what we do for love

/

the honeymoon phase. you can’t stop us.

power washing boat. gracie gets a bath. what it means to own a sailboat.

bath time

ok. update. i'm not sure what is indeed charming about owning a sailboat in maine in the winter. let’s be real, having a boat attached to your deck is something like the coolest fort ever and the biggest metaphorical poke in the side every time you glance out the window. feed me, your time your love and all your money.

but we wanted to. right.

it was mild that december day we gave gracie a bath. say in the 40’s and pouring rain and as you can (or can’t) see, dark, so we set up the spotlights. i see now the Edison bulbs upstairs give the photo a gentle, festive air. aha. nope. and the power washer, so loud. and the smell, think abandoned fish market. and the mud.

this was perhaps still the honeymoon phase.

and then we pulled her diesel engine off. yep. best night of the honeymoon.

but it was, ok maybe not the best night, but we were determined. you can in fact walk right from our deck onto gracie (super rad); you can’t see her in her full glory because we built her a house. yes her very own house. i’m pretty sure mother nature has been trying to rip it down since we finished it on a frigid january day around 9pm. no ma’am. you can’t stop us.

but. we do love our boat. her bathing needs, her no engine, her house, and perhaps most of all,

her potential.

admittedly we haven’t been working on her as much lately. cold will ruin any honeymoon. then again, sometimes you just need a little sunshine, and our electric propulsion system arrived on monday! that’s right,

gracie’s going solar

so yea, for real. . . it’s expensive, time consuming and often overwhelming. but it’s also what we do for love. with determination, grace, goodwill and compassion. what we do is our future. our potential. . . our evolution, if just one part.

and maybe one dream, one boat, won’t make a difference. but i love this fragile life, this fragile earth, and

. our house is still standing .

change

the . new . girl

revolution . evolution

get . drunk . bear . down

the new girl

/

she floats. she sails. and she’s charming in oh so many ways.

gracie

where will you go? after all the places you've seen, where will you move to? settle down for a bit, you know, after nyc gets old. . .

hah. to buy a boat that’s where.

we didn’t come to brooklin looking for a boat, in fact we weren’t really looking for anything except a place to camp that last day of may in 2016 after a good few weeks on the road. and we’re still going, we have many more places to see, to move to, settle in for a night or two, or thirty; and nyc will never get old, we miss it every day.

we like to say brooklin found us, but we all know towns don’t look for people, but what is a place without its people, or its energy or animals… so maybe people take in people, like wolves, or horses, or they don’t. places make it perfectly clear when you are not welcome. thanks memphis.

we talked about buying a sailboat for years. in nyc. long island. the carolinas. we slept in nova at boat shows in downtown newport and annapolis. we looked at classifieds. i was going to tend bar for another year. bank. save. buy. insert covid. though we never stopped dreaming. we stopped looking. and of course, timing aside there she was on a warm day in august - a nameless 28’ irwin on a mooring in the harbor just down the street from home.

grace, technically means gods favor. ask me when my bank account is empty and again when i’m jumping off the bow in july, the sun warm and golden, if i think anyone (all gods aside here, did me a favor).

then again, grace also translates to charm of movement, seemingly effortless beauty, elegance, goodwill. to be gracious is to be generous, compassionate. she's not just a boat, she's a dream, she’s an evolution, the beginning (and middle) of a gradual process, (she needs work, that’s almost comical to say, she needs a ton of work), but more importantly for us, it’s not only the sailboat that needs work per se, who will change and quite possibly,

become a more complex or better form…

so, here’s to the new girl, here’s to brooklin. whoever found who, whoever took the other one in, with compassion, with grace, with the light of the stars and the flick of the wind. so much more to come. please follow along as we refit gracie.

get.drunk.bear.down

revolution.evolution

hug.your.dog

p.o.e.t.r.y

/

dogs. gin. july.     what, why, how and who are you reading?

good company

so that fierce dog and i went for a walk this morning her muzzle so pummeled in sleet that when she slipped under my neighbor’s deck for refuge looking far more desperate than fierce we hustled uphill squinting in misery

though i love the smell of navy’s wet ears the relief of shedding our sopped layers (yes she wears a coat too)

i’d much rather peel a wet bikini off my salty skin mix a happy-hour cocktail and settle in to a collection of poetry on our warm deck in july

and yes of course

i prefer to be in the company of dogs

indeed this year is strange so we’re here with sleet rolling down the back of our necks counting the days until summer solstice falling off the paddle board with navy

and especially

reading poems outside

in fact, due to my (mostly) unemployed seclusion paired with lack of travel, unattainable brewery discoveries and an inability to go swimming i may be reading more, or differently, or perhaps not - i’m definitely reading inside.

