The Reverend David Rivers

Very recently, my father-in-law, Rev. David Rivers, passed away after a long illness.  You can read his obituary HERE.

Smarter and more eloquent folks than I will write better remembrances of David, so I'm not even going to try to be anything other than simple and honest.  Here goes.

I remember vividly the very first time I met Ms. Rivers' father:  It was a family gathering at Grotto Pizza, Harvey's Lake, around Christmas time.  This was my introduction to much of Ms. Rivers' family, and I was a bit unsure of things.  One of the reasons why...and I swear this is the absolute truth...was that I had never really met a Protestant clergy member before.  I literally didn't know what to expect.  Now in all fairness, Ms. Rivers did somewhat prepare me for the event, but there is only so much that can be done in situations like this.  Anyway, I entered Grotto Pizza, and one of the first people I met was David, who was in attendance with his brother Dick Rivers (a retired and well-regarded coal company attorney from Philadelphia).  Upon meeting me, the very first thing out of his mouth, along with his brother, was a Dolly Parton joke.  I kid you not.  They laughed, and I was mainly confused.  This was my introduction to Protestant clergy.  And to Ms. Rivers' family.

I love telling the above story, by the way.  

This is the part where I say that I was welcomed into the family, etc.  That is true, by the way.  Here's the thing about David though: More so than the vast majority of folks I've ever met, he was very smart, but equally unassuming.  Whatever I thought about how an Episcopal priest should be mattered not when it came to him.  On more than one occasion over the years he would ask me a question about something happening in "The Roman Church", requiring me to basically speak for all of Roman Catholicism.  This is, by the way, an almost frighteningly humorous position for me to be in.  Anyway, I didn't mind, because he would ask out of a genuine interest in the discussion.  There was never any semblance of being judged...there was only an honest interest in my opinion and the discussion to be had as a whole.  I've since come to regard the Episcopal Church as being a kind of home, with the Rev. David Rivers personally exemplified its very best.

In addition to being the "family Catholic" there were/are other differences that one would think could (but actually didn't) make me feel out of place in the Rivers family, including abstaining from alcohol, my limited choices in food...best described by many as "eating like a toddler"...my lack of interest in folk music, or the Phillies, etc.  But none of that ever seemed to matter with David, as he had a wonderful ability to see people and things in ways that transcended mere labels.  

Finally, I will note that, of all the Rivers siblings (daughters Christine, Julie, Diana and son John), I think my wife is the most like her father.  They have shared a similar temperament, a quiet sort of deep intelligence, and a strong sense of real-world morality.  Both represent the very definition of "good people", and my life has forever been changed for the better by knowing them.  While David is gone, his living legacy remains, carried forward wonderfully by all of his children, especially his oldest daughter Christine.

"The song is ended, but the melody lingers on" 

Irving Berlin 

There Was No Joy

I was at church a past Sunday, and as usual, the very young man who helps with the collection did his typical and joyful sprint after delivering the goods to the altar.  That always makes me smile.  It’s also a far cry from what I remember as a child, going to Holy Family Church in Scranton.

The biggest difference between then and now?  Back then, there was no joy.

What we had instead was a clergy that was more interested in formality, rigidity and obedience.  If “God is Love” (1 John, 4:8) then I’d be hard pressed to think that God was actually there.  Granted that I see the need for managing the audience, if you will, back when church attendance was much higher, but this went well beyond the tactics of orchestrating large groups of humans.  There was a tenable kind of feeling of obligation…of “doing it because you were told”…instead of really learning what, for example, what the Gospels could teach us about life 2000 years later. 

Had that little boy done his joyful sprinting back then, well, there would have been stern words afterwards.  Ponder that for a moment:  A small child is genuinely happy to be at church and participating…so much so that he’s literally running with joy in his footsteps.  And yet decades ago, this would have been met with disdain and likely anger.  Maybe, just maybe, had a bit of joy been universally encouraged back then, perhaps some churches wouldn’t be in the attendance pickle that seems so very pervasive these days.

