Vacation - 8 of 8

I sit here typing to you from the modest wooden desk inside my room for the night at a Super 8 Motel in Augusta, ME. I sit here on this night, our first night back on American soil, and I ponder the very meaning of my existence. I sit here and wonder how many sentences I can begin the words, ‘I sit here’ before you stop reading altogether.

Today began with an early rise in Sandy Cove, NS and it ends at a desk in Augusta. In between, we visited three graveyards without finding so much as one direct relative, we ate at KFC in Yarmouth, NS, we exchanged money at the customs house but ended up with a slew of extra Canadian change because it didn’t add up to a whole American dollar, we had a nice 55-mph ride on the Cat car ferry across the gulf of Maine, and we made it through customs with a minimum of fuss this time.

For those of you who have no recollection of our previous experience getting back into our own country, I direct you to the Archives button of this here site. Go back to the beginning of May last year and read for yourselves. Go on. I’ll wait for you to come back.

Okay, now that you’re caught up, let me apologize for the extraordinary silliness bleeding onto this page this eve. I had cooked up a dozen and one ways to write about today during our trek to Yarmouth, during the boat ride (which was quite splendid, save for the abundance of screaming middle-schoolers who were everywhere you looked (they were on a class trip, dontcha know?)), and during our ride from Bar Harbor (where the Cat let us off) to here. I had cooked up all these wonderful things to say, but the brain has a funny way of turning to mush when you finally get within three feet of a bed after a long day.

Uhm… Am I forgetting anything? I’m sure that I am, but I can’t remember what it is that I’ve forgotten. I think there was something I promised to write about at the end of yesterday’s entry as well, but I’ve forgotten what that was too.

Off to bed.