so i propose a new element to this project, let’s call it. . .

what, why, how and who are you reading?

and. . . perhaps a recent discovery surprised you? who is on your need to read list? can’t-live-without subscriptions? what genres are keeping you sane during this pandemic? curious favorites?

if nothing else, stories transport us whether we are metaphorically stationary (oh lock down) or seeking an alternate world, if only for an hour or two as Natalie Diaz said, “we are alive because of story”

i will launch a more formal (ha right - formal) platform here at thedrunkbear in the near future here’s a touch of my who and what at present -

in the midst of - Girl, Woman, Other by Bernardine Evaristo (yes please) just finished - The Deepest South of All by Richard Grant (i love mississippi, it’s complicated) and before that - Perestroika in Paris by Jane Smily (brilliant indeed) a few on a rolling basis - The New Yorker, Poetry, The Practical Horseman must order George Saunders’ newest - A Swim in the Pond in the Rain Charlie Mackesy’s The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse (could/should indulge every night) a few authors on my nightstand - Olga Tokarczuk, Pasternak, Rilke, Reginald Dwanye Betts

cheers to the pursuit of pleasure in whatever form you seek. until the sun is high and the sea is warm

write. share. inspire. read. love. learn.

poetry

stayfierce. staycurious. staywild.

hugyourwetdog

getdrunkbeardown

fierce

/

showing a heartfelt and powerful intensity. wild

front porch

she’s your dog

he says to me when she’s wild.

uncontrolled or unrestrained, especially in pursuit of pleasure

she listens and she defies. they all do.

she’s fierce. i say.

a direct reflection of her human.

i have not posted on this site since the fall of 2017, after we almost lost bean. i suppose i have lost and found myself a few times since then. often abandoning this project. re-dreaming it. contemplating what it is. what it isn’t. then reaffirming why i ought not justify everything. that its ok to wish you could text your dead dog. or hug her uncontrollably.

or write her letters. unrestrained

this is toulouse on the hopson plantation at the shack up inn in clarksdale mississippi. where Muddy Waters and Robert Johnson played the blues on their front porches after they farmed cotton for the military. i finally had this photo printed and cased. it arrived yesterday while i was drafting this; it now hangs over my desk.

the drunk bear was a project inspired by my life with touls. i think, when i don't think too much, our stories and aspirations are still fueled by her spirit. our memories. what my life was like then, and perhaps, what i wish it was more like now.

fierce and wild, intense and unrestrained, for all the right reasons.

but… pandemic. unemployment. social-political climate. fear. misunderstanding. we could go on. and on. and on. while we fell in love with the south, the owner of the shack up inn said ‘people used to be more like y’all, now we have to tell them to stop throwing their beer cans on the lawn.’ what?

but i get it now.

so i begin again. not in my van, but at my desk for now, to be more like toulouse, navy and bean in their intensity and compassion, their unconditional love and endless pursuit of happiness. until we hit the road again. challenge accepted. catch you on the flip side.

write. share. inspire.

poetry

stayfierce. staycurious. staywild.

hugyourdog

getdrunkbeardown

the miracle dog

/

love. determination and the fight to save bean. poetry in progress

the quiet life

me and bean. cape cod. sept. 2012. 

 

his broad freckled chest now has a gnarly scar 

where he was stitched back together 

twice after the porcupine when

 

they cut his sternum bone in half 

again to remove the right front lung

lobe after they found

 

twenty-four quills in his heart

three in his lungs, forty

removed the first time

 

they performed open heart open 

lung surgery and he still 

didn’t heal nine days later

 

we brought him home in

critical condition after two 

nights of opioid torture in

 

the hospital parking lot we slept 

at a campground until he was stable

enough to make it home

 

where he could not be left

alone and his medication 

schedule was a short story

 

and his stitches became infected

the laundry constantly going to

rotate his t-shirt supply 

 

to keep him clean and his harness 

dry his sister constantly

by his side and

 

he healed as we 

fought against odds not in our favor to

keep him alive

 

after thousands of quills were 

pulled from his body they nicknamed

him the miracle dog

 

where we went for five weeks 

for check-ups and eventually it

was summertime

 

and he slept on the deck

sprawled on the couch his 

heart beating his lungs inflating

 

with salty air where he

swam and napped under 

the apple trees

 

where life re-formed

every breath no longer a fight 

but a reminder of

 

the value of the beat

the sigh and the light.

