writing

I’m calm, I’m calm, I’m perfectly calm!

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Gay Pride Edition!

Our queer little show closed tonight.

In case you weren’t paying attention, it’s a group of lesbians, who perform skits and songs as drag kings. I’ve had a couple of friends say they were expecting a something along the lines of a drag queen show. This isn’t anything like that.

It’s a full two-hour show. Filled with scenes about irreverent things that we shouldn’t find funny but we do. Think Book of Mormon with drag queens. They walk right up to the line, but never cross it. In fact, we have lots of discussions about whether it’s cool to say or do things. Conversations about consent, audience response, and whether it’s funny or just crude. Sometimes it’s both.

This show, also had two dance groups with us. Friends of the family so to speak. It was a lot of fun, lighting their pieces as I haven’t lit dance in a long time. I was able to do a lot with the 60 or so instruments in the air. I got lucky with the plot from the last group, as we don’t hang and move very little. We change some color and hope for the best.

Tonight’s performance was a little tricky for me.

I started to have a panic attack just as the show started.

For absolutely no reason.

My heart was racing. My hands were shaking. I was a little out of it.

It’s tricky to push buttons on a light board with your left hand, when it already shakes. Oh, and I’m right handed, but that hand was running sound. Add to that, the effects of a panic attack and my hand was insane. So insane that at the end of the first number I hit the go button twice. I was ahead a cue. Then I went back. Then I tried to figure out where we were with the scene change, and as I’m doing that, the curtain opens with work light. Then I hit the button again, and did it twice again. Finally, we were in the right cue, at the right place, and the rest of the light cues for the act were better than ever. But my heart was till racing.

The light cues were correct.

But I get the video ready to play for the end of the act number, hit play and the video starts. It has about 30 seconds of black with just music. I undouse at the end the 30 seconds and there is no video. And I have no idea why it’s not playing. The person on stage is supposed to be lit by the video. She is in static. The music is playing. I’m sitting there hyperventilating.

Finally, about 90 seconds into it, I fade the music. Bring up the house lights and say, motherfucker!!!

One of the kings comes up to the booth, and we hit play and motherfucker, it worked just like it should have. There was absolutely nothing that I did wrong.

We ended up showing the video at the beginning of Act 2, which I think worked better.

The audience was very forgiving, my friends were very forgiving. Adam came up at intermission and gave me a hug. Then the stage manager came up and gave me a hug. The kings gave me a hug.

The anxiety was gone. Act 2 went off without a hitch.

After the show, much of the cast and friends gathered outside the theater before we moved on to the cast party. A very dear woman come up to me and said are you Jeff? I said that I was, and she began to thank me for my work on the show, telling me how much she loved the direction and the lighting. I thanked her profusely, but to be honest, I was embarrassed. In all my days lighting shows, no one has ever approached me that enthusiastically about my work. A complete stranger at that.

By the time I got the cast party, just like in high school, except all the gays, lesbians, and trans folks were out of the closet, and there was booze. Lots and lots of booze, I felt great.

It felt good.

So good that I told them all that we should go ahead and book the theater for November. Let’s do an election day show, the weekend before.

Let’s see if I can convince them of this.

I do hope it’s not another 9 years.

If I loved you, time and again, I would try to say, all I’d want you to know.

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Gay pride edition!

I am teaching high school in Cincinnati.

Everyone knows I’m gay.

At the beginning of my third year of teaching, I’m sitting in my office and the phone rings.

I pick it up and there is a woman crying on the other end of the phone.

Through her tears, I make out that she is upset because her son has just told her, he is gay.

Backstory.

The son is not my student. His brother is. I know the mom very well. Her son, in my class, is a great student.

I get her calmed down and she explains what happened.

That morning, before he left for school, there is a discussion, and he tells her he is gay.

She is a very devout Christian, and this message has upset her.

The first thing I say, is how did you respond. Did you say anything that you can’t take back. Did you kick him out of the house.

She had not. He knew she was upset, but he also knew that she loved him.

He left, and she called me.

She wanted to know what to do.

I assured her that if she wasn’t cruel, didn’t kick him out, and didn’t tell him she didn’t love him the rest could be fixed.

We talked for about 30 minutes.

I told her he would be fine.

I told her she would be fine.

I explained that this was probably as hard for him as it was for her.

She was also worried about his health and I assured her that as long as she made sure he was educated he’d be fine there.

