I’ve never reviewed a hotel, inn, Airbnb or other away-from-home accommodation, but The Lincolnville Motel in Maine warrants mention.
Lincolnville is barely a distraction on U.S. Highway 1 and we almost missed the driveways into the motel. I’m glad we didn’t (even though we had reservations).
We were greeted by Alice, the owner, and Lucy, her affectionate Golden Retriever. Along with keys to our retro motel cabin, we received an envelope with house rules and suggestions for nearby attractions, and two sets of earplugs. Alice pointed out the pool, now closed for the season, and led us to the large sitting area lined with shelves of books, board games and record albums.
Our room featured a queen bed, small table with a record player, a globe, small refrigerator and an expansive view across a field leading to the ocean. Unfortunately, the road to the water leads to private property, but the view is public!
Maine in early October gets chilly and our room certainly was. The small wall heater took some time getting up to speed. Due to the chill in the air, we felt like we were camping in a large, exceptionally comfortable tent.
It’s been years since I’ve listened to albums, so it was fun going through the large selection in the common room and taking a few back to our room.
I eventually figured out that the earplugs were provided because of the proximity to the highway. Yet, they weren’t needed. The night’s sleep was certainly peaceful.
The stacks of books on my nightstand continue to expand without ever reducing in size. I have only myself to blame. After I read reviews or get suggestions I go to the library or borrow from friends. Since those are on loan, usually for a limited time, they get priority. It’s only honorable. Meanwhile, I ignore the languishing towers of titles. Some have been (embarrassingly) around for years.
I resolve to not only dust off these books that lay in wait, but I will read them! (Although, not necessarily in the order they’re stacked.) After which, I’ll finally, and, truthfully thank those who’ve given them to me or appreciate those I purchased for myself – a rare occurrence. My acquaintances at my library will have to wait for my return.
However, there will be exceptions. I may not have the particular ones my book group is slated to read, so I’ll have to move those to the top of the list. This will likely disrupt the resolved intent. It will be temporary, though. Really!
I also feel I should honor the library holds I have. Right now there are three and I’m number 247 for one of them. Though, if someone happens to loan me The Lincoln Highway, I will be compelled to read it immediately – and will remove my name from the library list.
As for reviews that capture my attention, I’ll simply keep a running list. After clearing my nightstand, I’ll happily reinstate my role as an appreciative, loyal public library patron!
What happens when a close-knit neighborhood loses a cherished resident – especially when it’s a five-year-old child killed in an accident?
What happens now without Aiden? Of course, we carry on; certainly we offer support to his parents – and each other. But my hope is we’ll also share memories with one another and continue to appreciate where we live – and why.
Our community is more than spectacular views, shared streets and intermittent contact. The few we don’t know by name, we recognize and acknowledge with a wave or smile. We know at least a little about one another, often through conversations in the street. Since the first week of June, however, those talks have focused on our grief.
Aiden was a child many of us have known since his birth. Yet, our feelings were more than the collective enjoyment of watching him grow. We embraced his curiosity, smile, friendliness and general joie de vivre. Aiden arrived in yards and driveways ready to engage. Sometimes it was a simple inquiry as to what we were doing; other times he told about recent adventures or to show a newly-unearthed treasure. Topics were never in short supply. He made everyone feel special, instead of the other way around.
His funeral was attended by many from far beyond the boundaries of our ‘hood. Most impressive was the number from down our street and around the corners who gathered to mourn the loss of what might have been, while relishing what he brought to our lives.
Two sisters, two time frames and two stories are the foundation of Liz Moore’s novel Long Bright River. Mickey is the responsible older sister: an introvert, intelligent and a police officer who patrols the Philadelphia neighborhood of her youth. Kacey is outgoing, estranged from Mickey and an addict.
A spate of murders, including in Mickey’s district, results in her search for Kacey who’s gone missing. The narrative alternates between “Then” and “Now”, as told by Mickey. The former is about the sisters as young children living with their embittered grandmother; the latter follows Mickey’s search for Kacey in hopes she isn’t – and doesn’t become – another murder victim.