 

getdrunkbeardown

hugyourdog

 

may 12, 2017      recovery

navy

/

aka Kengali's Smooth Sailing. the new girl.

'big brother'

navy gravy . 'cause she pours it on'

unbelievably affectionate and loving, intense and brave. curious. funny and always hungry.

'cause she pours it on? yep. love love and more love. navy like gravy.

accompanied by a friend who works for Jet Blue, i flew from NYC to Boston to Orlando and back to NYC to bring her home. dec. 20-21. 2016. 7 weeks old.

a week later her first weekend trip. the poconos. the next week. montauk. 2 months later navy was a full time nova dog. 

after a few years of what felt like overwhelming personal loss. navy was a new light. a reminder to embrace our past present and future. to accept the now. the memory and with hope - the unwritten story. she reminds me of toulouse from time to time. she reminds bean . not all is lost. 

navy is named for my grandfather, a naval aviator and sailor whom I admired and adored. 

"make haste to be kind" -RH

getdrunkbeardown . hugyourdog . dothenovadance

navy and boris in nova

in search of

/

golden ferns. nova. van life. displacement. insomnia and the unknown.

in search of

we don't always find what we're looking for. we don't always know what it is. . . 

i finally left nyc. spring 2016. no set destination. just out of nyc really. everything we needed in nova. navy just 5 months and of course big bean.

we spent the summer in nova by the ocean in downeast maine. we're still up here. a little apartment above a work shop. 

do i miss the city? yes. do i miss my old life? absolutely. would i go back? i don't know where exactly, to go. or why i always want to go. 

not into commitments or small towns. i find myself in a tiny place reliant on my new job. some days i don't know how i ended up here. others it seems like the perfect place to get back on my feet. and then what? i find a place. a beautiful place with heart and soul and comes my innate desire to run away. i search to fill the empty corners. to find the comfort i had in the past. something about routine makes it feel unattainable. not enough unknown. so I want to move. again. and again. and again. maybe it's waiting around the next corner. the unfamiliar corner. because here. right here. in this little place with big hearts. i think i won't find it. 

get drunk. bear down.

and do the nova dance.

keep searching

Toulouse

/

she's going to live forever. i told myself. 5.8.2006 - 9.30.2015 a real live teddy bear

driftwood beach jekyl island feb. 2015 'shadows'

i never imagined my life without her.

the most loyal. selfless companion I have ever known. 

it began on a horse farm where I worked. like a shadow, she followed. everywhere. without a fuss. never in my way. toulouse? . . . of course. right here. 

i was accepted to college. we moved to our first apartment in nyc. 83rd st. west side. central park. my life unfolded, memories took shape. every day - the adventures of me and toulouse. ordinary enough. from time to time, unusual. when i wrote for school, she slept under my desk. when i wasn't studying, we did things together. all the time. central park was our yard. we wandered the streets - unleashed - metaphorically and physically. she never strayed. at a local watering hole, i joined the beer club. toulouse, the popcorn club. she established a profound love for salted kernals while i for hops. date night with touls. bodyguard. best friend. sidekick.

i went rollerblading. she came. running. she came. for a beer. she came. in a car. she came. to meet my boyfriend 35 blocks away. there she was by my side. she came almost everywhere.

“we” became we.

life became more unpredictable, we leaned on one another. move downtown. alphabet city. weekends upstate. horses to ride. family in maine. freedom in montauk. ongoing exploration. 

she turned five. i started grad school. murphy arrived - dancing machine. aka. bean. youth. . . yep. he kept her young.

