"What Were You Thinking About for That Long?"

That's what Chip asked me when I told him I swam hard for an hour straight  in the pool this morning.

"You don't want to know," I told him. The harbor project was on my mind, particularly preserving the beauty of the waterfront.  But there are so many questions no one seems to be able or willing to answer. The  meeting on it this week did not reassure me.

Then there’s the giant parking lot with the outhouses and picnic tables on it where the Picture Point Park is supposed to go.

Of course I can’t complain about this stuff, as I’m supposed to Find the Good. (I know, it's my fault. But now I must at least try to practice what I write. It's just that my writer self is so much saner than my concerned citizen of Haines self.) So I swam up and down and figured out some ways to add my voice in a positive way. I will advocate for the waterfront trail to be included in the harbor construction plans, and as to Picture Point, a few simple changes could really help. Natural shrubbery. Grass. Trees.  A beach rose hedge between the parking lot and the road.

So, by the time I was done swimming, I felt a lot better. 

“We do have a wedding coming up, you know,” my husband said. 

It’s in ten days! Do I sound panicked?

I need to make my own place look better and quit worrying about the whole town. I made the huge mistake of power washing my old porch chairs yesterday and took most of the paint off. I don’t have time to refinish them right now, though. The family and guests start showing up soon. (The party is the 25th, at 5 out at the cannery, please join us and bring a side dish, we will have salmon and cake and Lunchmeat and the Pimentos are playing.) I already have one grand dog visiting, and luckily she and Pearl agreed with me that sanding the chairs to highlight their “distressed patina” is a great idea. Yes indeed, I am practicing turning lemons into lemonade. 

I’m not kidding, the chairs look good, don’t you think? And they are much smoother and nicer to sit in now. I love the soft arms. There’s a lesson here, isn’t there? 

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