I told her about PLAG. The organization for the parents of LGBTQ kids. I explained how to find them. How to reach out. I encouraged her, to go to the group and ask for advice/help/support.

At the end of the call, I assured her that all she had to do was love him. The rest would be figured out.

I have not spoken to the mother in a while. But my student and I are connected on Facebook. Last I knew, his brother was married and had two kids.

Sounds like he’s doing okay.

I hope his mother is as well.

At the shrine of friendship, never say die. Let the wine of friendship never run dry

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I wrote the body of this post in May of 2021. It was only posted on Facebook. I’ve been trying to find it for a year now, and it finally popped up in my memories.

About three months before my writing career really kicked off, I’d just opened a new restaurant, something I’m on the fence about ever doing again.

We opened about 10 days before the mask mandate was lifted, along with the need for spacing tables for safety.

In fact, someone called the police on us because they felt that we were seating people too close. Life in the time of Covid.

The opening was a success.

We went from 0 to 100 in about 14 days. Business couldn’t have been better. We were short staffed. I only had one manager, me. And it was a zoo. But we were making money, and that was what counted.

Now for the post from 2021.

My new restaurant just finished week three.

It’s a very big success and we are doing quite well. Through continuous conversations with guests, it often comes up that I moved from NYC, and in a previous life I was a theatrical lighting designer.

A pretty good one at that.

I’m often asked how I got from designing lights to restaurant manager.

Well.

Fun fact.

In grad school, while obtaining my MFA at the University of California, San Diego, one of the best theatre schools in the country, I ran a very successful bar out of my office.

I hosted happy hour every Friday for two years, from 4:00 to close.

Which was sometimes 5:00. But more often 1:00 or 2:00 am. And at least a couple of times, the sun was coming up when we all wrapped up the evening.

I’d often open up for days that were stressful, when we needed a little boost to get through the long days and nights. My mentor Chris Parry, would sneak down on Tuesdays and ask for a gin and tonic.

My regulars included classmates, and unofficially our staff and professors who always pretended they weren’t there. Including the chair of the program.

We also had alumni, guest artists, friends, and strangers.

The crowd could be two people if everyone was in rehearsal.

Sometimes it didn’t even include me if I was teching a show.

Sometimes there might be 30 plus people.

We also had glass bar ware and nothing but top shelf booze.

Bombay Sapphire was our gin of choice. Just ask Sarah EC Maines?

We were also known to deliver at least once during tech. Usually during a 10 out of 12. (A 10 out 12 is when you rehearse a show, with the entire team, including actors for 10 hours in a 12 hour block of time).

We’d take orders and bring all the designers and stage managers their favorites.

It’s also because of these deliveries I now drink bourbon. I got sick during tech for my thesis show, and my classmates kept my Diet Coke cup spiked with bourbon as I couldn’t talk and felt like shit. It got me through 8 days of tech and the show looked great.

I also managed to keep the inventory stocked and the fridge full by charging just two dollars per drink. We had an honor system and house accounts for those of us who ran short at the end of the month.

I was a just as proud of doing this as I was the design work I produced while a student.

When I graduated, my cocktail hour was as much a part of my legacy as my design work.

On the day of graduation, I had a cooler stashed off stage. There were about 25 people who graduated in the department graduation. As we were presented our fake diplomas, we were offered the chance to say a few words.

As long as we kept it short.

I started my speech by saying that I’d spent countless hours, and thousands of dollars to be here today, so I’m going to go a little over my time limit. I spoke for about 15 minutes with bullet points on a piece of paper. This was before I-phones so there is no recording, but I was told it was a good speech.

At the beginning of the speech, my friends Tom and Anjee, pulled the cooler out, and together, we distributed Coronas to all the graduates and professors.

At the end of my speech, I popped the top off my own Corona and toasted the team. I was nearly in tears when I finished.

I miss doing design work.

But I like my life in Maine more.

I’ve said a million times that my studies in California made me the person I am today.

My patience.

My ability to see the big picture.

My ability to deal with different types of people.

My ability to know just how much to dim the lights for dinner. And explaining to owners that they indeed needed to spend money on lights that produced amber light AND NOT fluorescent white light.

My ability to not to stab someone in the eye with a fork.

My ability to train new staff.

All of this is an extension of UCSD.

While I haven’t designed lights in a hot minute, my three years were life changing.

So, a big shout out to Mark Maltby for not shutting me down!

And know that I’m forever grateful for my time in California.

