A Series of Fortunate Events, or, The Rather Dull Travelogue

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: I planned to write about traveling today, since my trip to join the Sailor and Veronique for her graduation involved the Maine Millennial, Youngest and I driving to the Portland Transportation Center, taking a (very nice) bus to Logan Airport, flying to DC, renting a car, and driving from Alexandria (borrowed an inflatable bed from my sister) to Norfolk. 

And then, of course, we did it all over again in reverse, fitting in an actual short visit with my sister on the return end. If we had managed to fit in a train ride and a ferry, we would have hit every form of possible travel, excepting ocean liners and the SpaceX Falcon 9.

But... everything went too smoothly! We arrived at every stage with plenty of time to spare. There were no traffic snarls or overbooked flights. (At least not for us. If you were going from Boston to Pittsburgh the same time we were headed for DC, you had the chance to give up your seat for $900. Victoria said, "I''m switching my flight to Pittsburgh.") 

The bus was full, but not so full that the girls couldn't sit together, and although we had to wait almost a half hour to sign out our rental car, we got an upgrade, so I had zero complaints. We found bathrooms and rest stops and places to quickly buy good food with no difficulties. In fact, as I type this, I find myself waiting for the other shoe to drop. It all went so suspiciously well.

So now I'm left with no comical disaster stories about my trip. Instead, I'll just comment on how lovely it is to travel with adult children. They are old enough to watch the bags, pay for some of the meals, and take a turn behind the wheel. And since I don't live with them anymore, the inevitable stresses of the journey are well compensated by the chance to talk and laugh together. We're all close enough so I can explain why I'm skipping dairy, but they have different enough lives that we can have really interesting conversations. (My age-mate friends and I tend to talk a lot about retirement plans.)

I saw young families with small kids in tow or babies in carriers, and I wanted to go up and tell them, "It won't always be like this. You won't always be hauling enough gear to climb Mount Everest. You'll be able to read on the plane instead of spending all your time keeping your infant quiet. Instead of filling your bag with healthy kids' treats, you can have one or two things you enjoy. Although they won't have any dairy, because you will have become lactose intolerant." 

Dear readers, do you have any good, event-free travel stories to share? And have you had the pleasure of making a trip with former kids-turned-great companions?

What We're Writing Week : Julia is scheduling and sprinting

 JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: Everyone this week has been talking about the many jobs that come along with the title "author;" researching, editing, promotion - even teaching others (which is always also about teaching ourselves as well.) Sometimes, one of the jobs that comes along with being an author is "relearning the habit of but in chair, hands on keyboard."

As some of you may remember, my Word for the Year is DEEP WORK, because I'm devoting myself to retraining my oh-so-distractable brain to do the sort of demanding creative work I used to do without really thinking about it. I've gotten a lot of help from our own Celia Wakefield, who has worked miracles with my ability to self-organize, and I've also greatly benefited from my friend Jessica Ellicott, who really, really needs to teach a course about her "so stress free even I can do it" outlining technique and who has encouraged me to try different mind hacks for keeping myself on track and writing.

The ability to be creative is not, perhaps, a muscle, but the ability to sit in the damn chair and not get up until you've written your words for the day most certainly is. Yes, I've had good reasons to let my writing muscles get flabby over the past four or five years, but you know, none of those hold true anymore. The Maine Millennial has moved out with her dog and cat, the Sailor is safe at home in Virginia with his sweetheart, and Youngest is a college grad who is 100% self-supporting. It is past time for me to get cracking.

Photo by Brooke Staton, @mainememoriesphoto

So recently, I've tried two things that has led to great results. The first it scheduling my writing time. I know, I know, can you believe I didn't before? Now I have it set up, complete with notifications and a program that puts my phone on Do Not Distract automatically. 

