Rain, rain

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Drizzle never stopped a dog from having to take his morning walk. Yesterday, at 5:30, Sargent began banging his head on the hotel room door. Very effective way to get us up. So we got up, bundled up and trudged out to the square above the harbor. It’s a beautiful place where normally you can see the sailboats and lobster boats sitting on their moorings, the sun coming up over the entrance. A waterfall flows from town and beyond into the center. Unfortunately we couldn’t even see the harbor. Visibility was almost nil. Didn’t matter to the dogs. After picking up the poop from the wet grass and taking the dogs back to dry out, Fran and I went to the diner for breakfast.

It was cold and the rain was coming down, not hard, but steady for a day and a half at least. Before that we had one nice day but more rain before that. Clearly it was getting to even the locals. We overheard this at the diner. “Mornin Joe. I’ll be damned. What did that weather guy say on the TV? Is the sun gonna show its face round these parts any time this week? No? Damn. Rained every day in June. Last time I remember it bein this cold and this wet in July was that summer of 1951. Rained a full 40 days and 40 nights. Never got above 55. Folks started talkin bout building an ark. Har, har, har. I suspect we might beat that record, Joe. Two eggs over easy and a side of sausage please and more of that hot coffee. Thanks Betty.”

The eggs weren’t bad. And they have real bagels and French Roast coffee. This place is an interesting mix of old Maine, some newer transplants and of course, us, tourists. The old places do their best to cater to all the groups. When the weather is like this and stays like this everyone seems to gather together indoors and old Maine gets the close company of New Maine and the tourists.

What’s a photographer to do when the entire day is cold and the rain doesn’t stop? Lucky me to be in a class where there is a lot of lab work. All day in the lab learning Lightroom. I can now sort and file photos with the best of them. Fran would have jumped out the window but I like it. It’s a bit like cheating. Take a lousy picture and fix it. Overexpose it? No problem. Red eyes? No problem. Bad composition? Crop it. Pretty cool. Now the real photographers are about to scream crap like, “you need to start with a great idea to get a great picture,” and “you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.” But look hard at magazines and you’ll see some pretty lousy pictures all dolled up with Lightroom or Photoshop. Artists can be sooooooo elitist.

Fran’s been taking photos of her gang members and she promised them she’d take them to dinner tonight, which she did. This is the baddest gang in Camden. Gansta caps, Rasta hair, tattoos, constant plume of cigarettes and skanky babes with slicked down hair. They were hanging out on a corner the other day and Fran walked right up to them and said, “hi, can I take your picture? I’m with the Workshop” A couple nodded. She’s now their best buddy. Nothing she likes better than bad teenage boys. She took them for ice cream yesterday and lobster rolls today. I guess by now you’ve figured out that they’re not really gang members. After all, this is Camden. The Rasta kid’s parents are teachers and he’s hoping to get into Bowdoin after traveling for a year. Another kid’s a preppie from St Paul’s School. But they look tough on the outside and they’re bored to tears.

Last night, a good restaurant, Francines. So far it’s the best one we’ve found in town. Afterwards Gilbert’s. Camden is a Harley tourist destination. Packs of riders stop here often and Gilbert’s is their watering hole. Big group there last night, playing pool, darts, the ring game and drinking PBR, a popular brew in these parts. Reminds us of 35 years ago when you could get a case for 6 bucks. It’s the anti artisanal beer, the anti micro brew. But a lot like Fran’s local gang, this crew was mainly well bred and middle class out pursuing a summer fantasy of being Hell’s Angels, drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon and wearing black t-shirts.

Greg’s been with us most every night. His workshop in furniture making is at least as intense as Fran’s class, more intense than mine. His place is nice and he’s working on traditional methods of putting wood together, design and finishing. http://www.woodschool.org/. It’s been wonderful to be with Greg. Fran was lamenting this morning that he’s all grown up now. I told her that at 27 he should be. She looked at me like I was nuts.

This morning the sun is out. Maybe we will be able to take some pictures worthy of this blog site.
Have a great day.

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