 

assateague national seashore feb. 2015 (toulouse near. murphy distant) 'keepin' her young'

ask anyone who ever met her, toulouse was extraordinary. rare. intensely devoted. bullet proof - a real live teddy bear. anywhere. any situation. she adapted. toulouse was a workaholic. her job, me. protect. support. love. soulmate. many of her traits were innate. i didn't train her to be. she just was. magical. exceptional. she was my rock. i was certainly hers. as my best friend once said, 'you speak to her in full sentences . . . but she understands.' of course.

when i started thedrunkbear, toulouse was the heart of my inspiration. years of full time work. a masters degree. the hustle of NYC. enough. all i wanted was to travel in our new van, nova, write poetry, take photos - spend every day with my dogs. i once told my mom i was going to buy a motorcycle with a sidecar and toulouse and I were going to travel together all over the country. seriously. in some ways, nova is that dream. the motorcycle became a van and the two of us became four of us.

toulouse's death was devastating and unexpected. thankfully she did not suffer. murphy spent his days asleep. refused to leave our city block. i cried. a lot. struggled with my writing, inspiration and art. home. . a vast emptiness. murphy stopped his dance moves and she wasn't here to make me laugh (or keep me from stressing over nonsense). another dog? a new home? nova with three? insomnia and sadness.

i took a hiatus from this project after her death. when i sat to write i shed far more tears than words. discouraged. yes. afraid. sure. but how better to cope, to move forward, than to pursue the dream she so inspired. get drunk. bear down.                                                                                                                

to the end of an era. . .

maine coast may 8th 2015 - last birthday at the beach 'colorblind'

you were supposed to live forever

miss you. just you. cause there is no comparison.

come visit anytime. i dream a lot.

see you on the other side

xoxoxoxo

visit snapshots to see a few more. . .

'cause they party while we sleep

/

thoughts on bears for inspiration. imagination. and clarification. 

bear bear. pictured above on the right was the first stuffed bear my dad bought me. into my stroller he went with size enough to hide my infancy. instant love.

corduroy. the other bear above left, came later. he reminded my dad of his own old bear, carried by the arm as a child - crookedly dangling with weighted feet. I did the same for years. 

every dream. every vacation. every sleepover. 

and still, they come on our adventures in nova. sometimes with friends.

i always believed my bears partied while i slept. raided the fridge. painted their faces. danced. filled the bathtub with water - pool party. perhaps they climbed out the window and went exploring. built forts. played cards. took a nap. who knows, maybe now bear bear and corduroy drink wine and philosophize. read my extensive poetry collection. write letters or discuss the fate of the planet. the fate of the bear. and yes. 

                                                                       i still believe it. 

                                                                       or imagine it. or

                                                                       live it. 

and no. it's not about getting tipsy. 'matter of fact it’s quite the opposite. see 2a for misconceptions and bear  here in stories. get drunk. bear down. is well. sort of like . .  get passionate. dive in. get happy. dance away. get creative. go create.

get drunk . bear down . enjoy the ride - ace

grateful

/

for this capture. the set. the joy. the color. inside and out. 

best company. sun. sand. salt. sea. and these two. plus the guy behind the shot. 

to make the sunset over the water at the end of the peninsula we had to run. to make nova before the beach went black. we had to run. miles.

my camelbak left a hell of a bruise. bare feet busted up. hounds beyond exhaustion. worth it. totally. all four of us plunged into the bay at the lighthouse while the sun dropped behind the preserve. 

i don't remember this exact moment when i kneeled down, it was likely to offer water and i didn't realize he took the photo. thank you for the shot - life.

i always strive for some balance but this week i'm off. my old girl (left) is not 100% and i'm so far sideways. way off. i have always told her she must. must live forever. she knows and i know she'll certainly try. 

that's one tough dog

you never know. i'm not sure i really care to know.

and who knows what we really know. or if we just keep on trying to work it out.

          so for now. live everywhere anywhere and everybeat. hug extra. run for the sunset. and show them what they mean. cause who really knows if we'll ever work it all out - or if we really want to.

get drunk bear down . do the nova dance . and hug your dog .

happy birthday jonny

'cause it fits in a parking spot. where we live.

/

bean lounge. (un)leash your dog. sleep anywhere. everywhere and . . . in between.

now that's the way to do it. 

all four of you fit in there? 

i could never do it. 

where do you sleep?

that's nova. aka, noves. the girl. she's 18 ft.

bean just turned 4, lazy boy.

and yea, people ask these questions all the time. and yea, we make ourselves fit. we also made a lot of changes. microwave out, books in. tv down, cable cut.  2 motorcycles, truck, car. . . gone. donate old i-don't-know-what. . . done. house on market. . . check. NYC studio . . still got it. 

travel. learn. explore. study. bar. culture. music. food. surf. fish. . . 

life?

still living. still learning.

you live in that thing?

no. 

where do you live?