I do realize, by the way, that “things were different” when I was a child.  Some of those differences were for the better then, such as the general pace of things.  Today, well I know that things move too fast for some (that’s a different post for another day), and many seem like they are being left behind in our modern world.   Some of those differences were definitely for the worse, such as how we treated the environment.  Wait…those bad old day might be coming back.  Anyway, the concept of being different is almost agnostic in that it can’t be proven to be better or worse when you look at everything combined.  Different is simply different.

I will note that I don’t go to church every Sunday.  Maybe twice a month.  It all depends. 

But when I do go, I think age has taught me lessons about priorities and what I really should be paying attention to at any given moment.  Part of that is the sense of an actual, physical community, which is something that, in our increasingly virtual world, is becoming all too infrequent.  Granted that I am not the greatest community member (that would involve interacting with humans a bit too much for me), but there is a kind of purity in having someone come up to you in church and ask you how you are doing.  And sincerely mean it, by the way.  Last but not least, I enjoy going to church with Ms. Rivers…it’s one of those “our time” kind of things.  She’s more active in things than I am, so I’d like to think that I am kind of like her chief cheerleader, consigliere, and (really not needed) bodyguard.

To end this screed, and speaking of ending things, my church growing up, Holy Family in Scranton, was torn down years ago.  I made it a point to document the demolition, a kind of monument, if you will, to things gone by.

Note sure if this is behind a paywall, but you can find an article about the church's demise HERE.

Two postings I wrote in 2011 that include additional photos can be found at:

Holy Family Church Pictures 1

Holy Family Church Pictures 2

Scotland - Day 8: Mar sin leat

The above is my feeble attempt at saying goodbye in Scottish Gaelic.  Given that my language skills are somewhat lacking, even in English, the title is about as correct as Google can make it.  Anyway, today is our last day in Scotland, and tomorrow, bright and early, we return home.  

As for today's activities, well, things were intentionally kept on the light side.  The first stop this morning was to the Edinburgh farmer's market, where a few things were purchased.  From there, it was off to the National Museum of Scotland, which we barely made a dent in before deciding to call it a day.  Our plan from there was to head off to Arthur's Seat and do some hiking, but two things got in the way:  1) It was a bit chillier than expected and 2) We were just tired.  To that second point, I'm glad we stayed here as long as we did, but by now, the hiking miles upon miles a day is wearing a bit thin for all of us (myself especially included).  If there is ever a return trip, Arthur's Seat (and one or two other places) will be first on the list.

Back to the National Museum of Scotland...this is a must-see.  The fact that it's completely free only adds to the coolness of the place.  The museum itself has a bit of everything, from fossils to religious artifacts to weapons of a thousand years ago.  

The interior of the museum.

A copy of Mary, Queen of Scots's casket.

A precursor to the French guillotine.

Ms. Rivers and I also had a final stroll in the city before things get too dark, and we get too tired.  Of course, this somehow ended up involving a cemetery.

Here's to Catherine, being remembered again.  May she be resting in peace.

View of St. Cuthbert's cemetery and steeple.

On that note, that brings "the big Scotland vacation" to an end.  I suspect that we will be back, at some unknown point in the future.  As for me, I confess that it will be nice to sleep in my own bed, not walk up quite so many hills, and having the time to plant flowers on Monday.  There is a certain serenity in routine, but yet in leaving, I'm hoping that some of those routines are forever changed.  We shall see.

I'll end this with my favorite song about Scotland.

Scotland - Days 6 & 7: Winding Down

We're on the back end of our Scotland vacation, so I'm going to combine activities from Thursday (May 25th) and Friday (May 26th).  This is mostly because, at least for me, things are dialing down a bit.  No big tours, and no tight schedules.  I am good with this, by the way.  While I have thoroughly enjoyed what we've done so far, I'm starting to feel as if my vacation insights cup is almost full.  This is less of a writing thing and more of a mental/physically tired kind of thing.  