The second - and this surprised me - is sprinting. From my college days, I've always been the sort of person who writes fast and well when under a deadline. The problem for me is the end-of-the-book deadline is WAY too far away, and frankly, is more of a suggestion in my case. My poor beleaguered publisher gave up keeping me on deadline about a decade ago. Even scheduling a perfectly normal three hour writing session allows me to kind of.. drift. Maybe I have time for a load of laundry?

But if the timer's on for an hour and a half, I've discovered I write. Fast. No time to linger over every word as is my tendency. No time to think and rethink every choice. Get it down, because the clock is ticking. And really, I start each day's writing with a quick pass-through of yesterday's words, so I can fix the most egregious errors then.

Is it working? Reader, it is, as you can see from this excerpt from AT MIDNIGHT COMES THE CRY.

“Oh, my God.” Tiny raced to the window. “Oh.” She sounded as if she had just finished a five hundred meter sprint. “It's okay. It's a friend of Cal's.”

Clare joined her at the window. A fully tricked out pick up pulled sung against the downstairs. They watched as a beefy guy climbed out, ran his hand over his stubbled hair, and stared at Clare's car. He walked toward the downstairs, disappearing from view beneath the deck.

“Is he coming in?”

Tiny shook her head. “You can't get from one floor to another inside. You have to go around and through the outside door. We use it like a garage – it's got Cal's workroom and the chest freezer down there. It's not even heated.”

The man reemerged carrying a couple of small duffle bags. He slung them into his truck cab and then headed for the railroad tie stairs.

“Oh, crap.” Tiny set Rose back into her playpen.

“Should I, um, leave?”

“I don't know what he wants. Maybe he needs to use the bathroom.” Tiny opened the door and stepped onto the deck. Clare slung her diaper bag over her shoulder and followed, her hand tight on the baby carrier. “Hey, Dillon.” Tiny passed her hand through the air. “Cal's not here.”

“I can see that.” Dillon had the look of a high school linebacker running to fat, his neck overflowing his chamois shirt collar, his gut straining against the buttons. He wore a pair of wraparound sun glasses that made him look like an out-of-shape version of Robocop. “Who's this?”

Clare and Tiny looked at each other. “It's, uh, Clare?”

Clare held up the carrier. “We're having a Mommy-baby date.” She used her brightest, most brainless voice. “Rose and Ethan are both eight months old. And they're both our firsts. It's really nice to compare notes with another mom, isn't it, Tiny?”

Tiny nodded emphatically. The big guy looked back toward where he'd parked his truck. “Does Cal know you invited somebody out here?”

As subdued by her husband as she was, even Tiny bristled at that. “No, but he will when he gets home, and I honestly don't see as it's any of your business, Dillon.”

Clare did her best giggle. “I can't imagine he pays that much attention to scheduling play dates.”

He held up his hands. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I just, uh...” he focuses on Clare's parka. “You look like you're ready to leave.”

Clare glanced at Tiny. “I was about to, yes.”

“Well, you should go out first.”

“Why?”

“Uh...”

Clare wondered if she was the first person to ever question Dillon, or just the first woman. She glanced back to Tiny, and saw she was looking as stressed as she had been when Clare first arrived. “Never mind.” She hugged the other woman tight. “I hope we can do this again soon.”

Julia: Dear readers, what are your mind hacks for getting stuff done? And have you been successful in revamping old habits into new ones?

Spring Cleaning for the Empty Nester

 JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: I'm getting started on my Spring cleaning, and some of you may be saying, "Isn't this a little late for for that, Julia?" Others of you with low and snarky minds may be saying, "What, Spring cleaning 2019?" But friends, I honestly have a good reason to drag my feather duster this year - the Maine Millennial is moving out.  Into her very own, title-and-mortgage house! 

As some of you may recall, she moved back in with me in December 2019, after breaking up with the Very Tall Boyfriend. Then stuff happened. You may have read about it in the news. Two and a half years later, she has a new job, a new guy (the Very Redheaded Boyfriend) and finally, a home of her own. (More about this Saturday.)

 

Her very small bedroom, which looked like a ship container stuffed with used first world clothing headed for the tropics? Will be emptied.

