This is my dissolute weekend, drinking endless cups of coffee and reading a big fat novel. First thing this morning I mowed the lawn for the last time this year, so I could pretend to be among the living, but since then I've moved in a slow triangle between the chair and the couch and the coffee machine. Periodically I do load up the woodstoves, so that's sort of a like a job or a labor of love or something.

Love. I am also spending the weekend with my Chilly P.--who I wooed many moons ago by reading her Frank O'Hara poems, especially these lines from "Steps":

oh god it's wonderful
to get out of bed
and drink too much coffee
and smoke too many cigarettes
and love you so much

Again with the cigarettes, right? Yes to caffeine; no to nicotine; greasy hair, optional (see previous post about the Norwegian).

American Tao -- no. 20

Zeitgeist
be damned
free me from
this daily drivel.

Black Friday
cooks up a hangover
unformed by spirits.

Need nothing
please
my dream.

Ascetic
and true
to the only
pure objective:
survival.

So, yes, it is OK
to lay in the moss
on a workday.

You can look at this (laptop screens)...

... or you can look at that.

But am I, perchance, a hypocrite? After all, I'm looking at a computer screen this very moment. Well, at least I know I have the ultimate requisite quality of being human. I haven't watched 60 Minutes in ages, but happened to catch it last night while I was ironing my clothes (told you I was a modern man), and there was an interesting little segment on Jane Goodall. She talked about how she started out with the supposition that chimps are much like humans, only nicer. What she discovered is that chimps are actually just like humans. In other words, they can be mean SOBS--but at least they don't run for office.

Now that I'm done ribbing my family and the rest of the human race, let me just say how absolutely wonderful it was to have Alice, Celia and Max here for the weekend. Alice has some great schemes up her sleeve, Celia is a clever and creative seamstress (more on that later), and Max--boy can he polish off some chocolate pie.

The whirling waters of the Bay of Fundy. Took the 8th grade boys on a hike and had a most awesome day. At one point the kids were talking about how great it was to be out in the wilderness and not in the classroom; I joked that I was getting paid to be out on a nature jaunt. Truth to tell, if I could do it on a daily basis I'd be pretty sure I'd died and gone to heaven. Ernie just loaned me the book Last Child in the Woods, so it felt pretty good to be helping to break the most unfortunate trend of kids spending all of their time indoors in front of a screen. And I don't think there's any doubt that the day added to the boys happiness factor.

This is what middle-aged men do for fun: amble around Lowe's and Home Depot looking at snowblowers. We almost asked the sales guy to take our picture--but how odd would that be, tourists of the big box? Back in the day Stan and I used to cruise the used car lots (he's the only other person I know who actually enjoys that), but then Stan had to go and buy the truck of his dreams (a truck with a moonroof, for goodness sake, and a gas pedal that gives you a foot massage while you drive), so we had to scuttle that part of the road trip. Was I disappointed? Hard to say after all the Thai food I ate; but, for now, the used truck bug seems to be in remission.

Trees for my brother and all the people who aren't really people people. Like, you know, the type of guy who might go to a job interview and say, "I'm really not a people person; don't think much of teams; and I've already got a family, so I don't need a 'family' where I work." OK, whatever, confusing and not funny; but who cares??? I just like trees.

Notice the omni-present cell-phone? Youth today. Oy vey.

That's right ladies, work it!

Eve and "the apple." Hmm. Well, it's not forbidden fruit, but fresh wholesome goodness from the Five Fields Orchard in Bridgton. We had a blast picking apples and visiting with Richard, Debbie, Eve, Ron and family. Talk about a weekend not being long enough--such is life, I guess. Hopefully we'll be visiting again soon. I have quite a few photos I'd like to post from our visit, but the Internets seem to be a bit wonky tonight, so it might have to wait.

When I was a lad of 19 I used my fake I.D. (true confession alert!) to get a job at a seedy rock club in Kenmore Square called Storyville. Back in its heyday it was a posh jazz club where Billie Holiday once sang (this always sort of gave me goose pimples when I'd look around the place, especially since it still had its original red banquettes, etc. ). At any rate, that top-flight job led to a sideline of being a roadie for up-and-coming bands, one of which, The November Group, had a song with the refrain "put your back to it," which came into my head today as I was doing my current gig: muling firewood. Alas, The November Group never quite got the notoriety they deserved, but at least their beat lives on in my feeble brain.

Yippee yippee yay! Finally got the woodstove installed in the sunroom. Many thanks to Jamie W. for his most excellent siting services. Who would have thought to just put that sucker smack dab in the middle of the room? Genius, I tell you. This particular stove is called The Squirrel (there is a squirrel depicted on its sides, not visible above) and it is the longest-running commercially produced woodstove, made in Denmark. Perhaps I've said all that before, when we first bought the stove, but I can't remember. All I know is that it is going to be pure joy to sit in front of the flame reading a novel on our first snow day--not to rush into winter, or anything.

This is Karl. He's a nature-obsessed Norwegian literary genius. I think I would like to be him, sans cigarette. The pensiveness, the connectedness to earth, the long greasy hair. Most def': gimme the makeover.

Pithy: concise and forcefully expressive. Right on, Judy. I'm going to go with that; in fact, I think I'll get straight on the horn with my agent and ask her to work out a new deal. Maybe I'll even hold out on my current blog contract and make them beg. Yeah, I won't write another word until I'm the highest paid pontificator in the blogosphere.
I so meant to get a picture of Jake and Jessie in tandem; alas, they were bookin' it back to school before I got a chance. Apparently there's nothing to do in Machias. Are you kidding me? Is this really a no horse town?
Tomorrow it's back to work and our usual 9:00 P.M. bedtime. What was the question again?