Even with its taut element of suspense, making this a rapid page turner, it is more than crime fiction. It’s a family love story about stretching the limits of trust. Moore’s writing evokes vivid images of hookers, drug dealers, corner stores and abandoned buildings along the streets of Mickey’s beat.
Equally as gripping is the girls’ past: their close bonds and the events contributing to the choices each makes. Their mother died of a drug overdose and their father abandoned them.
Mickey’s career choice and her reclusive personality inspire little trust among her family or Kacey’s friends. This stymies Mickey’s efforts to find her sister.
The past is not the only obstacle Mickey faces. Circumstances force her to question those with whom she works. Moore injects plenty of surprises leaving the reader to remember there’s always more than one side to a story.
My grandmother came to the United States with her mother, two older sisters and younger brother when she was a young teen. I don’t know much about what her life was like when she arrived. I do know she was particularly proud when she became an U.S. citizen.
I always thought she obtained her citizenship soon after her arrival. It turns out it was much later: when my mother was in high school. My mom said she drove her mother to the night classes. Other times during the week the two would study; each doing her homework as a means of reaching something better. My mom went on to be the first in her family to not only earn a bachelor’s degree, but also a master’s and doctorate. Her mom studied for the opportunity to enjoy the rights associated with being a citizen of the United States.
For many years my grandmother believed she was already a citizen because of her residency and marriage to my Grandfather. That proved not to be the case. Apparently, some things never change. One of our daughters-in-law is from Mexico. After marrying my son the process of her obtaining a resident visa was daunting, expensive and timely. She hasn’t even begun the journey toward citizenship. That’s another story.
Even though I wasn’t around when it happened, I do know becoming a citizen was something my Grandmother was extremely proud of. I remember her talking about it every election knowing she had a voice in democracy.
I suspect, based on the book she used to study, she was more well versed in the U.S. Constitution than most people born in this country. She never took the right to vote lightly. I can only hope this is true of people in this, the 2020, election.
I choose books based on reviews I’ve read, recommendations from friends or sometimes the title alone is enough to intrigue me. The latter and a review led me to Emma Donoghue’sThe Pull of the Stars.
Unfortunately, there was no pull for me; I discovered this within the first 20 pages. The problem is that the background is the 1918 flu epidemic and the references to quarantines are simply too immediate — even more than a century later.
Donoghue’s novel is set in Dublin and its main character is Julia Power, a nurse in an obstetrics unit in a hospital decimated by the flu. By the way, World War II is still raging.
Full disclosure: my husband and I were (unaffiliated/independent) guests at the newly opened Jax. We were treated to small plates, cocktails and the Jax brand pinot noir from the Willamette Valley.
Jax Fish House & Oyster Bar may be new on the block, but this restaurant is no youngster. Downtown Colorado Springs is the newest locale for the Big Red F Restaurant Group, which independently owns and operates Jax.
In addition to tasting several Happy Hour dishes, we were introduced to Dana Query, wife of owner Dave Query who opened the first Jax in Boulder in 1995, Sheila Lucero, executive chef/owner, and Alan Henkin, beverage director. All shared insights about Jax. Although this was interesting and appreciated, it was overshadowed by the food, both in taste and plating.
It’d be a shame, or perhaps a sin, not to have oysters at an oyster bar and wanting to avoid regrets, I happily indulged. The two sauces were almost superfluous. Almost.
The tostada with kimchi, avocado and charred tomatoes on a brittle corn tortilla; calamari with a wake-up-the-sinuses mango chili sauce; meaty crab cake not obscured by breadcrumbs or fillers and ahi tuna poke over rice are exactly the kind of appetizers I would order again and again – even when footing the bill.
The poke was a particular favorite thanks to its fresh flavors augmented by roasted spiced cashews, serrano peppers and avocado. However, the dish we specifically requested may have been my favorite: shrimp and grits. Crispy fried shrimp nestled together on a bed of creamy, cheesy grits was a union of texture and taste.
It wasn’t necessary to do anything special to impress me, the food did that on its own.
Jax Fish House & Oyster Bar
11 S. Tejon St.
Colorado Springs, CO
Lies, lies and more lies are at the heart of Miracle Creek by Angie Kim. This courtroom thriller is rich with possible culprits responsible for two deaths: a mother and an autistic child.