Homesick?  Not really.  It's probably more of a function of my incredibly short attention span.  I've seen wonderful things here, and I've learned a thing or two.  And not just about Scotland.  Big things like this...and traveling to a different country is a big thing...create a tremendous opportunity for growth, I think if we're open to it.  As I'm looking at one full day left, I'm still trying to sort out some of what I've learned.  This is a wonderful thing by the way, namely, the fact that, at age 59, I readily confess to learning new things about myself and the world.

Something I will note is that the night before we flew out here, I had something of an incredibly troubling dream.  I wouldn't use the word nightmare, but one of those sleeping cerebral movies that just sticks in your head like old gum on the bottom of a movie theater seat.  The kind of thing where the emotion of it all makes you think there must be some deeper meaning to it all, even though there probably isn't.  Flying out here that quickly evaporated.  Indeed, there was no deeper meaning.  It was just a dream.  This is, however, one of the examples of how travel can impact us:  It takes us outside of our own heads for a period of time.  The sheer difference of it all reminds us that there is much more to the world than what we think (or dream) or see in front of us every "normal" day.  

In the end, seeing the "bigness" of the world is both humbling and incredibly insightful.

I wish there was some way to expose younger folks of all economic conditions to overseas travel.  I think the world would be a far, far better place.  As it stands, this kind of travel is an example of a kind of privilege in action, which, growing on the lower socio-economic side of status, I fully appreciate as an adult.  I also appreciate the fact that Ms. Rivers is far more keen to undertake these kinds of things than I naturally am.  Granted that I do enjoy this kind of travel, but left to my own druthers, I'm not sure I would do it.

As for the last two days' worth of travels, well, as I noted above, it was a bit less scheduled.  On Thursday, we did an hour-long tour of some of the vaults that are found under the King's Mile (in Edinburgh).  It was interesting, and the guide did a good job of conjuring up some spooky mojo with her stories, in addition to talking about the real hardship of living at a time when 1) There wasn't enough housing for everyone, and 2) Actually being homeless was a criminal offense.  

The vaults we visited were off of Cow Gate, which just so happens to have the backside of a cow displayed in one of the nearby buildings.

One of the vaults was used by a local religious group for many, many years.  After their leader passed away, the group broke up, up but allowed the owner of the vault they used to be maintained, provided that no one could enter.  By the way, the vaults in this area are owned by different folks and are used for everything from nothing to storage to a bar.  

You can read more about the Edinburgh vaults HERE.

After the vaults, we had a rather uneventful dinner at what we think was a chain restaurant of sorts.  Ms. Rivers tried the beet sauce.  I didn't.  

Today (Friday) we did some more walking (surprising!) and found the beginning of a canal, complete with canal boats.

We also found a very neglected cemetery in of all places, Coffin Lane.  We would have gone down the explore, but the encampment of folks who looked like they may be been using some illegal substances was there already.  Discretion was the better part of valor.

Ms. Rivers and I went for a walk further down King's Mile later in the day.  A few things caught my eye:

Note for those with agoraphobia:  Edinburgh is a very crowded place.

Yes, I could not help myself:  Another picture of the turd building.

I'm not sure about the significance behind the locks, other than I am sure there is some significance.  

At this point, I am pretty damn tired.  Tomorrow we will be seeing a few more things that we don't want to miss before flying out bright and early on Sunday morning.

I'm thinking I have one more post in me. 

More to come.

Scotland - Day 3: Authenticity

I don't try to explain, after the fact, what these bordering-on-ridiculous blog postings mean.  There are a couple reasons for that, none of which are entertaining enough (for me...) to write about.  This noted, what I do find fascinating is how easy it is to read intent into written words.  That's both a curse and a blessing for folks that write things, even hacks such as myself.  Anyway, I'm going to make an exception to the blog posting interpretation rule.

For example, in my Day 1 posting, I compared how Edinburgh is, well, gritty, dirty, and kind of smells like the Scranton I knew as a kid.  I get that this certainly sounds bad...unless you are me, and you grew up in Scranton in the '70s.  Granted that other folks, outside of fans of the U.S. version of The Office, probably have a negative impression of Scranton, but I don't.  In fact, that gritty/dirty/smells description is, in a word, authentic.  While there are tons of tourists here in Edinburgh, as I noted in the Day 2 posting, this is a lived-in kind of place.  The tourists just seem to be here for the ride.  