Tonight my mother came over to the house and happened to see me out back hauling my woodcart. When I came inside she told my I "looked like a mule." Then she and Cara and Jessie started up a chorus about how I was going to hurt myself (most likely in the back region). So there I was, up against three generations of that 100 proof lady-logic, but I stood firm. "It's good for me," I said, even if perhaps I was feeling a bit gimpy.

I'm more concerned about my mind then my body, truth to tell. I worry too much, and when I have nothing to worry about I worry about that; you see, it's when you have nothing to worry about that you know there's going to be trouble, because this is where anxiety begins. I mean, I'm in a zone of parental pride and happiness, but I'm edgy too. Why???

Because I'm built like that. I used to be an angst-ridden teenager, which I figured I'd just grow out of someday. I pictured myself living in a loft in Soho, walking across cobble-stone streets in my corduroy pants all cool and calm. Come to think of it, that's a pretty strange fantasy for a teenager. For some reason that whole picture connotes stability in my mind, which I guess is what I was looking for, and, you know, corduroy pants are pretty comfy.

So there you have it: city boy turns into farm animal. Now if I could just learn how to make things grow.

The pastor at the church we used to attend in Blue Point once said in a sermon that "life is flow, not accumulation." This made an impression on me because whether you're talking about rivers, our circulatory system or the economy, accumulation impedes the life force.

So Matt, in his separate points, sort of summarizes the dichotomy of the human condition. He talks about how cool the Moneyless Man's gig is, but then also references the high price of gold--the ultimate substance of the hoarder (picture Pharoahs literally buried in it). Hard too, not to point out the biblical injunction against hoarding (building another barn to store the wheat; then dying, of course) which seems to have influenced just about nobody.

Perhaps someday there will be a legitimization of self-reliance, etc. via higher education, but for now the conspiracy (read big bad business) to consume, consume, consume reigns over the earth.

Clarification: when I said I hauled a "tractor trailer," I meant a lawn tractor trailer. Not one of those big-honking trailers on a big rig--just in case any of you were confused about my actual brute strength. It is official, by the way: healthy eating leads to weight gain. I seem to have gained yet another couple pounds. I'd like to feed myself the old saw about muscle weighing more than fat, but I'm probably more buffoon than buff.

But at least it gives me a chance to tell one of my favorite stories. When I was a freshman at BU I worked on the maintenance crew mowing lawns and moving desks around. One of my co-workers was a fellow student from Ireland who was on their Olympic team as a shot-putter. He was a big mass of muscle, as you might imagine. One day we were riding in the back of a pick-up truck to our next assignment and I said, "Someday all that muscle will turn to fat." Now, before I share his response, keep in mind that at the time I was about 145 pounds soaking wet.

So he says, "The skinny man's lament. Someday, I'll still be big and strong and you'll still be skinny and useless."

Well, at least he got the second part right.

So now I'm in comment heaven. Jessie Sweet turned me to goo, and then Camille goes and gets me to melt down to the consistency of tapioca pudding (there's an image for ya). No more threats! And I'm sure my mother will be beaming with pride that the summer swing extravaganza in the wilds of Maine is now bearing fruit in the mean streets of NYC--sprouting through the cracks in the concrete, I suppose. But even with two left feet, Camille would light up the room.

Sold my 4-wheeler yesterday. I've sold so much junk over the years that people ask me to sell them things even when I'm not looking to sell them. That's what happened with the wheeler, and it's OK, because I'm anxious to see what I can do under my own steam. Today I hooked up a harness to an old tractor trailer and I was actually able to haul quite a bit of wood. Worked up enough of a sweat that I can fairly say it's a good alternative to the gym.

Next up is the purchase of a Wovel, which is a huge snow shovel propelled by a bicycle-sized wheel. It's won some innovation prizes and you can see it in action on YouTube. This will be my small bit, I guess, in the crusade to use less gasoline.

The pumpkin convoy rolls into Marshfield. Oh, did we have fun down on the dike. Picked up these Halloween specials along with a buttercrunch squash and a 50 lb. bag of potatoes--straight from Aroostook County. My mother came over for Cara's fabulous bean soup and told us she just finished reading a book called Goat Song that she borrowed from the library. It describes the meditative benefits of keeping goats and making your own cheese. She seems to think this would be the perfect endeavor for us. But I'd say the most I can expect from myself at the moment is to ramp up the maple syrup production come Spring. But wait: we need to deal with Winter first. And don't forget: there will be mucho snow this year.

There are two ways in which it can be wonderful to feel weary: if it's from hard physical labor, or if you're a soul singer. Anyone who's had the misfortune of standing next to me during a rendition of Happy Birthday knows my current contentment stems from the former. Like returning to a long lost love, I cut and hauled firewood and then did some trail maintenance. It's earthy and rich and vibrant out in those woods--and exactly where I belong.

The wildflowers last stand.

This morning I woke up in the pitch black. There was a howling wind and my mouth tasted like metal. I didn't think I had it in me to do the woodshed workout, then told myself all I had to do was get up and have a coffee. One thing led to another, naturally, and the next thing I knew I was grunting and groaning as the sun came up on the ridge.

So now everything is as it should be, and we (me and the mouse) can ease on into the weekend. Hope yours is filled with love and relaxation and boatloads of caffeine, if you need it.