Friday, November 21, 2008
We had the best time. A friend invited me to come to their monthly grange meeting and discuss my book. So we went. We met wonderful people and thoroughly enjoyed the potluck dinner. When I met the program chair lady she thanked me for coming and then said how they were looking forward to having me tell "Maine stories." Ooops. Somehow they had me figured for a performer. But when the time came I simply told them all I was a writer and my stories were in the book. No problem. I just flipped the pages and began to read. We had more fun. I embellished the reading a little and they all laughed at the right places. Once in a while the listeners would be reminded of something that had happened to them and they'd chime in. For a little while the entertainment was just our conversation. But they enjoyed it all and even invited me back. I don't think a writer and his readers could have had a much more authentic experience. It was a treat to be there in that ancient old grange hall with the wood paneled walls and folding tables, and to be greeted by people whose only agenda for the evening was to get together and share a meal and enjoy each other's company. I think it was a down-to-earth as you could get. I won't soon forget chewing the fat with those wonderful folks in that little grange hall overlooking the lake in the rural Maine. This old story teller and writer felt right at home.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
If you think that is a scary title, then you should have been here for the real event. I was more scared then I have been in years. More frightened then when I was in Vietnam and getting shot at. It all happened so fast, there was no time to even think about what to do. We were pulling mooring blocks out of the river for the winter and had just begin to lift a 3000 lb granite block off the bottom when the chain fell off the winch and the barge surged or jerked and I was catapulted into the river! Just like that. I was under water and the current was sweeping me away from the barge and my friends. The water was pre-winter frigid and I was dressed in heavy work clothes, dungarees, fleece, wool shirt, and steel toed boots. Thank god we were all wearing life jackets. The PFD popped me to the surface and turned me on my back. Things were happening way to fast. The guys couldn't help. They were in the middle of the river attached to a granite block. I just couldn't believe I had gone overboard. The closest shore was 100 feet away so I made like a penquin and began flapping my arms and doing the backstroke. Oh gawd I thought. This is dangerous. I knew I'd better get to shore quickly as I was chilling down fast. Gamely I just kept flapping my "wings". I must have weighed a ton with all those soaking clothes. Finally...eventually...it seemed like I'd been paddling forever...I reached the ledge and grabbed a tree branch to haul myself up out of the water, but the branch broke and I fell back into the drink. Talk about an awe heck. Next time I crawled up the darned rock. By now things were very serious. I was wet and cold and exhausted. The guys weren't having much luck either. After a couple of false starts they finally jetisoned the mooring and came to my rescue. We rushed back across the river and I sloshed my way up to the garage where I wiggled out of all the wet clothing and boots and hit the hot shower. Ahhhh. thank gawd. I can only imagine what would have happened if I'd not been wearing that life jacket. With the tide falling and the river so cold I would have been a news item in the local paper. Geeesh. So there it is. They say everything that happens in the life of a writer is "material." That must be so. There's one story in Sandbox Camp Tales about when I was in college and flipped over in a canoe and another one about a canoe trip on the Machias River when my buddy and I overturned. I guess if I wait long enough this recent brush with death will make its way into a story and whatever comes next after Sandbox. I can't wait to see what that is.