Clif took a picture from inside as the blizzard was whipping full force. (You can see one brave, lone plow-truck in the road.)

We figure a foot and a half of snow fell. Our home now looks like a winter wonderland.

Spring is how many days away?

Not seventy-four. That’s our house number 😉 Actually, spring is only five days away. But with more snow slated for Saturday, it feels like seventy-four.

Ah, March!

To Lucky’s

Yesterday, to continue with the foodie celebration of our anniversary, Clif and I went to Lucky Garden in Hallowell for lunch. (It is March in Maine, after all, so no long walks on the beach for us.)

Both Clif and I are very keen on Chinese food, and Lucky’s, as it’s known locally, has a tasty buffet with nary a hint of jello of any color. In Maine, alas, it is all too common for jello to be featured in many buffets at Chinese restaurants. As a rule, the jello is an indication of the quality of the rest of the food.

Clif decided to try the Chinese beer, which he described as a bit like a light lager, and it went well with the food.

Here is my plate of noodles, and sesame chicken, and egg roll.

After lunch, we went down to the landing by the Kennebec River so that we could take pictures of the ice chunks. I especially love this time of year when the ice in the river is in the process of melting, and the chunks are heading out to the Atlantic, many miles away.

As the photos indicate, the day was bright and sunny. A perfect day for pictures.

Not so today. A nor’easter is blowing up the coast, and the prediction is for between sixteen and twenty inches of snow.

Clif and I will be staying home today—no going out and about in such stormy weather. But, today is also pi(e) day, a perfect time to make one of Clif’s favorites—apple pie.

And after all the cleaning we’ll have to do after this storm, apple pie will be just the thing.

I’ll be sure to post a picture tomorrow.

To Railroad Square Cinema to See Kedi, a Lovely, Soulful Movie about Cats

Yesterday,  as part of our week-long celebration of our fortieth wedding anniversary, Clif and I went to Railroad Square Cinema to see Kedi, a Turkish documentary about the street cats of Istanbul. As the title of this post indicates, I absolutely loved the movie.

However, before I get into a brief description of Kedi, I do want to establish I am more of a dog person than a cat person. Not that I don’t like cats. I most certainly do. At present there are two resident felines at the little house in the big woods, and I am very fond of both of them. But for me, dogs rank number one. That’s just the way it is.

Nevertheless, Kedi struck me to the core with its soulfulness and beauty. And unlike many documentaries, it didn’t seem a minute too long. (My husband Clif felt otherwise, and I’m wondering if all the cute kitten videos I watch on YouTube has built up my cat-watching stamina.)

Here is a blurb from the movie’s website:  “Cats, all kinds of cats, roam the city, free, without a human master. Some fend for themselves…others are cared for by communities of people, pampered with the best cat food and given shelter for the cold months. Cats have been a part of the city for thousands of years, and so, everyone who grows up in Istanbul or lives in Istanbul has a story about a cat….Street cats are such a big part of the culture that when US president Barack Obama visited Istanbul, part of his tour included a stop at the Hagia Sophia to visit its famous cat. Cats are as integral to the identity of Istanbul as its monuments, the Bosporus, tea, raki and fish restaurants.”

Kedi, which means cat in Turkish, follows seven cats and the people with whom they have bonded, including an artist, a deli owner, and a depressed man who finds meaning by feeding some of the street cats. From these people, there are lovely ruminations about cats and what they bring to the city.  One woman notes that how we treat animals is a reflection of how we treat people in general. So true! The people, while taking care of the cats, admire their Independence and let them come and go as they please.

Another cat lover says, “Dogs think that people are God but cats don’t. Cats know that people act as middlemen to God’s will. They’re not ungrateful. They just know better.” (This, no doubt, will bring howls of objections from dog lovers.)

Then there are the cats themselves—Sari, Duman, Bengü, Aslan, Gamsiz, Psikopat, and Deniz. The cinematography is nothing short of amazing as the cameras catch what cats do: prowl, climb, jump, leap, stalk mice, lovingly tend their kittens, fight, and show deep affection toward the humans who love them.

Kedi is a more a meditation about the street cats of Istanbul than a traditional documentary with an arc. For me, it worked so well that not only would I like to see this movie again, but I would also like to own the movie on DVD.

And there are not many movies I feel this way about.

 

Of Chocolate Mousse and Cupcakes

Yesterday, the weather turned frigid again—7° Fahrenheit with a brisk wind. Oh my, it was brisk. And yet some people were waiting in line at Fielder’s Choice for ice cream. They were either really brave, awfully numb, or a combination of the two.

Not Clif and me. We had a gift certificate to Barnes & Noble, and we went to the cafe for tea, chocolate mousse, and a cupcake. Very tasty and ever so much better than waiting outside for ice cream in such cold weather.

We also bought a copy of The Atlantic, and we have decided to subscribe to this excellent magazine in honor of our fortieth wedding anniversary.

Since the last presidential election, Clif and I are committed to supporting the various media who believe that facts do matter. Yes, subscriptions cost money, but we consider this money well spent.

In the land of alternative facts, never have publications such as the New York Times, The New Yorker, or The Atlantic seemed so important.

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