 

Her Ebay side hustle (she's a millennial, of course she has a side hustle) which has required me to turn over 75% of my family room to storing wares, empty boxes, and packing material? Will be relocated.

 

Her cat, who stopped using the downstairs litter box and began PEEING IN MY BEDROOM until I got it a new litter box all of its own (which I also empty every other day, because, again, bedroom)? Will be in a new bedroom. Which has wall to wall carpeting. Heh heh heh heh heh.

 

Her dog, who barks at the slightest pretext and follows me everywhere I go, and whom I have been caring for five to seven days a week for the past eighteen months? Will be trying out a new day care. The Maine Millennial's new house is an hour and a quarter away from me, way too far to drop the dog off. It's sad. So very sad. I am sad. Do you believe me? 

 

And of course, all the little things that get dropped, left, crumpled and misplaced will cease to exist. 

 

It's not that I regret having the Maine Millennial here, or that I won't miss her. She could have moved out after finished grad school, but that was when Ross started to get sick, and her presence (and car) was a godsend. When the pandemic shut us all up our bubbles, she (and Youngest and Guest Son) kept me busy and moderately sane. And most importantly, having her spend the bulk of her twenties at home, without charging rent or expenses, enabled her to save up enough money for a twenty per cent down payment, with enough cash left over to buy a new queen bed and a sectional sofa. That was a great gift to be able to give her.

But now, baby, this house is mine, all mine! I'm going to be dusting. And sweeping. And vacuuming. And mopping.  Since I didn't really do anything with it when she went to college, there are parts of her bedroom that haven't been touched since it became hers in 2004. The family room will be getting a deep cleaning for the first time in years, and I'm going to be tossing out SO much stuff I don't need or want anymore. Just losing two pets out of six will lower the animal-hair-everywhere quotient by a third!

 

How about you, dear readers? Have you ever said, "Yee-haw!" when getting rid of the last child?  Did you roll up your sleeves to scrape Pokemon stickers off the wall? And did they ever come back? (No, don't tell me that last. I don't want to know.)

Be It Ever So Humble

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: There are certain achievements, as you grow and mature, that help self define you as an adult. Alas, no one hands out a "graduation from adolescence" diploma and a card from Grandma with $100, but these milestones confirm to each of us that we are, really and truly, grown-ups: buying a car. Starting a family. Getting married. Living on your own in the Big City. Snagging that real, career-building job. And of course, especially here in the US, buying a house.

Ladies and gentlemen, please let me introduce you to Maine's newest homeowner, my daughter Victoria. 

It's been a long, hard slog for the Maine Millennial. She moved back in with me after breaking up with the then-boyfriend and intended to begin looking for a house a few months later... in spring 2020. Ouch. Then in April she got laid off, as the company she worked for - which primarily sold to gyms and municipalities - saw the writing on the wall and did a 20% reduction in force. 

 

 

She was hired at the hospital she's now at in November 2020, and started the clock ticking; she knew from talking to our credit union's loan officer that she would need to be employed for a year in order to qualify for a mortgage. Meanwhile, as work-from home allowed people to cut the commuting cord, lots of folks realized they wanted to live in Maine. Housing prices rose 24% from '20 to '21 and another 17% from March 21' to March '22. 

 

 

It hasn't helped that here, as in many spots in the US,  housing construction collapsed in the Great Recession and still hasn't caught up to anything near the demand for homes as the largest generation in our history - that's right, Boomers, it's those avocado-toast-eating Millennials - hits their thirties and starts looking for that white picket fence.

 

 

 

 

I'm not even going to mention the construction material supply chain shortage, the inflation, or the rising interest rates. Because despite all adversity, after several months of bidding on just about anything in her price range, Victoria is about to purchase a sweet little place with two and a half acres in beautiful Wiscasset, ME!