The novel’s first line is only a hint of what’s to come: “My husband asked me to lie.” Young Yoo, referring to her spouse’s request quickly acknowledges that it wasn’t a big lie. Yet as the author deftly illustrates, a series of falsehoods no matter the size, can lead to unexpected consequences.
The narrative begins with an explanation of what’s referred to as “The Incident.” Korean immigrants Young and Pak Yoo run an experimental medical treatment facility: the Miracle Submarine, named for its shape and proximity to Miracle Creek. This pressurized oxygen chamber is used for therapy by two autistic children, a wheelchair-bound teenager all accompanied by theirs mothers and a physician seeking a cure for infertility. A fire erupts leaving two dead thanks to an unknown arsonist.
Jump ahead to the courtroom where the surviving mother is on trial charged with murder, hers was the child killed. Each chapter is told in the voice of those involved: the Yoos, their daughter and the adults in the submarine at the time of fire. The evidence points to the mother, and her indifferent attitude makes it easy to believe she is guilty.
Yet, many lies slowly surface with suspicion clouding every character. Ultimately, readers are left asking themselves how far they would go to protect their loved ones.
Miracle Creek
Four-and-half Bookmarks
Sarah Crichton Books, 2019
351 pages
(This is obviously not a review of a book or restaurant, just my feelings today.)
Jackson’s last day in the sun.
Today I said goodbye and thank you to Jackson, my shadow/companion of the last 12 years. This Pointer mix, we adopted from the Humane society filled our hearts in ways we never imagined. Andrew gets credit for picking him. Later he slept on the floor with Jackson that first night home. We had two sons in high school and one in college when he joined our family.
Each of us has special recollections of our exuberant dog, who until the last month, still had a lot of puppy in him.
He could be annoying whenever someone came to the door. He didn’t jump as much as bounce around. He knew which friends meant a hike was in store, and he was always ready for a hike. This morning was no exception. His weakened state didn’t deter his desire. As much as he wanted to keep going, I knew it had to be short.
With our Swedish son’s shoe; he didn’t chew, he just liked it nearby.
Jackson is the third dog I’ve had as an adult. I think each member of my family considers him theirs. Having said goodbye to the others, including those belonging to friends, I expected this to be somewhat easier than it was; not so. Perhaps it’s because he filled another role when my husband and I became empty-nesters.
The view from one of regular morning hikes.
He greeted me with a hug each morning, although this honor was later shared with my daughters-in-law. Even as adults, with pets of their own, my sons remained devoted to Jackson. Their sadness intensifies mine. So, I’ll try to think of Jackson’s happier days, because they’re among mine, too.
The Los Angeles Times Food Bowl is more than a celebration of food, although it certainly plays a major role. It’s also about the city’s culture and the various neighborhoods comprising the metropolitan area. Each contributes to the literal and figurative flavor of the city. Time constraints restricted us to only two of the month-long events – although we did dine at other restaurants during my recent five-day visit.
Every Wednesday in May Momed has offered an “Immigrant Dinner” featuring cuisine organized by an immigrant friend of the restaurant. We hit on Taste of Iran with guest chef Bita Milanian. The menu featured two appetizers and three entrees. We ordered one of everything. The most unusual, or new to me, was the Borani-e-labu. Diced roasted beets mixed with Persian yogurt gave this soupy, savory starter the color of cotton candy. (Sorry no photos.) The only problem was not enough pita with which to sop it up.
Each entrée featured a blend of ingredients rendering it new to the palate: Kufteh: combined fresh herbs, ground beef, rice, barberries and walnuts. This was softball-size in shape and dressed with roasted yellow and red peppers.
Fava beans, lentils, pomegranate seeds, citrus, raisins, other rices and dates were among other components incorporated into the dishes.
Momed is short for Modern Mediterranean. It’s located in a residential area of Atwater Village.
The tostada with 
Each entrée featured a blend of ingredients rendering it new to the palate: Kufteh: combined fresh herbs, ground beef, rice, barberries and walnuts. This was softball-size in shape and dressed with roasted yellow and red peppers.
Fava beans, lentils, pomegranate seeds, citrus, raisins, other rices and dates were among other components incorporated into the dishes.
The Blue Page Special 