Damn it Feels Good to be Me in General

Nobody blowin’ up my phone
I ain’t buzzin’ and I ain’t stoned
But I’m ridin’, flyin’ higher than the blue sky
If you don’t like me brother that’s okay
I ain’t gonna let it wreck my day
I keep stylin’, smilin’ Handin’ out the sunshine
I got no good reason why

-Uncle Kracker

Knocked a couple things off the to-do list today. Epic fail on going to LL Bean, since I left the polar fleece I wanted to return and a gift card on the island in my kitchen. I didn’t realize until I was at C&R Trading Post to pick up some parts for my AR-15.

I got put on ATF hold for a week. I was picking up a lower receiver and a parts kit. Because I hold a security clearance (TS/SCI) and my name isn’t Mohamed. But really what did I expect from this ass-backwards down the rabbit hole federal government?

So I pulled out of C&R and opted to go right toward Brunswick instead of left toward Freeport. I saw the sign for the Durham road and opted for the long way home.

When I was 16 I worked at White’s Beach as a lifeguard. White’s Beach is on the Durham Road - so I thought I might stop in. I still know the owner. A weird Cher looking former stoner and all around paranoid work of art. I guess she would have been considered beautiful in the 70s, but a lifetime of smoking makes her look like a side of ham from a smokehouse. She alternately acts like I am her best friend or a dog who just pooped on her shoe. You really never know what you are going to get from her
.
I got to enjoying the day and the music and blasted right past White’s Beach..

I did stop in and say hi to my great aunt. I had to dust off a fair amount of grass to get this shot. A mower had apparently just been by.

Yeah, Uncle Bob’s brother was the guy who owned White’s Beach. Which is probably why I got the job. Nothing wrong with a little nepotism. At least I earned my minimum wage. I saved six people during the summer of ‘79. Not one of them knows my name.

On the way out of the graveyard and at the end of the road is this house.

Three girls tortured me all summer long - they came to the beach every time I was working and preened in front of my lifeguard stand. Total female display instinct. Very distracting to a young professional. Riding my bike home, they would be waiting at this fence with iced tea or homemade lemonade.

I’d stop and we’d have awkward teenage chitchat. I’d feel like a fool. And be on my way.

They were only up for the summer. Daughters of some rich New York lawyer. If I had had any clue what the fuck I was doing, my life may have taken a very different turn. I hadn’t started my senior year of High School yet.

On up the road a bit. At the corner of Durham and SR125. The Quaker Meeting House.

My parents were married there. Some of my mom’s side of the family were Quakers. I wonder how they liked that - my dad marrying mom in uniform in a Quaker church.

Oddly enough, my ancestor who brought the name to America came over with William Penn. So I guess I have Quakers on both sides of the family.

I made a right onto SR125 and came through ‘Salem’s Lot. Shocked to see the mill completely gone. That was the textile mill featured in the Stephen King short story “The Night Shift” and again in the book 11/22/63. It is completely gone.

Strange how time just keeps moving on, and proving that nothing is permanent.

Didn’t put a damper on my mood.

‘Cause, damn it felt good to be me. Windows down, music blasting.