 

 

 

 

So, dear readers, tell us about your first house/apartment/grown up quarters. And if you have any suggestions on how to decorate around wall-to-wall teal carpet, Victoria would like to know. She's going to keep it because it's warm and feels good underfoot. Her first decision about her very own piece of the American dream.

Howdy, (Virtual) Neighbor!

 JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING:  I'm going to be honest with you. I've spent the past week trying to move ahead with spring cleaning. Monday was taking Youngest to and from Orono for her penultimate orthodontist visit, a two and a half hour trip each way. Tuesday, meeting with my accountant (and teaching my community college class.) Wednesday, I spent a most of the day driving around southern Maine, helping one of my "foster" daughters to buy a new-to-her car. She got an amazing one, a ten year old BMW coupe with 150000 miles for five grand! Yes, vetted by a mechanic.

 Then Thursday and Friday were spent catching up on grading (and teaching another class) because the midterm grades were due at ten pm and I'm STILL not done and now I'm writing this at 11:00 on Friday evening and, in the hip phrase of a few years ago, I Just Can't.

 I particularly can't think of anything interesting or witty. Hours of explaining comma splices and independent clauses will do that to you. So instead, let's all use today as an opportunity to catch up. I'll start:

Things are going well, although obviously busy. I'm working on the next book, and though I'm not as far as I (or my agent and editor) would like, it's moving along. I haven't gotten my vaccination yet, but Maine just opened up the list to 50 year olds, so after I get the grades in, I'm going to go online and sign up at as many places as possible. 

 

The Maine Millennial, having gotten her two shots, is back to dating again, and meeting some very nice young men via Tinder, which has become THE dating marketplace, thanks to Covid. You can find out all about it, and I do mean all, every Sunday in her column for the Portland Press Herald. 

 

 

 

 

 

The Sailor is still down in Norfolk - thankfully so, because during the last cruise his ship went through the Suez canal, and I hate to think of him bottled up on either end of the CS Ever Given. He's not only back with, but is living with his delightful girlfriend Veronique, who's about to enter an intensive two year program to become a respiratory therapist. She's had the jab, and he's about to get his, so we're hoping for a family reunion when he can get leave. Maybe this spring, maybe the summer - you're never sure with the navy. They're talking about getting a dog, which I believe in this day and age is the equivalent of a betrothal contract in the 19th century. We shall see.

Youngest got an apartment last September so she didn't have to worry about the vicissitudes of the University of Maine opening and closing and opening. She's hanging fire at the moment, applying to internships without knowing if they'll be in person or virtual and considering travel abroad programs that may or may not take place. The one thing she does know is that U Maine will be opening up in person next fall, for a (please God!) normal senior year. And finally, after three years in braces and major jaw surgery, she's due to have the metal off in April! I may be more excited than she is. (She's pretty excited.) Also, after *mumblemumble* attempts, she passed her drivers test, which means she's ready to take possession of my sister's old Honda CRV. We used to pass out kids clothes back and forth, now it's cars.

 

Life in Maine continues to be just about The Way It Should Be. How are things in your neck of the woods?

No More Pencils, No More Books...

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: I know you all lie to keep current on my family news, so I thought I'd give you an update. The Maine Millennial is looking for work after being corona-fired from her last job. Any suggestions for professional employment in Southern Maine or online employment anywhere gratefully accepted. The Sailor is still in Norfolk, working hard. He wants to make E-5 before his first enlistment is up in two years, so there's a lot to do. 

And I just took Youngest back to the University of Maine.

I hear you gasping. I know, believe me.  The news is full of stories about colleges and universities bravely reopening, only to face a surge of covid-19 infections. Places like University of North Carolina have welcomed students back and sent them home within a week, converting to online-only. The University of Maine is doing everything other schools are doing - testing upon arrival, mandating social distancing and cleaning everything in sight. (When we got to Youngest's room - a single - along with the usual desk, bed and chair we found a spray bottle of disinfectant, eight ounces of hand sanitizer, and a jumbo box of tissues.)

photo by Linda Coan O'Kresik, Bangor Daily News

The administration is also, like many other schools, having the students sign a pledge, with wording that's a cross between 19th century hygiene reformers and the Boy Scouts.  Like many other schools, I expect it's about as meaningful as a fart in a hurricane. Eighteen to twenty-two is not an age period known for it's cool assessment of risk-reward ratio. I was a smart and fairly mature young woman in college, and there were many times I displayed the judgment of a drunken racoon in a restaurant dumpster. I don't expect the younger generation to do much better.