And that’s how I went from being a lighting designer to being a general manager.

I posted this, three years ago, and got a few comments. I want to include it in my archives, so that when I write my book it can be included.

And.

I am doing a show in a week. The first since 2014. Small. But I’ll write about that separately.

Maybe it’s not the moon at all, I hear Spike Lee’s shooting down the street

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I was just starting to write a post about work tonight, when there was a knock on the front door.

It’s 10:00. AT NIGHT.

NO ONE knocks on our door at 10:00 at night.

It takes a second for it to register what is actually happening.

I think for a second that Adam has knocked something on the floor.

Adam is asleep on the couch as I get up to answer the door.

I discover that it’s our next-door neighbor Jill.

She apologizes, says she saw the TV on and us sitting in the living room.

We don’t have blinds on our windows. We sit in a fish bowl. She clearly could see we were awake.

She very excitedly says, you have to come outside and look at the sky. You can see the Northern Lights. She goes on saying it’s never this far south and as a Mainer has never seen them before.

Adam gets up and we both go outside.

It a clear night, it’s cold, and the sky is beautiful.

Our neighbors from next door, and diagonally across the street are standing in the street.

It takes a few minutes, but you can see streaks of light across the sky.

It was not the beautiful greens and amber that you see in photos but there is definitely light pulsing through the sky.

We stood outside for about 20 minutes until we both were freezing.

Have I mentioned that the heat is still on in our house on the 9th day of May?

It was very moving and beautiful.

I’m going to go back out while Adam is showering for bed.

I’ll keep you posted on what I see.

Tell me this feeling lasts till forever…

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I was awake at 2:30 this morning.

Which is a new thing, as I’ve been sleeping better than ever for the past three months or so. Seems a new job, new me, new car, new knee makes a difference in my life.

Why was I awake at 2:30 this morning?

Because I was consumed with things I can write about, that have nothing to do with the day to day service of my current restaurant.

Over the past month, I’ve created a list of potential topics.

Currently I have 287.

That’s after, spending 30 minutes last night, just brainstorming.

At 2:30 in the morning.

At some point I put my phone down and fell asleep.

I wonder if my writing friends of whom I have a lot, find themselves awake in the middle of the night, creating stories.

And it’s true, I have lots of friends who write and are published authors. Plays, Novels, Poems. Movies, etc. Some on the NY Times best seller. Some with Emmy’s. Some self-published. Some produced playwrights.

Some who do what I do and write for fun.

Long story short, its sometime hard to turn it off, when my brain gets going.

It’s also a lot more fun than it used to be, because those were stress posts. These are fun stories of my past. First jobs. Worst jobs? Great jobs? Embarrassing jobs.

So much fun.

Meanwhile.

I need to start writing 12 posts a day, so that I can get ahead of my list.

Now.

I need to get home.

I’m tired and tomorrow is Valentine’s Day.

We are busy. And it’s all 2-tops.

I’ve got to come in early, and create a new floor plan with all the tables pulled apart, just enough so that couples don’t yell at me.

I’ll wrap up my post by saying, if you get a pedicure the Sunday before Valentine’s Day, you have to wait because every girl in America is doing the same thing. And they charge you premium pricing.

It was my first since my knee surgery and my toes looked live hooves. I tipped her ten million dollars.

It ain’t so much a question of not knowing what to do…

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

It’s funny.  

My day is filled with, lets write about that.  

Let’s write about this. 

Then I sit down to write and sometimes it’s there.

Sometimes I feel like it’s the first time I’ve written and can’t think of a damn thing.  

So, it is today.  

As a result, I’m going to comment on a post from this week.

On Friday, I wrote a post about a friend passing away.  

The first line of the post was:  But who would I be, if you had not been my friend. 

Most of you read my posts on Facebook.  

Because of this, you probably don’t know that on my blog, where I repost, I have a title to start the post.  

On my post from 3 days ago, it was, But who would I be, if you had not been my friend.  

What you don’t know, and my guess is, the people who read my blog might not know, if that the title is 99% of the time a lyric from a song.  And 99% of the time, it’s a lyric from a Broadway song.  

Sometimes it takes longer to find the right title than it does to write the post.  

And sometime, I come up empty handed and use a non-musical lyric, or sometimes I just leave it blank. 

But when I can, I love to find a lyric from a musical that is a comment on the post.  

