We got the pot at a yard sale in Liberty, probably about 1972. We shopped a lot of yard sales in those days with a whole house to furnish. That seems like a long way to go, but then we were young; a 40-minute drive on a Saturday morning was our entertainment. With the baby in the back seat of our Saab, (think the original Saab, those turtle-shaped cars, two-cycle engines, cheaper than a VW Beetle – we’d each brought one to our marriage), we drove all over the place.

So I suspect our friends, Lou and Myra Polan, the elderly (nearly 70 year old!) couple we hung out with, told us about the yard sale these New York friends of theirs were having. I can’t remember their names, but I think of them every time I pass their driveway on Route 3. It was a large, old farmhouse overlooking Lake St. George, an unlikely place for a pair of city-dwellers.

The cast iron pot was exactly what I needed, and two dollars seemed a reasonable price. Not to Myra when I showed it to her. “Shame on them charging you $2 for that!” she exclaimed, and I believe she called up her friend and told her so. “She should have given it to you.”

Thousands of meals have come to the table (the table we bought from Harry Crockett Sr.’s used furniture shop, next to the Camden-Rockport arch) via that pot, along with the heavy ceramic bread bowl we found at the end of another long driveway in Montville and the cast iron fish poaching pan (I’ve never seen another like it) that a quirky friend of Wally’s gave us for a wedding present.

My mother-in-law’s present was a set of cast iron frying pans; not a day goes by that I don’t fry an egg or heat up a hot dog in one of those. The biggest of them rarely leaves the hook it hangs on these days, now that I’m cooking for one.

I find my mother in the kitchen – her glass sugar bowl lives next to the woodstove, her pastry blender under the flour bin, her tin recipe box sits on a shelf. Her fragile, little liqueur glasses come out only rarely, usually when I’ve made cordial from a cup or two of spare berries.

Dad is right out in the open, his fedora hanging (nailed actually) on the coat rack. His carving knife hasn’t come out of the drawer since the day I beat my brother out (we probably flipped a coin for it) when we were divvying up the stuff he left. The blade is worn so thin it might break if I actually used it. Now Wally’s black and red checked barn jacket hangs next to the hat; if I bury my nose in it I can imagine he’s just taken it off.

Sometimes I walk around the house, telling myself out loud where this and that thing came from:

the jar of Indian head pennies, the total of Wally’s inheritance from his family, the pennies that he recalled had been a bitter bone of contention among his relatives when he was a boy.;

the two framed needlepoint pictures of a girl and a boy, stitched by my birth mother, the mother I never knew;

the large teakettle that lives on the cookstove, a gift from Barbara Hatch who’d kept it on her woodstove for decades;

the plywood Betty Boob, three feet high, found sticking out of the enormous pile of cast-offs at my son’s dorm the day he graduated from college;

the enamled soap dish Duncan Wass, a former owner of the Beach Store, gave me, found in the house down the road he shared with his partner, John Trowbridge;

a little hooked wool scene, 4” x 12”, that we found in the drawer of a dresser we bought used somewhere;

a ceramic kangaroo we bought in Australia with my son’s in-laws-to-be on a fun day when they showed us around their world;

an embroidered pillow of three little dogs that lives on my bed, purportedly made by my mother-in-law, but she could have gotten it somewhere else;

the intricate Cathedral Windows potholders Bernice Calderwood made;

the little wooden lobster boat, one of many that Keryn Laite carved and gave away during the years of his illness;

the metal black cat with orange letters spelling “B-O-O” hanging off it, an Avon trinket Wally’s sister, Pat, gave me a long time ago;

the many, many Christmas gifts from Lynne, my sister-in-law – the yellow patterned plates I use every day (and everyone thinks they’re china, but they’re Melamine which is why they’ve never broken) and the handsome platters for crackers and cheese, Lynne’s all over my kitchen cupboards.

They’re just things, aren’t they, but the stories they evoke play continuously in the background of every day, as I make my bed and carefully replace the three puppy pillow, pick up the soap in the shower, spoon out sugar for my tea. Loved ones, casual acquaintances, good friends are never far away.

I think of the people who have to flee their homes with little more than their documents (if they’re lucky enough to have them), with a photo album or two, maybe a change of clothes. We see them, with wildfires raging behind them, grateful to be alive as everything burns.

They stand, in shock, amid the rubble of a sudden tornado or flood.

We see them trudging over dusty roads, bundles on their backs, babies in their arms, bewildered, turned away at borders, fleeing the violence that threatens their very lives. They pack onto overloaded boats, risk crossing deadly deserts, leaving behind every vestige of home, trying to find a better life.

Do they manage to salvage one thing, to carry a photo of parents, of lost children, one thing that brings back a happy memory, that evokes a hopeful story?

Memory has never been such a feature of my life as it has these past nearly three years since losing Wally. I used to live on one plane only, the here and now. Today, it’s the now and the then (then being memory). I only let him in with sidelong glances as it were, don’t concentrate on long narratives of how we did this or that together, don’t try to recall our conversations.

I work pretty hard at staying engaged in the now, the dailyness of chores and meals and projects (so thankful for hands and mind, able to fill whole days making stuff), at the hours shared with Don.