Another way to think about this is to consider Edinburgh as a kind of anti-Disney.  This isn't a magic kingdom; this is a place where people work, sieges have been had, and more than a few people hung and/or otherwise dispatched.  In the words of our tour guide on Sunday, Edinburgh had for the longest time a reputation for being one of the most disgusting cities in Europe.  The magic in this kingdom is that people have called this home and fought for it over centuries.  

The above noted, my quota for actually explaining blog postings has been met.  Since this is about the first time since 2008 that I've done this sort of thing (explaining...), if I do the math then I won't have to do it again until sometime in 2038.

On to the day's festivities.

******

Today we did the quasi-common bus tour of the countryside thing.  It was fun, based partially on the fact that my knees appreciated that they weren't responsible for all of the day's locomotion.  To be a bit more specific, the big stops today were Loch Lomond and Stirling Castle.  See the links for more (likely & possibly) factual information.  

As we were headed to Loch Lomond, we stopped to see an attraction known as the Kelpies.  For purposes of picture set-up, know that this is a very large metal sculpture. 

As I alluded to in the first paragraph or so of this posting, Scotland pretty much does what Scotland wants.  Giant horse heads?  Sure, why not.  There actually is some mythology about the Kelpies, which you can get from the horse's mouth HERE.  

From the Kelpies we headed to the Loch, for an all too brief visit.  Photographs don't do it justice, but here's one anyway.

This is an old place, well-used, yet still incredibly beautiful.  Something else to mention?  It smelled wonderful.  Actually, the Kelpies smelled wonderful too.  Just the right combination of flowers were in bloom I suppose, creating a scent that would rival a stand of honeysuckle.  

By the way, I am reasonably sure that there are more sheep in Scotland than there are people.  Without any exaggeration whatsoever.  The sheep we saw driving around the countryside were legion, for they were many.

Granted, I don't want to think too hard about Scotland's sheep, as that results in thoughts about what becomes of the cute little guys (re:  Haggis).

After the Loch and countless sheep-spotting opportunities, we stopped for lunch.  That was something of an adventure (for mundane reasons I will not get into), but what was really cool was the fact that we stopped at a town that was literally at the border between the Scottish lowlands and highlands.  

Foreground = Lowlands.  Background = Highlands.

Our final stop was Castle Stirling, complete with a larger-than-life statue of Robert the Bruce.  Yes, that was a character in the movie Braveheart, and yes, the locals are keenly aware of how inaccurate Mel Gibson's movie really was.  Regardless, it's an impressive statue.

I didn't do the castle tour (Ms. Rivers did), but instead went wandering around the castle grounds, which were beautiful.  The history of this place literally permeates the air.

Finally, I can't let the opportunity pass to take a few critter shots, and today was no exception.  

With apologies for the off-center shot, but in all fairness, 1) He was moving a lot and 2) I was using a cellphone camera.

All of the above noted, it was a long but interesting day.  Now to get some rest.  I think I slept for something like four hours last night, due to a variety of reasons.  I need to do better,.  Tomorrow will be more castle touring and maybe a ghost* bus tour.

More to come.

(*) Ghosts don't exist, but for the purposes of this vacation, I'll play along.

 

Scotland - Day 2: It's Pronounced "Edin-Brah"

A minor mystery has been solved.  What mystery, you may ask?  Well, is this town named...

...Edin-boro?

...Edin-burg?

...wrong on both counts.  According to our tour guide this morning, the very talented Ms. Roisin, it's actually pronounced something like "Edin-brah", where the "brah" part sounds like what a 20-something-year-old dude who vapes a lot calls everyone he knows.  See below.

On a more serious note, I highly recommend anyone who happens to be in Edin-brah (sorry, that's the last time I'll use that gag, promise) to check out Little Fish Tours.  Our guide, the above-referenced Ms. Roisin, was excellent.  In fact, we decided to take another one of their tours later in the week.  I'm not always a big fan of guided tours, but they do work best when you get to know the stories of the place...not just names and dates and assorted facts...but the very human stories of people who lived in a particular place.  That's what we got today.