If you’d like to see my blog, or even better share it with a friend the posts can be found here:

https://wordpress.com/view/id-like-to-speak-to-the-manager.com

I’ve sometimes wondered if I should include the lyric on Facebook, but except for the one time because it was so perfect, I have not.  

Let me know what you think, and if I haven’t said it lately, thank you for listening to my stories.  

I smile. I don’t complain. I’m trying to keep sane as the rules keep changing.

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

In September of 2023, I approached the owner of my current restaurant about working for him.  

I’d had the summer from hell, as you all know.  

I’d been told that I couldn’t take a day off, after working sixteen 6-day weeks.  

I said fuck that, and decided to explore my options.  

One of my options was to reach out to my old boss from ten years ago, and see if there was any possibility that he’d have space for me.  

We talked over the course of three weeks.  

The conversations were part interview, part venting, part just being friends. 

At one point, he told me that he had concerns about my writing.  

He was very clear, that he’d never tell me to stop. 

 He’d never edit what I wrote. 

Nor would he censor what I wrote about.  

But.

He did think that I often demonized the guest, when telling my side of the story.  

We didn’t discuss it for long, but he had made his point.  

We moved on.

However, I heard what him.  I thought it about it.   

He was not wrong.  

I did demonize the guests occasionally.

Probably more than occasionally.  

I wasn’t always empathetic to their side of the story.  

Within days, I started to write differently.  

I approached the stories differently.  

That’s not to say, I didn’t still share the evil, horrible things people did and said to me, but I tried to frame it in a different light.  

I was ultimately, offered the job, and I turned it down.  

I was promised, gold and silver and shiny things if I stayed.   The owner of my old job, actually cried when I told him I was going to leave.  Looking back, I realize I had seen this on a Lifetime movie before.   

Fast forward a year, and I have the new job, and I’m in a much different place.  

The reason I share all of this is because several of you have reached out to share that you noticed that I seem lighter.

Last night a friend texted that she liked how calm most posts are now.  

Another friend asked if my restaurant didn’t have assholes that dined there.  

The truth is.

I’ve changed.  

Because my circumstances have changed.  

Yes, there are still assholes.  One is sitting upstairs at table 22 right now.

Yes, there is still stress.

There is always stress. 

But it’s kinder, gentler stress.

It’s what one might call normal stress.  

I’m also generally not tired when I deal with It, because I didn’t work a 12-hour day the day before, then drive an hour, and get 6 hours of sleep.  

I’m also very much supported by my boss, who is a collaborator.

 Who asks my opinion and then considers it.  He might say no, but he doesn’t make me feel stupid when he does.  

So.

Yes.  

I’m lighter.

And because I’m lighter, I write about different things these days.

And the things I write about are considered differently.  

Last night, at 1:30 in the morning.  I couldn’t sleep.  Not because of stress, I just couldn’t sleep.  

So, I pulled out my phone.

Opened the Notes app.

And listed things I could write about. 

In all seriousness, about 50 new subjects.  

And not one of them victimized a guest.  Or an employee.  Or a manager. 

They are stories from my past.  

Colorful stories of the golden era of Jeff’s youth.  

Stay tuned.  

But who would I be if you had not been my friend?

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I’m old.  

Much older than I ever thought I’d be.  

Seriously.  

I remember reading about HIV and AIDS in the early 80’s thinking that it was a big city disease. 

This was long before I told the first person that I was gay.    

I would sneak off to Lexington, where the boys were, and although I’d think about the stories on the news, it was definitely a big city problem.  

Then I moved to Atlanta, and I found myself in a big city, and the reality of the disease was everywhere. 

You didn’t go on a date, have a one-night stand, or even kiss a guy, without thinking this might be the one. 

Not the one you marry, but the one that passes along the death sentence.  

This worry continued when I moved back to Lexington, and became a BIG worry when I moved to NYC.  

I’ve known hundreds of people who were positive.  I’ve dated lots of men who were positive.  

I spent my adult life not wondering if I’d become infected, but when.  

But somehow, I’ve managed to skirt under the wire and remain healthy.  

This is not a post about AIDS.

It’s a post about me being old, and believing I’d never live to see old.  

But here I am two months away from turning 59.  

How the hell did I get here?

I say all of this, because tonight a friend from college, one of my best friends from college, texted to ask if I had time to talk.  

I didn’t, but I hadn’t heard from her in several years, and I worried something was wrong.  

So.  

I called her.

Even though I worried something was wrong, I knew why she was calling.  A beloved professor from our undergrad days passed away this week.  