Youngest and I went around and around on this for most of the summer. She had a good plan to go to Kosovo, where she had friends she could share a flat with and where she (hopefully) will be spending Spring semester. But as you may have noticed, getting into Europe is...tricky for Americans at this point. She considered staying home and taking all her classes remotely, but the chance to partake in a few in-person seminars with favorite professors tipped the balance.

The dorm has single-occupancy bathrooms!

Also, frankly, she missed her friends and wanted out of the nest. As did Guest Son, who decided to put his senior year on hold, but got a shared student apartment near campus and is looking for a job. I can't blame either of them - it's good and right to be on your own and with peers at this point in their lives. 

So off they went, kit, clothes, bedding, boxes and multiple masks for each of them. I promised Youngest I wouldn't look at the New York Times coronavirus outbreak statistics more than once a day. (I just checked the headline. More than 1,000 cases at the University of South Carolina. I may take up day drinking.) 

 


The thing is, as the chancellor of the U Maine system said, if it can work anywhere, it will work in Maine, where we've consistently been one of the three lowest states for community transmission since March. We're rural, geographically remote (Orono is closer to Quebec City than it is to New York) and have been doing pretty well on mask wearing and social distancing.

 

Yes, her masks always coordinate with her outfits.

Of course, the converse is true as well - if it can't work in Maine, it can't work anywhere. Half the student body of UMO (as the flagship campus is known) comes from out of state. So I'll be hoping and praying and not badgering Youngest and Guest Son with texts and phone calls asking them if they're wearing their masks and avoiding parties. I hope it will work, and that they won't have to come home before Thanksgiving.

 
But I'm keeping the beds made, just in case.

Do you have or know of anyone struggling with at home versus in-person learning, dear readers?

A Day on a Lake in Maine

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: If you were at the blog this past Sunday, you got to see the delicious dinner my family had at Celia and Victor Wakefield's. Today, I thought I'd show you some of the rest of the day. Maine's lakes are truly magical, and if you can't get to one this year, as so many can't, you can at least experience one vicariously. (The fact this give me a chance to show off my beautiful daughters is just incidental.

Here are Youngest and the Maine Millennial taking a very small amount of sun at the end of the dock. We all slather on 50 SPF, and I hope you do the same when you're outdoors!

After I took the picture above, they began singing, "Sisters, Sisters" from White Christmas. You may know the lyrics: "Never were there such devoted sisters; When a certain gentleman arrived from Rome, she wore the dress, and I stayed home!"

Youngest and Guest Son, her friend from university who's living with us (and being the most amazing help around my ridiculously large and overgrown property.) This picture of them on the paddleboard is deceiving - there was a lot of shrieking, splashing, and falling off happening between photo shoots.



Here's a 12-second film clip I took to send to the Sailor, stuck in Norfolk, VA for the foreseeable future. The Department of Defense is being very restrictive for active duty military - no traveling further than 150 miles from base, no crowds of more than 10 people, no going into bars, restaurants, etc. It makes for a rather straitened life, but I'm glad for it. He just found out his command is allowing family to visit without quarantining, so we're hoping to go down and see him near the end of July. I wonder how few rest stops we can manage?

Guest Son on the paddleboard. I honestly think Youngest might have snapped and done away with the Maine Millennial and me à la Lizzie Borden if not for having a friend and co-conspirator here.

It's a good thing to grow up in Maine.

