Maine Musings: Winding Down of Summer

We just ended a week of house guests as we wind down our Maine time. My sister and her husband were easy to have and together we visited the Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens, ate lobster as often as possible, and enjoyed another excursion to Pemaquid Point.

We then welcomed our 3 year old granddaughter (and her wonderful parents) who provided nonstop commentary on what she and everyone around her was doing. That was when she wasn’t making up family stories about sticks, stones, and her dolls or involving her grandmother as playmate in various scenarios: going to the dentist, lying on the beach, being sick and requiring a trip to the hospital in an ambulance, making pancakes (clementines stood in for the pancake batter), and arranging a tea party. She and I did all of these things and we even read a few books together; for the one she especially liked, it was, “again, Grandma, again.”

We also made blueberry pancakes for breakfast (for real) and spent many hours in the children’s garden at the aforementioned botanic garden. A lively visit and a real gift of their precious time.

What I’m Not Reading

Despite a recent article in the Wall St. Journal about the demise of the summer reading list, I still try to read tomes on vacation that I don’t attempt the rest of the year. This summer I have one of Trollope’s novels on my stack which I will start soon.

I also subscribe to a first editions book club and receive an autographed novel in the mail each month. I seldom read these books as soon as they arrive and over time I accumulate a small stack of them. I brought two with me to Maine. I have started both of them and abandoned both of them, probably for good. I anticipated being absorbed and even engrossed in them, but not so.

The first one is about a young woman who masquerades as a man and goes off to fight in the Civil War. She leaves her husband and their farm behind. The writing is spare and the images of war are graphic and bloody. The author keeps the reader at a distance and I didn’t stay engaged. Maybe not just the right time or mood for me, so perhaps I’ll return to it. It is Neverhome by Laird Hunt.

The second novel, Flying Shoes, by Lisa Howorth, is a first novel built around the re-opening of a murder case in the 1980’s that was the actual murder of the author’s brother. It’s set in Mississippi and has a sassy, what I would characterize as southern, tone. I found the narrator’s voice too flippant and saucy; hence it’s on my discard pile.

One of the liberating aspects of this stage of life is that I don’t need to finish every book I start. I sample fifty to a hundred pages and if I don’t like what I’ve read, I give myself permission to set it aside without guilt. Life is short and there are too many books I want to read to get bogged down in one that is not compelling or enjoyable in some way!