The loss sneaks back predictably in the afternoons for some reason, when the day’s project is done or put away, when evening looms, and we should be settling in by the fire, dinner simmering on the stove, he reading from our current book and me knitting.

I suspect this is normal now.

Holiday Antique and Gift Show

Mary Schulein, organizer of the show, says it better than I can:

“Come by the Community Building this Saturday, 9 a.m. to 2 p.m., and browse the annual Holiday Antique and Gift Show which will feature local antique dealers, crafters, and farmers. There will be a wide selection of unique and affordable products including handcrafted goat milk soaps, balsam wreaths, vintage decorations, and fabric art by Halina. Featured items include Diane O'Brien's original Advent calendars and knitted hats, Hannah's blueberry products, Sarah Troutman's cinnamon and spice ornaments; and crafts from Kenya, the sale of which support Kenyan schools and healthcare for children.  Artisan broom maker, Karen Koch, will offer her practical and beautiful Appalachian brooms and David Smith of Hope will be selling a selection of Sparky's maple syrup, honey, and bees wax candles. 

“Church members will have several tables of good quality gift items, Christmas ornaments and decorations, Roberta's Heavenly Jams, and homemade quiche and baked goods packed to take home. Refreshments to be sold include coffee cake, cookies, breakfast casserole, quiche, soup, chili and mac and cheese.

“The Holiday Antiques and Gift Show is a wonderful opportunity to purchase unique gifts for your loved ones while supporting the local economy and the United Christian Church.  Event organizers have been pleased with comments from past shoppers about the welcoming atmosphere and the great assortment of products.  A coastal customer said, "This show is such a wonderful surprise and just a short, beautiful drive from town. See you again next year!" 

All are welcome.  There is no admission fee and there is ample parking; the Community Building is handicapped accessible.”

School

Lincolniville school students (grades 6-8) joined Hope and Appleton kids, their future high school classmates, at Hope school to watch a viewing of Angst, a new documentary about anxiety. They learned that everyone suffers, to some extent, from stress, nerves, and social fear. Sounds like a great conversation starter for parents and their middle schooler at the dinner table.

Giving Used Gear a Second Life

The annual sale of used ski equipment and other winter gear will be held at CHRHS the week-end of November 23 and 24 at the high school. Bring in your used gear and make some money on it and/or find great deals on someone else’s used stuff. The sale benefits everyone, including the CHRHS ski team. Bring in your items for sale on Friday, Nov. 22 between 3 and 8 p.m.; you set the price and the team gets 25% of the sale, you get 75%. Pre-register your stuff and watch the online sale here. 

Library

Bring your project to the Library Tuesday afternoon, 4-6 p.m., to meet with Kathleen Oliver and her band of fiberholics as they gather to knit and purl, share and encourage, visit and create. Hot tea and a warm, charming atmosphere are provided.

Join Jessica Day of Midcoast Music Together as she leads the room in songs, dances and playing simple instruments on Friday at 11 a.m.  Children (infants to 5 years of age) are welcomed to bring their parents and young siblings to sing, play and socialize.  The Library offers this program, free to all participants, once each month.

A Lively Place

Now, it’s not as if I didn’t know my way to the Whales Tooth Pub, but one of the features of my relatively new status as a single woman is the busy social whirl I find myself in, which I realize contradicts the above piece on memory. Believe me, both are possible. Oh, and I’m not alone in this.

When my rather near neighbor Don and I joined forces two years ago, both widowed, both with time on our hands (alright, lonely), and both looking for some fun, we had no idea we’d be busy several nights a week. It seems to work out that way, and although a trip to Walmart or lunch at Scott’s is our idea of a date, we find ourselves out more evenings than either of us ever did when married.

So it was that Sunday night we were at a table of a dozen folks celebrating Dorothee Newcombe’s 65th birthday. She and Rob have run the Whales Tooth (and lived upstairs) for 25+ years, greeting customers, ordering food, overseeing staff, maintaining that old (200 years?) building, and raising their two children.

Along the way Dorothee has shepherded the Lincolnville Business Group from its beginnings, raising scholarship money for local students, and promoting Lincolnville businesses. Rob keeps the sidewalks plowed at the Beach, worked with his son, Kirk, who installed the benches and trash receptacles at the Beach for his Eagle Scout project 18 years ago, is instrumental in getting wreaths hung at both the Beach and Center; both are fully supportive of various local functions.

Have you noticed the platter of wings that always shows up at the Christmas By the Sea party at the LIA? Notice that the Newcombes are always at all the fund-raising functions held around town?

The couple were joined last night by daughter Jody as well as Kirk and his fiancée, Meg, and Rob’s sister, Ann, a family gathering amid the packed house of a holiday Sunday night. It’s certainly a fun place to be on a cold evening, fire blazing in the walk-in fireplace, full moon peeking in and out of the clouds. Meg, who sings and performs in musical theatre in NYC, put on a terrific performance, singing favorites from over 50 years of musicals.

The Pub is open all winter (with some time off around Christmas) Wednesday through Sunday for dinner, and for lunch on weekends.