Email to friends and family...

Hi, Ladies,

We had a great weekend and I know you each would have enjoyed sharing it with us. The weather has been gorgeous, even when it rains.

Yesterday morning we arrived at the Whiteface United Methodist Church annual auction and bbq. It was so much fun we stayed til the bitter end--we were there about five hours. Things were going for such reasonable prices--it was a deal for the bidders and not so much of a fund-raiser for the church, but we all had fun and that's what matters most, I guess. Plus they probably earned a couple new members (us.) I was the chief bidder in our family and also a proud driver-up of bids that I subsequently lost--as a professional fund-raiser and dedicated community volunteer I felt it was my duty to raise the prices. I won several bottles of wine, eight passes for a raft ride at Au Sable Chasm (which we'll save for when you all visit,) dinner for two at a new restaurant, a cat mirror that looks exactly like something my mother would give me, a free night at a nice b&b, a one-person tent that a local character took with him on the Appalachian Trail, a delicate old cut glass sugar & creamer and some assorted junk. John sat there, unmoved by any of the goods, until a set of three simple wooden chairs that had been reupholstered by our neighbor came up for auction, plus two pillows to match. Then John sprang into action, and the chairs were his. We don't know where they'll go but they sure look nice. He also won a $25 certificate from our oil company, for which he paid $20. Hey, it's $5 off. We bid on but lost a rustic curio cabinet, an heirloom cedar chest, and a few other things. All in all it was a great bargain and the church thinks they made $2,000 or $3,000, most of which was NOT from us.

Then we came home, unwound and went off to the Jay Town Green for the Saturday night concert series for which we are the refreshments volunteers. As soon as we pulled up it started to pour rain, but as the band was set up inside the gazebo they decided to stick it out. So we and a dozen other die-hards stood around in the pouring rain chatting for 45 minutes until, as forecast by one farmer-artist fellow, the sky cleared from the north. The concert began and people came out of the trees, it seemed. There were probably 50 folks, including a bunch of children. Speaking of children, I am enduring fierce desires to have a child. John says if I go through one more cycle without changing my mind then he'll know it's for real and not just hormonal. (It's been months now.) And then, as he says, "We'll get one."

Last night it rained again, and we were awakened by the Essex County fire-ambulance pager that John now carries glued to his person. It goes off in the middle of the night when it rains. I suppose I will get used to it quickly, but for now it is a disturbing, surreal interruption: first a series of tones which have meaning--last night's tones included a tune in a minor key--and then the calm deep voice of the dispatcher. "Essex County Emergency system activated for Wilmington, two car incident reported on Route 86 in the Notch, one rollover, one entrapment. All Wilmington units respond." John didn't wake up. I petted his hair and listened for the second call, which usually follows the first. Sure enough, in a minute or two the tones rang again, and the dispatcher repeated his announcement and added, "One person reported unconscious, but breathing. Repeat: one person reported unconscious, but breathing." So stark, so professional. John doesn't have to respond to anything that is not a fire in Upper Jay unless they call for backup. The backup system is why we hear all fire and ambulance calls for the county. If there's a huge wreck on the Northway, for example, then John might have to back up the VFD in a town 50 miles away across six mountains. I am fast gaining respect for our local community that does all this stuff as volunteers.

This morning we woke up lazily but soon John was out on the road running. He ran for two hours, arriving home just as I came back from the farmer's market with blueberries, maple sugar and a bunch of cool stuff from a garage sale including the most fetching pair of gold sparkly pointy harem slippers with a yellow pompom on the tips (25 cents.) It's good to be a grown woman with odd sartorial taste and absurdly small feet. I noticed a Jeep Grand Cherokee for sale at a neighbor's house, which we later test drove, and a second yard sale at which I got a treadmill for John when the winter sets in and he can't run up mountains any more. The treadmill is now in our basement. I tried it. If I wear three bras I might be able to use it comfortably.

Now John's on the front porch drinking a Bud and reading the paper. I am not typing up a fund-raising plan for the SPCA, nor entering town library archives acquisitions into a database, but writing to you. In a half hour I will freshen up and take off for Lake Placid where I am meeting a friend for supper. She's a member of a group into which I've been scooped up, called Adirondack Women For a Good Time (AWFGT.) There are six of us, all (except me) lesbians in their 40s-60s who like to eat meat, drink cocktails, talk loudly about all sorts of things and get preferential treatment at restaurants because we are characters. I guess I fit in somehow.

Our kitchen garden is a luxurious profusion of edibles plus an equal amount of sturdy weeds. Flowers are everywhere, from the acres of daisies and purple/pink wildflowers in our field to the bright bursts of pink and white cleomes around the garden border. Our river cairns have withstood several rainstorms and get added to every time one or the other of us goes wading. The Nissan is parked by the road with a FOR SALE sign in it, and the Taurus is doing just fine as an only car. The cats are stoned on catnip, Cruiser the dog is gently covering the entire house with golden hairs, and blackfly season is over. I am sublimely content.

I think of you often with love, and hope to see you soon.