Today's event was the walking tour noted above, combined with some additional wandering about (sometimes in circles) in and around the castle area of Edinburgh.  One of the things I find most fascinating about places, particularly older places, are the roof lines of buildings. Modern architecture, in my extremely amateurish opinion, lacks a certain kind of distinctiveness when the building hits the sky.  Instead of a kind of crown, many newer buildings just look as if someone arbitrarily just cut them off at some point.  That's certainly not the case here.

New vs. old building rooflines.  See the difference?

One quasi-funny story:  We were near the Scottish equivalent of the Supreme Court.  As our guide was speaking, we were told to move back, and low and behold, the justices of the court walked by us (within about 10 feet), complete with powdered wigs and robes befitting the best of a 17th-century jurist.  It was almost kind of odd in a way; as I mentioned to my stepson Alex if this were the U.S. we never would have gotten that close to the justices of the Supreme Court...it would have been one warning then 20 seconds later a taser shot to the abdomen.

Much of today's walking was centered around High Street/the Royal Mile.  Some of the buildings were spectacular.   

Unfortunately, there is a limit to how many photos I can share in a blog posting, but I'll be adding more to Facebook over the next few hours.

While the buildings seen today are beautiful, what I noted yesterday, which is a certain grittiness, complete with an odd assortment of sights and smells, was sort of familiar.  This is not a clean place.  In fact, you can tell this is a very much lived-in, working, functional kind of location.  The tourists are just here for the ride.

More to come.

Scotland - Day 1: Far But Familiar

Fun fact:  The mountains in Northeastern Pennsylvania belong to the same range that, in Earth's past, also include the Scottish Highlands.  You can learn more about the subject HERE.  Here's a graphic, just to punctuate the point...

This isn't the first time I've heard about the Central Pangean Mountains; that would be something Ms. Rivers' brother, a geologist, mentioned when we were visiting Scandinavia in 2018.  

Based on the title of this posting, and the reference above, it's fair to say that I am visiting Scotland this week.  By way of background, this trip is notable for a few reasons, including the fact that it's likely to be one of the last vacations we take with Ms. Rivers' sons (my stepsons).  This is because they are getting older, we are getting older, and well, everything seems to getting older.  Speaking of getting older, another reason behind the trip is the fact, as we approach an eventual, collective retirement age, it seems prudent for us to take advantage of the fact that we've been prudent with our finances.  Put another way, was can afford to travel, so why not?  In some respects, this is the first trip of what will probably be a few in the years to come.  The downside?  More tedious blog postings from me, but so I digress.

So, why Scotland?  

Well to the best of my knowledge, I have zero point zero connection to Scotland.  This is the honest-to-goodness truth, unlike what I've said about Ireland for decades.  Ms. Rivers?  Well, she does.  The genesis of the trip came after hearing about a similar trip that Ms. Rivers' sisters took years ago.  The thought was that we would travel with them, but that part didn't end up working out.  What did was our end of it, so here we are, about a year after starting to plan this vacation.  

Butterfly knees.

There is a special 1,000-year place in purgatory for people who design modern airplane seating arrangements.  Now if you are of average height, these sorts of things work out okay for you.  Me?  Not so much, so my knees end up being bent at unnatural angles for hours on end, broken up by the occasional trip to the bathroom (which is mostly just an excuse to unfurl my knees...like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis...every now and then).  With 8 hours of travel yesterday, well, my knees were sore by the time I got off the second leg of our flights, here in Edinburgh.  Making matters worse was the fact that we then had about 3+ hours (and associated walking) before we could check in at our rented apartment in Edinburgh's old city.  By the time I was able to lay down (I had gotten about an hour of sleep the night before) my knees felt like they were got to explode and projectile my patellas across the room.  Fortunately, this did not happen. 

So here I am now, writing this on a dreary but more or less wonderful morning in the old city of Edinburgh.  My knees are about 90% recovered, and I think that today's guided walking tour will actually help things.  Or so we shall see.