 

 After five o'clock there are adult beverages for the adults, and ginger ale and seltzer for the non-drinkers. I had a Pimm's in a sturdy mason jar. It felt extremely Instagrammable, and since I now actually have an Insta account, I slapped it up there!

Photo by Celia Wakefield

The best way to end a long, active day - visiting with friends as the sun slips behind the trees. Knowing we had those sesame noodles waiting for us made it a lot easier to climb up the hill to the house.

How about you, dear readers? Are you finding some special spots to escape to during this long, strange summer?  

Son Ahoy!

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: Those of you following the stories about my family life may remember how, back in March, I bid farewell to the Sailor, who was headed out for a seven and a half month deployment (formerly known as a cruise) in the Persian Gulf. Twelve days ago, he got home, along with over 300 other crew members of the USS Gonzalez. 

We didn't see him man the rails - he was working belowdeck.

 

The Smithie, Youngest and me waiting.

 

The Sailor's sisters and his lovely girlfriend, Veronique.

 

 

His work team won the Rocky Balboa Award (I swear I'm not making this up), given to the team with the best performance record within the division with the best performance record. The prize? FIRST OFF THE SHIP.

                                      

These two were VERY happy to see each other again.  There's more lettuce on the Sailor's chest now - he was awarded several commendations during the deployment. Not that I'm bragging. (I'm totally bragging.)             

                                      We have a family tradition of Silly Sibling photos. 

Because we're a media-savvy family, you can also read the Maine Millennial's column about our trip and the homecoming at the Portland Press Herald, and see Veronique and me interviewed by WVEC 13News Now:


 I'm the one with zero makeup and puffy eyes. I'm not a pretty crier, and BOY did I bawl like a little baby.

                                   Welcome home, Sailor!

A Week in the Life of the Family Hugo-Vidal

Julia Spencer-Fleming: The Family Hugo-Vidal being my own, of course; the Smithie a/k/a The Maine Millenniel, The Sailor (formerly known as The Boy) and this week's star, Youngest.

We started the week with an unexpected column from the Maine Millennial:

Oh, yes, this was a surprise to me. Not my daughter's issues with alcohol - we had plenty of discussions about that - and not that she had reached the point where, as she said, "I just don't want to do that to myself anymore." The part where she also told the entire state of Maine (and anyone reading along on the internet)? That was pure Smithie. I did try to raise her to be open and honest. VERY open and VERY honest. 

Next on the agenda... you can all guess from this picture!

Yes, that's Youngest, a proud graduate of Gorham High School's class of '18. Those are false eyelashes, if you're wondering. After her friend did her make-up, I was informed this was a "beat face." Picture me rolling my (non-beat) middle-aged eyes.

Can you spot her? Me, neither.

Here's the big moment. It feels like such an accomplishment for both of us - there were times I didn't think we'd get through the past two years. Of course,  I was a water fountain. Thank God I brought a big handkerchief. Then it was outside for pics with friends,

Family - that's the Sailor, who drove all the way up from Norfolk on a three-day leave to cheer his sister on while wearing a kilt,

And friends and family together! (The young man is the Very Tall Boyfriend, who is cohabitating with the Smithie. Not a great picture of him, I'm afraid, but I look good, and it's my blog.)

Then, just two days later, it was primary day in Maine. Youngest has been interning for the Cote for Governor campaign, and because she will be eighteen by the November election, she got to cast a ballot for the very first time. She later told me she was more excited about exercising her franchise than she was about graduating! (Although she didn't get any presents for voting.)

Finally, to wrap things up, she marched with the rest of the campaign staff at Saturday's Pride march. It was a beautiful day in Portland - just about as bright and hopeful as Youngest's future.

I didn't even get to tell  you about my brother visiting with his wife and adorable son, or the spontaneous post-grad BBQ held by dear friends, or me picking Youngest up at 5am after Project Graduation (yawn!) or Youngest helping coordinate responses to challenges for seventeen-year-olds voting (via text, of course)... but enough about me and my fabulous kids. Tell me about some fabulous kids you know, dear readers!