He taught theater, in a very small theater department, at a very small college.  

Even if you weren’t in the theater department, chances are you knew.  The school was that small.  

I was correct.  She was calling to chat about George.  

We reminisced for a long time.  He had been a big part of our formative college years.  The department was so small, that if you were cast in a show, you were also building the set, selling tickets, and you might be expected to go in search of a dining room table. (We borrowed my parent’s dining room table for You Can’t Take It With You).  

At one point, I said it kind of sucks to be so old that the older people in your life start to move on.  

And it is.  

It’s been 40 years since I started college.  And it’s been 39 since I met George. And even if we weren’t talking every day, you still see their lives happen through friends, through college posts and social media.  You are still in each other’s lives.  

But that story is changing. 

My parents have moved on. 

My Aunt Doo has moved on. 

My friend Chris has moved on.  

My friend Tony has moved on. 

I’m starting to know way too many people my own age, that have gone on a trip they won’t return from. 

This idea of a journey is not new to me.  My friend Tony from Atlanta was the first truly close person to me, to die from AIDS.  We hadn’t spoken in a few weeks.  I was scheduled to visit him in Atlanta.  He had been positive for a bit.  He took a turn for the worse and past in three days.  

When I learned of this, it felt as though he’d gone on a trip, and I was just waiting to hear from him when he returned.  

I’m still waiting.  

………………………………………….

My friend and I joked about our age for a few minutes, then I changed the subject and asked about her daughters, her mom, her job.  

I invited her to come visit Maine.  

After a bit, we said our goodbyes and hung up.

I sat at my desk thinking about the conversation.

About my professor.

And I thought to myself, that I don’t find myself sad about the permanent journeys my family and friends have taken.  I find myself glad that I was a part of their life on earth.  That for a brief moment, we shared the same spacesand the same stories, and that they probable never knew the ways they made my life better.    

For someone like me, who struggled in college, to find myself,  they made my life tolerable.  

They taught me to love myself.  

To find the best in the world.  

All of these people laid the ground work,  that has allowed me to create the life that I have today, and  be happier than I have ever been.  

Life is good.  

And it’s because of George. 

And Chris.  

And Ton.  

And my mom.  

And my dad.  

And my Aunt Doo.  

All of these people created space for me.

Ultimately.  

They loved me

I am eternally grateful for all of them.

PS.  Thank you for the phone call, Liz Smith.  I’m grateful for you as well.  

Pick a little, talk a little, cheap, cheap, cheap talk a lot.

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

10 days ago, Adam and I went to Norway, Maine with 3 other couples. We’ve done this a number of times. At least a couple of times before we moved here, and three or four times since.

We’ve always enjoyed the chance to get away, sit in front of a fire, sip on a bourbon or glass of wine, and eat great food we all prepare as a team.

This time was no different.

We also enjoy playing games.

One of the games we played this time was “Intrusive Questions.”

Two of the couples had come up with 200 questions of a personal nature that we could ask while, doing other things and we’d all take turn answering. There were a few questions that might have been a bit personal for some people, however in general, I’ve been an open book most of my later life.

I don’t have a lot of things I hide, that I am ashamed of, or that would bother me if people knew. I’d be surprised if any of you didn’t already know this, as I share a great deal of my life online.

There were an assortment of questions like:

If you HAD to eat one vat of anything, what would it be:

For me it was vanilla ice cream. I love all vanilla ice creams. The cheap grocery store brand, the organic fancy ones, or even soft serve from Dairy Queen. Even if it’s not even really ice cream like at McDonald’s.

If you had to call someone and say thank you, I love you, I’m sorry, and fuck you, who would those people be and why?

If you could trade lives with anyone here this weekend, who would it be and why?

If you could read anyone’s mind dead or alive just for a day, who would you choose?

You get the idea.

The funny part of the night was that except for one question, I always answered right away. Without thinking.

The answer would come to me. I never wavered or wanted to change my mind after others started to answer.

One of the questions was:

What is your least favorite personality trait:

Without thinking, I said, I interrupt people when they are talking to me.

And I do.

I’ve known this since forever.

I had a colleague, who yelled at me in a meeting to stop interrupting him. I hope he sees this and know that I still think about that. Not badly, just knowing that it was the beginning of me working on trying to stop.

As I’ve gotten older, I concentrate on listening.

I practice, choosing my words.

I try to stay quiet while others are sharing their voice.