nowhere. . . well, everywhere. but we have a studio in NYC. so that's where we live if you have to peg us. we travel in nova. did we live in nova this spring for 3 months? we slept in there - we lived wherever we were. before work started up in nyc we had to fix up the house. but it had no furniture so we stayed in nova in the driveway for almost a month. but sometimes we would go to our home in the city for a few days. so where did we live? 

with our dogs

in the grass

on the street

by the beach

in the lot

at the marina

with a cold beer

and good company. 

up the trail

along the creek

on the slope

down the hill

toward the end

in that spot

in our home

across the bridge. 

it's not for everyone to live in a van for any amount of time. to live on the road. to camp. to travel constantly. each week or every few days. OR to live in a house with a picket fence. to mow a lawn. to live on an island. to live in nyc. to have the same neighbors for 40 years. to live east or west or up or down. we could go on. but how often do we hear: where do you live? and is it ever: what do you live in? where do you sleep? where is your home? who makes it home? why is it home? where did you grow up? i mean. aren't we all still growing up and living each day. year. experience? don't we live everywhere . . .  ? 

another question we get all the time is where would we go? after all the places you've seen, where would you move to? settle down for a bit, you know, after nyc gets old. . .

hah. to buy a boat. that's where. 

get drunk. bear down. and do the nova dance.

blues

/

shack up inn. harmonica camp. favorites. last juke alive. novalife. cotton fields.

this place was fullilove. 

clarksdale, missisippi. 

who knew. 

we didn’t go live in our van for fifteen weeks to prove anything. not to defy society. not for luxurious destinations. attention or to follow the tiny home trend. further, there are few roadtreks along the east coast. even fewer travelers with two large dogs in an eighteen foot van.

looking back. it wasn’t always the so-called van community that brought us close to people. it varied. in clarksdale it was music. culture. history. shared interest. and

harmonica camp. 

yes, that’s right. harmonica camp.

we went to the shack up inn on a recommendation. stayed in the biscuit shack for one night. it poured. the gunny shack for one night. it steamed. fullilove shack for two nights. sunshine. stayed in nova in the cotton field for two nights. rain (go figure). the electric blue shack for one night. (mostly at the juke joint, can't remember the weather.) but the person who was in electric blue met someone at camp and offered it to us for the last night. word up. you know who you are. 

y'all are like a sticky booger. the owner said. 
and proceeded to invite us to the gospel group on Sunday. he also joined us for dinner.
the clientele has changed, he told us, it used to be more like you guys, now I have to tell people not to throw beer cans off the front porch. it’s just different.  

lame.

our week in clarksdale deserves far more than a post here, maybe even a significantly longer work i need to flesh out in time. but. . .  more like us. . . ?

we were nicknamed legs for wearing shorts all the time (frequently with boots thanks to the mississippi mud). we sat on the front porch of a shack with some of the best harp players in the world. we drank whiskey out of plastic cups while I humbly absorbed my initial harp lesson. we took sunset walks through the still-working Hopson cotton plantation pinetop perkins and muddy waters used to farm. we stickered up our van and hung our hammock behind the shack. we supported the musicians. we know the history of robert johnson. i read salinger while jonny read napoleon. the dogs lounged carelessly as people mingled about. we are a couple from NYC traveling in nova to learn and experience. we live where we are. nowhere and everywhere. 

we met some of our favorites in clarksdale. fond memories of sweet company. dancing. blues. support. and soul.

we stumbled upon a like-minded group. whether more like us, or us more like them. brilliant. 

snapshots are in snapshots. 

getdrunkbeardownandplaythatharp

and

dothenovadance

and

hugyourdog

love and vengeance. power in association.

/

co-pilot. genius. security system. teacher. best friend. this hug.

genius. 

stubborn. persistent. sweetest.

loyal.

always. hungry. brilliant. 

loyal. 

determined. brilliant. companion

you broke the mold girl

can’ t imagine the last nine years without you

may eighth was this beauty's birthday. it all began with a plane ride. then a house. maine. an apartment. maine. a house. another apartment. maine. another house. road trip. montauk. murphy. road trip. road trip. who knows how many moves and miles. and finally. 

the past fifteen weeks in nova 

from maine down to key west back up the gulf into louisiana to find my heritage up the mississippi into memphis through tennesee the smoky mountains kentucky horse country class five rapids in west virginia and back on the east coast in annappolis maryland into nyc and upstate and yes. that's right. maine for her birthday. 

this photo was taken in myrtle beach. that's me under the wool hat. the camera jonny used was stolen in memphis when nova was broken into while we walked toulouse and murphy to the mississippi riverfront. 

