SPECTOR OR SPECTACLE

Morning in New Hampshire is at least an hour and a half later than it is in North Eastern Maine and I swear the sun is MUCH brighter in
Maine than it ever was in New Hampshire. The damn poets that “gently bathe their gardens in the in the morning sunlight”, have never been in the front downstairs bedroom in Winter Harbor. There (Winter Harbor) the sun breaks into the bedroom, kicks you in the ass and yells ”GET UP you lazy bum!” It is basically the halogen bulb in God’s arsenal of alarm clocks. Unless you are a fisherman, IT SUCKS!

One can also remove the “morning dew shining on the grass” references to anything written about Winter Harbor. That is Frost you fools. Those beautiful shining diamonds in the grass are merely ice-encased ants trying to get to the warm kitchen (if there was such a thing).
For all of you romantics out there, those strange looking Steven Spielberg kinda clouds hanging on the horizon are not going to turn into pictures you imagine against a beautiful blue backdrop. It is FOG!
Also known in town (and surrounding areas) as Pea Soup. You all know this fog. It is the type you have to shut off your headlights in order to see your hood ornament. This crap hangs on the horizon to make the fisherman’s life miserable. Then moves toward the shore and lands on the only road out of town. This occurs just in time for anyone who commutes to Ellsworth to work.
What’s not to love about this idyllic spot on the map-eh?
In order to experience these daily assaults by Mother Nature, one has to have gone to bed.
The Winter Harbor Estate has experienced paranormal activity since my grandfather was lost at sea many years ago.(probably a result of a "Maine Morning") For example, my sister swears she saw him in his old bedroom at the top of the stairs. Pictures have flown off the walls, books off the bookcase phone books relocating overnight, all occurring shortly after things were rearranged for aesthetic purposes.
We have all experienced these things and usually hurl a few choice words under our breath (we are sure only Grandpa could hear them) and then continue about our business.
I am pretty sure I had mentioned these little quirks to Bob.
Then again………
I must now remind you, Bob and I have not been married. Allowing Bob and I to share the same bedroom, never mind the same bed wasn’t easy for my Dad. Bless his heart; he was a chauvinist of the first order! “No daughter of his would ever………” Under the circumstances and the fact that he would have to wake me up every two hours to roll Bob, made it a fairly easy decision.
We finally said our “goodnights” and headed for the bedroom. Through the living room past the “stair-trap”, (didn’t forget to put down the step-lid) into Grammy Dot’s old bedroom.
Bob positioned the chair for transfer, with jet mechanic’s precision.
I helped him place the transfer board under his butt.
Remember the old pot metal beds? The ones with the jail-like headboards and footboards decorated with brass knobs? You know the things. I swear they were designed to hide under in case of Indian raids. Remembering back, I am sure they were at least two feet higher than a “modern” bed.
A slight exaggeration to be sure but the angle on the transfer board made the ramp to the front door look almost ADA compliant! Bob often commented on his now being,” terminally short” this bed was terminally Tall!
The only way I could get him up the board was to give the poor man the ultimate wedgie! I grabbed his waistband and at the count of three, yanked him upward. At the moment Bob reached the half way mark on the transfer board, his wheelchair flew out from under him and went whizzing across the room, out the door and came to rest on the stair tread lid (which I cleverly remembered to close).
We were both startled. I, being a girl, gasped and, through an auto-reflex action, threw up my hands. This act was accomplished by letting go of Bob’s pants.
“There he was…Gone!”. Yup, Bob, board and bedstead, all in a crumpled pile.
“Stop it Grandpa.” I yelled.
Bob looked at me with this quizzical twitch. Then he looked around the room (actually under the bed was all he could see),”What do you mean, Grandpa”.
“ I will explain, once we get you on the bed, if I can get you on the bed. Any ideas?”
“Yeah, just roll me under here and throw me a pillow. Are we going to have to go through this every night?” “You can hook me up to the 50 feet of rubber hose and call me in the morning!”
Bob was not a happy tourist!
“Look at it this way, at least you still have your pants on. You slide easier. No board burn to worry about”. I always try to be optimistic.
The process for raising a 195 pound man up to the perceived four foot height, is daunting at best, impossible for some, and “just another challenge” for a stubborn idiot with a bad back.
While Bob was yelling” go get your father to help”, I was yanking on his waste band again, trying to slide him out from under the bed.
“I am not getting Dad out of bed if I don’t have too!” “Help me out here, and let me get you on your knees. You then grab the bed and while you pull yourself up, I will grab your pants and help. Once you get started, I can sorta “goose” you onto the bed then throw you legs in afterward”. “Are you game to give it a try?”
If this scene were on TV and closed captioned, I believe it would have read, “Unintelligible, improper language,” but, Bob agreed.
I pulled, he slid. I yanked, he pulled. I pushed, he pulled. I grunted, he groaned.
EASY AS PIE!!!!! What seemed like hours was actually only 15 minutes of the comic opera. The whole ordeal had exhausted both of us. Now we could laugh.
After a good chuckle and the obligatory pat on each other’s back for our success, Bob blurted out “Was that Grandpa?”
Oh yeah, Light dawns on Marble head!
I started to explain but before I could, Bob said (into thin air) “Grandpa, you can’t keep doing this, Lauren is in my bed whether you like it or not. So just stop it!”
“We ARE getting married, just not before we leave Maine-get over it!”
Bob didn’t fully realize that at that very moment, he was genuinely part of the family. “Truly nuts and truly a believer”> we had no more “visits”. And the transfers on and off the bed became a breeze. You, the reader, will have to draw your own conclusions.