But it’s a struggle and I’d say I am successful about 49% of the time.

It truly is a struggle.

It’s even worse, when it’s something I’m passionate about like the restaurant business, or theater.

I get excited and want to share my thoughts.

When it does happen, I spend the rest of the conversation apologizing for interrupting.

Just like I often share with people my struggle with anxiety and depression, I l have learned as I have gotten older to share with people that I know that I do this. I apologize as it happens. And sometimes, sit on my hands to try and keep quiet and still.

I know why it happens, but it doesn’t make it easier.

It’s from excitement.

Anxiety.

Growing up being told to keep quiet. You should be seen and not hear.

Having my opinion ignored as a child and young adult.

Being told that I wasn’t smart enough to know what I was talking about.

Having to shout over others to be a part of the group.

I could go on.

And I’m always embarrassed when it happens.

I called last week to talk to a manager about something that happened while having repairs done on our furnace. And I talked over the manager the whole time. I just could not control myself.

I wasn’t even upset or yelling.

But I ended up apologizing and ending the phone call. He probably thought I was crazy.

And I guess in a way I am.

Just know that at 58, I continue to work on this.

Every day.

Every minute.

Cabin in the woods (oooh) –A cabin in the woods (yeah)

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I’d like to speak to the manage!!!

Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles-.

It’s a Saturday night.  

I’m seated at a desk, in lovely Norway, Maine, where I have escaped the clutches of the big city and am relaxing with a bourbon and a soda, water in the middle of the woods.  

It’s the first time in three years, I’ve been able to take a Saturday off, without using a vacation day.  

We started planning this adventure last July.  

Back story.

When Adam and I first moved to Maine, every year or so, our friend group, which is 16 lesbians, and the two of us, would plan a getaway.  Most of these trips were in the winter.  We’d rent a lodge in the middle of nowhere, caravan in, and spend two to three days hibernating in the woods.  

One of the most fun trips was watching The Shining, in a mountain lodge, in the middle of a snow storm, with only a fire to light the room.  Super scary.  

We, however, have not had the opportunity to get away since Covid for a multitude of reasons.  

Our friends decided last summer to change that.  

The planning commenced, the air bnb was secured, the meals were planned and here we are.  

There are four couples this time, in a 1790’s farmhouse, 5 miles out of town, on a snow covered hill.  It’s as beautiful as it sounds.  It has lightly snowed all day, while we’ve gathered in front of a fire and played games, read books, discussed politics, and since about an hour ago, enjoyed pre-batched cocktails that Adam whipped up yesterday.  

It really is a serene setting.  

The house is super quirky as it was originally built in the late 1700’s and has been added on to several times.  First a kitchen.  Then a family room.  Then a mud room.  Then a game room, that eventually connected the house with the barn that was built the same time as the house.  

It’s chilly, and squeaky, and has all the charm you’d think.  There is plenty of room to spread out.  I’m upstairs in an office nook.  Several people are playing ping pong.  Adam and a couple of helpers are prepping for lesbian taco night.  More about that some other time.  

Like I said, It was awesome to know that I could take the weekend off, without being beaten up, asked why I needed time off, or be given a guilt trip about why I needed to be a the work. I get two days off a week, and I just scheduled those days to be yesterday and today. 

And here we are.  

The only real funny part of the trip, is when we got here, we discovered that the owner is a huge fan of a past administration, my friends and I don’t support.  There are photos, and books, and articles, and even an official White House statement about someone who received a pardon for campaign finance convctions.  

None of this really matters to us, as the money is already spent, and there wasn’t much to do when we got here.  However, had we looked closer at the photos in the posting on Air BNB, we might have seen the photos.  

That being said, it’s truly nice to get away, and hang out with our chosen family, and share meals, and laugh.  

It feels really good to laugh. 

https://www.graniteridgeestate.com/norway-maine-rental-farmhouse

https://www.airbnb.com/rooms/1008771597936231282?check_out=2024-01-28&adults=8&check_in=2024-01-26&viralityEntryPoint=1&s=76&unique_share_id=85FAB7EF-CE76-4422-9C84-D45946FCCFAF&_branch_match_id=1279940669520854458&_branch_referrer=H4sIAAAAAAAAA8soKSkottLXT0zKS9LLTdX3dA40s3Avr0h1SwIAFu1fVRsAAAA%3D&source_impression_id=p3_1706399862_KQtzPlWvqIf7XWNv