you’re being watched. he said.

highest crime rate in the country.  she said.

the reality of it all was, in fact, dangerous. so we left. sad and disturbed though simultaneously grateful. maybe it’s a matter of perspective or reflection, but what it comes down to is that toulouse. bean. nova. jonny and I are all ok. still get my hugs. still have my art. 

i'm home in nyc for the moment. though technically. i’m not great at being in one place for more than a few days. i do crave my book collection and writing supplies. pencils preferred. also the company of my dogs. if there is no water nearby, not even a creek. i’m generally not at home in the philosophical sense of the interpretation. of course. we could go on and on about the meaning of home.

whether a snapshot reminds me of myrtle beach with toulouse or the violation of nova is up to me. the power of association. art is everywhere. 

i’m not sure what i know.          if anything at all.           but i’m learning. 

so here’s to many more stories. snapshots. poetry. memories and favorite company.

homeiswhereyourdogis

getdrunkbeardownanddothenovadance

nova. sand. books. salt.

/

latin: novo-change. novare-revolution. nova-hybrid of dreams. 

again. someone seems to be getting the knack of the lens. 

chronology is important. unfortunately i'm not great at keeping things in order. memories. my hair. the dog fur or anything else for that matter. order eats my minutes. and life is short. 

finally i've shared this humble site with a few people we have met on the road. i hope those of you who have ventured to explore the photos. poetry. stories and tales come back or reach out. i'm not long winded by nature and it has taken me since december 19th to type things up. 

the above photo is - well - again - encompassing. we were on Assateague Island National Seashore waiting for wild horses. more about that. . .

we are living in our roadtrek van. her name is nova. she is 18 feet long. we took out the tv and microwave to make room for book shelves. i am a literary nerd. we bought a book today. sand and books. simple. learn. love. brain. body. 

we're now, at this moment, in an oceanside lot on the cape hatteras national seashore. headed south. thank you to all the locals all over. sincerely. 

also - the dork in me asked jonny to please take me to the Wright bothers museum. i flew planes when i was a teenager. worth it. . .worth it. my grandfather was a naval aviator. sometimes you give time. don't always take it. wings.

oh. and. we went swimming in the atlantic yesterday. the local audience laughed. as did we. will post photos soon. . . 

getdrunkbeardown

and

dothenovadance

and

hugyourdog

 

make haste to be kind.

/

i'm over it. 

are you sure.

i'm never sure.

where will you go.

everywhere. anywhere.            i don't know. 

about ten days before i left. new york got cruel. hostile. far from joyful and seasonally uncharacteristic. i cried. i walked away. i usually do. with silence.   

i went to maine.

tree farm. antiques. piano. fireplaces. lavender farm. beach. harbor. hike. stone. harbor. salt. beach harbor. repeat. 

repeat. 

good morning. happy new year.

stop. wait. wave.     crosswalk. 

im not going to argue. fight. or try and beat you to the bodega. the park. the lot. your spot or the bathroom. i won't race you to the subway. the corner or the club.

so please. let me stare. let me be. let me love. and please don't.

yell at my dog. 

onward. 

getdrunkbeardownanddothenovadance

if you don't know

what the nova dance is.

well.

think free.

think liberation.

think just enough and not too much.

and dance. 

 

 

 

inside out. maine

/

self. reflection. family. nova. 15 days in maine

you're not dressed up.

yea i am. as a lumberjack. 

what are you for halloween.

i'm a maina.

                         he laughed. 

it's cold now in the northeast. the above photo is from early september when we spent 15 days in maine. i read an article in downeast magazine about a quiet place with plenty of sandy beaches. indeed. sandy, quiet and breathtaking. and no, i won't tell you where. you'll have to go exploring.

the person behind the lens managed to capture me inside out in this snapshot. borderline complete.

there's something about maine. the sea. the pines. the water. the salt. the pace. 

as the seasons turn and fall settles in i have a tendency to reminisce a little more and sleep a little less. insomnia - my imagination's most beloved and despised companion.

i don't like large groups of people and neither does bean. he liked it here if you can't tell. we camped about 5 miles south and returned a day later before heading north.

the locals came swimming with swim caps in the evening light. others wandered through the tall pines to the coves edge with bottles of beer. one old woman came down in a wheelchair and her friends helped her into the ocean for swim-therapy. we sat with our dogs on the warm rocks drip-drying in the evening sun.

maine.

has a funny way

of invading my soul.

home away from home.

check back for snapshots of this secret spot in another couple days

getdrunkbeardownandexplore

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

benjamin

/

if found please call 207 . . . . . . . 

benjamin

the dingy to the left in this snapshot at sunrise in september. a plaque on his stern has his name and phone number in case he is found at sea alone. area code 207 plus another 7 will get benjamin home.

i'm not one to disclose much and i won't tell you where benjamin lives. sorry. it's just too sweet of a spot. and it is public.