One observation about Scotland so far:  It sort of reminds me of growing up in Scranton.  Connection via ancient mount range aside for a moment, this place is gritty, has lots of smells (diesel, food, stuff that was once food but now is rotting...), and is generally not well kept.  In other words, Scranton in the 1970's, but sans the three strip clubs that adorn a corner not so far from us.  Multiples seem to be a thing here, as in addition to the three strip clubs nearby, there are at least four barbers within a stone's throw from the kitchen window I am sitting next to at this very moment.  Scottsmen love well-trimmed hair I guess.

Lastly, I did not bring my usual camera gear on this trip.  This is mostly because I didn't want to have to bring another bag with me, and my Google Pixel takes great pictures anyway.  In service of my comment about Edinburgh's gritty-ness, I offer the following...

More to come.

I Found A Picture of You...

"I found a picture of you, oh-oh

Well, it hijacked my world at night"

(The Pretenders, Back on the Chain Gang)

If you are a consumer of The Facebooks, you no doubt see these challenge postings, whereby someone posts something and then asks others to do the same.  I really enjoy these kinds of things, by the way.  Well, more precisely, I really enjoy seeing pictures, and it's neat to learn about others I've met or interacted with over the years.  In a world that seems ever so large, complex, and harried, these small acts of connection can, I think, help re-ground us.  At least for me.

The above noted I don't do these kinds of things very often.  That's less about a refusal on my part and more about the fact that, well, I don't get asked to participate.  Trust me, that's not a cry for attention on my part.  I don't have a thousand Facebook connections, so the odds just don't align to make these kinds of things happen.  That makes the times when they do kind of neat.  As such, I was invited to participate in a photo-sharing challenge.  I make it a policy to not reference other (private, as opposed to public) people in these postings, well outside of special occasions, so I'm not going to mention names.  What I will say this:  The person who nominated me is someone I have an incredible amount of respect for, and I am honored that she thought of me.   

This particular challenge involves posting photos that "bring me joy", without any explanations.  This really is a challenge for me (pun intended) for two reasons:

1. I struggle with a concept like "joy".  Struggle as in "what does joy really mean"?  How would I know if something "brings me joy" in the first place?  Now reading this you may think "what the heck is he even talking about?", but it's a genuine thing for me.  In a way, I don't process very strong emotions well.  I know where this comes from...a childhood where a premium was placed on not expressing myself very often.  
2. I also struggle with not being able to describe things.  It almost goes against my nature to not write about things like important pictures.  In a way, I'm using this blog posting to kind of circumvent the rules of the challenge itself.  Yes, guilty as charged.

So, how do I find pictures that bring me joy if I'm not sure what joy means?  Well, I ended up not dwelling on the word "joy" and instead thought to myself "okay, what pictures can I find that have some deeper meaning to me?".  That was easy.  The next step is going through the 10,000+ digital photos I have on file.  

I actually came up with a strategy of sorts:  This is a 10-day challenge, so I decided to pick an underlying theme for each day.  For example, the second day was about my daughters when they were younger.  Day 3 was about some of the vehicles I owned.  Day 4 was about JeanLuc the cat, who meant the world to me and helped me, in a very real sense, get through one of the most difficult times in my life.  Finding JeanLuc pictures to share was a mixture of fond memories and sadness that he's not here with me now.  To the extent that anyone can actually love something other than another person, I loved JeanLuc.  

Today is Day 4, and I'm still thinking about the theme.  Rest assured though, there will be a theme.  I literally can't do the whole random thing.  It's as if my mind is always trying to create some sense of order in everything I do and around me, so the idea of just randomly posting photos seems nearly impossible.  Emphasis on "my mind", as I think an ongoing theme of my life has always been the idea of my trying to make some sense of the constant, bordering on chaotic, noise of thoughts in my head.  As a side note, that's also a damn fine explanation as to why I've never had a really good relationship with sleep...getting that constant noise in my head to quiet down takes some work.

Finally, these postings are shared publicly on Facebook, so if you want to see them, just view my profile.

