In York Maine Today: No on One!

My friend, and fellow board member of Mass Equality, Pete and I hit the road this morning to knock on doors. Specifically, we were in Kittery. The campaign was set up at the York Harbor Inn, and set up with incredible efficiency.

We signed in, were processed, and sent out with marching orders in less than fifteen minutes. Yes, this even included a brief training on how to approach folks.

The sun was out, the air crisp- it doesn't get any better than this for a voting day. We parked and set off in opposite directions. Most people were not home, but those who were were adamantly for No one One. It felt great. One elderly woman said to me, Betta believe I'm votin' no... Making my husband, too.

I think that's what has struck me the most about this campaign, here, in Maine. When I was in California for Prop 8, I didn't see any older, or elderly people. I have, over and over again here. Life long Mainers, who have an opinion and a strong one. Who are at the campaign headquarters, or driving around knocking on doors today, making calls, organizing food, coffee... it's stunning to see.

And they say that's the generation that needs to die off to get marriage equality. I say, come to Maine before you wish that.

So far? I have a very good feeling. The campaign is organized, stocked with volunteers, and running smoothly. It's a perfect day to vote.

One Lobster Boat, Coming Up...

I hope Donald’s friends in Maine do not read my blog because if they do, I’m screwing myself as far as negotiations go…

I have a boat for Maine. For this summer. A lobster boat. Just a little one, with a little electric hauler to pull up traps. We’re allowed five because we own land up there.

I’m about to die. I saw the pictures and all my efforts to stay in the moment and be present were out the window. Suddenly, I was in the house, steering towards the next trap, as dawn was breaking on the horizon…

Oh. I have to have it.

Donald will have to own the poker face for this transaction.

One of the things I decided while away was that I was going to do a summer camp for the boys. I announced this to them New Years morning. They had a choice to go to the camp they went to last year- they all hated it- or they could come with me for a couple weeks to Down East and go to my camp.

They all moaned. A lot.

Hey, I said, I’ll have fishing, and boating- kayaking and sailing- swimming, arts and crafts- okay, only art because I hate glue and refuse to get my fingers sticky- creative writing, music, sign language class and cooking. Every day would have a rest period, and every day would have a work period.

They all moaned more.

I have not let them know yet they’ll get to invite one friend.

I realized while we were all cavorting in the ocean over the break, there would not be that many more summers when I would get to do this. Ben is 12 and soon he’ll be getting a job in the summer. The idea of such structured activities already gets rewarded with giant eye rolls and heavy sighs.

When the boys were little little, I took them to the beach almost every day. We’d get there at 7AM, wrapped in sweatshirts and carrying as many toys as humanly possible. I’d make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and cut them into quarters, along with grapes and juice and chips, and bagels.

They loved it. I loved it. I never got bored, they never got bored.

Now, they have longer over night camps that do not run the whole summer, leaving huge holes of time when they get to walk around and say, I’m bored. There’s nothing to do.

I gave up being camp counselor and sent them to day camps to fill in the time. They never liked their day camps, and I missed having a reason to go to the beach every day.

This year, I decided, I was going to put my best effort into it, perhaps bring in a few parent ringers in to help. I don’t know how to sail anything more than a sunfish and that was about thirty-five years ago and Allan is teaching the sign language class.

When I saw the picture of the boat today? I knew I made the right decision. Camp Sara starts after school ends. I have no idea how it will go and I’m not sure about the friends to invite- with no electricity and no phones, these parents are going to have to trust me.

A lot.

For now, I need to come back to earth. I’ve decided which candidate I’m going to vote for, work for, and really pull hard for. Homework needs to be done. It’s taco night- ugh- and I have to go cook the boy’s favorite greasy, nutritionally void meal.

I promised when they were all willing to eat the brown rice noodles and seared tuna last night.

Even though, there is a little part of me, standing on that boat… watching the bow crash through the waves, on my way to the next trap…