I have shared this blog with a few people. what and why are the first questions. others ask what the hell. yea. i know. i'm a bit brief. curse of a poet and a short attention span. 

what? stories. poetry. snapshots. life.

why? because if i don't write i go crazy and people ask a lot of questions. consolidated answers.

what the hell? benjamin made me smile. he is a story of an impeccable sunrise in an exquisite place. a life simplified with nova. waking up to the sun. not the noise and wondering what number should be on my stern in case mother nature wins the battle. he also stirs up memories of my childhood. 

my grandfather was a sailor. an aviator. a philosopher. a father. my role model. yea there's more. my mother and I secretly bought back his dingy from a boat yard in maine. after he passed away my grandmother put it up for sale.

alleluia.

you should have seen her face when we told her.

life is. well. short. 

getdrunkbeardownandfindbenjamin 

one left

/

drive north to drive south. the only cribstone bridge left in the world. suck it in nova. road narrows. 15 days in maine.

after dry camping in portland for a few days, we were determined to one, check out this rare bridge and two, find cedar beach - one of maine’s limited sandy beaches located on bailey island.

well.

some rich folk bought up the land that borders the drive to cedar beach so that was off limits. 

greed  

one of the seven deadly sins.

in jersey they call them free beaches

in long island the feds bought it all up

we’ve been kicked off them all.

preserve to destroy

got it all wrong

you cant buy the ocean.

well. 

with dumb luck we saw the bridge at low tide hence impressive exposure. we explored the southern tip of bailey island to find a small cove of sandy beach. 

finally.

no parking lines. no signs. no meters. no cement. no bathhouse. no “hours.” no open. no close. sand. water. stone and ice cream on the way back. no leash laws. no cops. no shops. salt. sea and a dirt lot. 

vacationland.

the statue is a tribute to fisherman lost at sea. photos collected in snapshots. the ice cream is great and so are the mermaids.

much luck to the residents of bailey island.

getdrunkbeardownandsavepublicbeaches

 

locals

/

finally. found the local fisherman's pub. cheers for sharing this sweet rarity.  15 days in maine

this little guy made the news? word. 

rain was forecast for the afternoon and we were tired of driving nova on the winter-beaten roads of maine. well into our 15-day trip up the coast and eager to find a not-so-touristy spot to grab a beer, we meandered into a local pub that overlooks southwest harbor. 

about half way through the evening the bartender brought us outside to check out this rare blue lobster.  You're a mainer he said, here!

indeed i am.

and then it poured and the dogs hate the rain so we dry camped in the harbor parking lot behind the boats and the bakery and hung at the pub. 

last call is 9 but we didn't leave until after 10:30 - sorry we're closed the bartender said when someone walked in, they all work here. 

to their surprise, we kept up with the locals packing pints and shared stories about fishing, sailing, harbors, road trips and small towns.

 a few days later, my brother and grandmother told me the lobster had made the news:

rootin' for a throw back.

to the crew at the pub - thanks for making us feel like locals for the night and thanks for sharing this blue gem with us.

just returned from 15 days in maine with nova, unplanned and unmapped. 

stories of me, my best, murphy and touls in nova for 15 days on paper - digital soon. 

getdrunkbeardownandlovethelocals

 

 

 

east coast

/

tolstoy. waves. murph & touls. sleep. repeat.           nova's in maine

no rack.     rentals.

2 dogs.   2 weeks.   2 boards - 17x3 -  nova . . . not 

even.

pummeled by an east coast 

ocean who's hanging with a 

hurricane.

                    done.

 

worth it . .                     sufficiently.

 

where are we going, not

sure yet,                             north.                       east. 

where it's salty. not    

                               new 

                               york. 

in latin novo means 

                           change.

novare means

                         revolution.

                            nova.        

tolstoy by choice. can't wait to see my brother, he will poke fun. fair enough. I'm editing 

your book and I'm almost on schedule. word. 

 

getdrunkbeardownandstandthefuckup.