Maine 2022: Big Blue Sky

Today is our final day in Maine, and tomorrow's trek home will likely begin around 7:30am-ish.  Seeing as though my wife's family is composed mainly of (notoriously) early risers, we may in fact be the last to leave.  It's all good though, no matter how things play out.  As I mentioned in a prior posting, today was kept purposefully unscheduled, except for some preliminary packing.  

The actual day was fine.  We ended up making a second trip to the Maine Prison Showroom, where I purchased a shirt and a cool red birdhouse.  The prices there for the products offered are really very, very good.  It's also good to know that purchases benefit prisoners who are trying to better their lives.  In my estimation, the penal system in this country doesn't seem to provide much in the way of rehabilitation; instead, this is much more of a punishment-based system.  Yes, there should be consequences for illegal acts, but society also has an obligation to help those who want to serve their time and then live a better life.  

Also on tap for today was a hike that Ms. Rivers was interested in taking.  That yielded a few photographs...

...all of which scream Maine at a very high volume.  

Speaking of photographs, after deleting a few errant photos of nothing, I made copies of the shots I've taken and provided them to Ms. Rivers' brother and one of her sisters (for sharing with her parents).  As I noted during a kind of closing campfire, I haven't been taking many photographs over the past year or so.  I think that's as much a statement about how difficult the past two or three years have been as it is anything else.  When stressed, it seems only natural that some of the things we enjoy doing end up taking a backseat.  Coming to Maine and being an unofficial photographer has been helpful for me.

Maine provides, in addition to things like popular dinner arthropods and unpopular mosquitos, an opportunity for deep thoughts.  As I was trying not to think about anything this afternoon...always a losing proposition for me...it occurred to me just how essential things like vacations are, no matter where, no matter how long.  It's just far too easy to fall into mental ruts and unhealthy patterns when so much of how we are wired is geared towards sameness and predictability.  Even when that sameness and predictability is ultimately unhealthy.  Vacations can provide something of a lifeline out of these ruts.  The trick, I believe, is to take bite-sized pieces out of a vacation and graft them as new pieces into our daily lives.  

Finally, in addition to using my Sony digital SLR camera, I have been using my Pixel 6 phone to take photographs, and it has not disappointed me.  I'll end this series of posts with a very fitting sunset or two.

Here's to more beatiful sunsets, be they in Maine or anywhere else for that matter.

Maine 2022: Puffin

One of the things I wanted to accomplish during this vacation was to just have the time to read.  By way of disclosure, I read all of the time.  As in constantly.  As in I am always reading.  What's been difficult over the past two years has been actually reading books cover to cover.  This is more about a series of cosmic disruptions in my life, mostly related to employment than anything else.  Put more directly, I just have gotten so tired with everything I try to do that, by the time I want to read a book I have nothing mentally left.  

All of the above noted, I brought two books with me on vacation, although one of them is well over 700 pages, so I think it should count as multiple books.  That book, Ashes to Ashes, is a history of the tobacco industry.  You can find that book HERE.  About 150 pages in, and I love the book.  Now I'm not going to sermonize about the topic of the book, but what I will say is this:  I wish no one used tobacco products.  They literally kill you.  Our lives are just too precious.  

As I write this, it is about 8am, and today's literary includes, of all things, puffin watching.  This is actually more about being on a boat and taking pictures than it is about puffins, but I'm going to run with it.  From there?  We shall see.

Back again and it's the end of the day.  As for puffin watching, well, it was a success.  Here's some evidence:

I didn't get any puffins in flight, as the little guys (and gals) are small and move very quickly, making photos with a zoom lens kind of difficult.  All things considered though, it was enjoyable, even if my hands felt like a salted pretzel afterward.  To and from Puffin Island there was the usual assortment of scenic Maine things...

I will add that there was a substantial haze in the air to and from Puffin Island. 

Finally, whenever the subject of puffins comes up, I am always reminded of Bloom County's Opus the Penguin...

(with apologies to Berkeley Breathed)

On that note, I am going to wrap this posting up.  Tomorrow is our last full day in Maine, and while we don't have much planned, I still hope to get some picture-taking time.  Speaking of pictures, I have taken a few hundred so far, and after a culling of the memory card, a copy of what remains will be going to the parents of Ms. Rivers, as I think part of my job is to be an official family photographer for these kinds of things.  Capturing memories for two wonderful people (Rev. David and Liz Rivers) is a wonderful job to have by any measure.

Maine 2022: Why

I can't think of a more compelling title, so I'm going with simply "Why", that is until something better comes up.  There probably is a good reason for the title, by the way, but the bigger question is this:  Is it worth sharing?  I know, cryptic stuff makes for bad writing, so I'll stop.  For now.

Anyway, today had been planned as a day trip to what could best be described as an "artists island", but that didn't pan out, mostly on account of the fact that we could get ferry tickets to the island, but getting ferry tickets back wasn't possible.  And it's too far to swim.  Artist island being off the table, there was a replacement in the form of a visit to Port Clyde, a lighthouse, and a cemetery (in that order).  

Tackling that itinerary LIFO* order, the cemetery trip was to find some deceased Rivers clan members, along with accompanying members of the Davis family (who, I am told, are connected to the Rivers family by marriage...make that many marriages...apparently).  It was hot work, but several Rivers and Davis folk were found, and photos were taken for future genealogical reference.  Or to just help the next person not spend an hour looking for lichen-encrusted tombstones.  A sample is noted below.

It was nice helping Ms. Rivers with this most family of tasks.  

Side note:  While this part of Maine is something of an ancestral home of Rivers (and Davis), apparently, there are no above-ground Rivers to be found in these parts.

The Marshall Point lighthouse, working backward on my original list, was actually very nice.  A few photographs below provide some evidence of this fact.

Our first stop was Port Clyde itself, where lunch was had at the Port Clyde General Store.  This place looks exactly like what one would expect from a "Port Clyde, Maine, General Store".  The proof is as follows:

Rounding out the day was a lobster dinner at our compound.  What I'll say about that is the following..." I am sure it was well prepared".  That last quote is my standard response to virtually any food that I will not eat, and lobsters are definitely on that list.  I will note that I have tried lobster, and I found it to be basically just rubbery, with a fishy taste.  Again, no slight intented against the cooks, but it's just not my bag.  

"I only extrovert when I am paid."

The above quote gets to the title of this posting.  I'll admit to a certain feeling of being disconnected at family gatherings.  That's 100% me, and 0% everyone else.  This just wasn't something we did a lot of in my own family growing up, so I think there's a part of me that just doesn't know what to do.  Now part of me thinks that's a pretty asinine thing for a 58-year-old to admit (and/or write), but I've always tried to be honest and real in these writings over the past 14 years, so I'm going to stick with my guns here and keep going.  

"I only extrovert when I am paid." was my response once to someone who, at work, was shocked when I told them that am basically pretty introverted.  This shock comes from the fact that, over my many years in the professional workforce, much of my work has centered around teaching adults things.  Part of that, I will bluntly state, involves entertaining people.  Simply put, no one is going to listen to, let alone learn anything from someone who is about as engaging as a wad of chewing gum.  While I wouldn't use the word "engaging" to describe my professional work, I will say this:  I know how to make boring stuff seem interesting; see "entertaining people".  

To tie this all together, I choose not to be my work self when I am on vacation.  Part of me thinks that I should, but that would require work, which would then be in defiance of what a vacation is supposed to stand for in the first place.  It is, in a sense, a very real "catch-22":  I feel somewhat disconnected, but I also fight the urge to be entertaining or engaging as I would at work.  What's left?  A very uneasy kind of mental truce that can sometimes be difficult to navigate.  That navigation seemed more difficult today than it did on other days this week, for reasons I just can't explain.

Lastly, all of the above isn't intended to endear sympathy or even understanding from anyone; it's just me being honest, with both myself and the world.  In the final analysis, I think the world has something of an honesty deficit these days, as the complexity of our lives can make discerning fact from fiction increasingly more difficult.  Score another victory for the clarity that Maine has to offer.

(*) In case you forgot your Accounting 101 lessons, that would be "Last In, First Out".