It's hot and sticky, waiting for a thunderstorm. It's Monday. I've done some work at the thrift shop, did the mail and the bank, dropped off signed permits at the town office, taken a nap. And now there is this freedom to think or read or write my thoughts for reading years from now. The shop is keeping me way too busy, but it is succeeding in almost all the ways I thought it would. Some ways remain to be seen. I'm wearing the yellow batik rag that I save for a summer day like this one. It's patched together with stick on denim patches.

Here's an image that connects parts of my life. This espresso maker sold in the shop the other day. When I was a computer science teacher in Slidell, the computer wing of the building was closer to a coffee shop a block away than it was to the teachers' lounge at the front of the building. I often slipped out to that shop, occasionally taking an AP class with me (parental notes, of course). The kids would have a double espresso with 20 sugars. Then we returned to school and released them into the wild. When I retired from teaching in 1997, this espresso maker was my retirement gift from the school. Twenty three years later, I sell it at a thrift store. Patsy, the person who bought it, was one of the "tea ladies" who met at 93 Main for coffee & tea every Saturday morning.

Just to put a marker down about the current state of the world: the pandemic rages on in the south and west as 45 distracts from his plunging poll numbers by sending unmarked mercenary goons to incite violence at peaceful demonstrations in Portland, Oregon. They are opposed by walls of moms in bicycle helmets and dads with leaf blowers. 100 days to election.

A thrift shop that takes non-curated donations is basically a hospice for people's material goods. People can't bear to see their stuff die at home so they bring it to hospice where they magically believe the stuff will have an afterlife even though the items may be worn to the bone and stained in weird ways. The one in ten articles that we keep has good bones and is somehow mysteriously estranged from its owner; we find it a better match.

Marketing note. When I advertised shows for the theater, I never ever said things like support live music or it will go away. I always promoted the band and how great the music and the theater was. Negativity doesn't sell. In posting a looking for volunteers meme for the thrift shop, I use words like adventure and join and fun. Guilt doesn't sell. In a conversation with Deb B, she said she would start a meeting with some church folks with a message about how it wasn't fair that... I stopped her right there. Never start a conversation with that phrase. You will get nowhere.

Our second expedition in search of the perfect lobster roll took us to Robinson's Wharf in Southport which is an island below Boothbay Harbor. Great to sit out on a wharf with plenty of space between tables. Ordered it with butter and lemon, but next time I will specify "on the side." Macloon's is still in the lead.

I paid $119 for a Kindle paperwhite reader and it's working for me. Waterproof so it goes in the dock basket. Battery life is about 3 weeks because it's a black & white screen at 300 dpi. Light and handy. I like that it's only for reading books. On it, I am reading The Deficit Myth: Modern Monetary Theory and the Birth of the People's Economy by Stephanie Kelton. Although it's counter-intuitive for the household budget thinker, MMT opens up a new world that understands money from the viewpoint of the currency issuer rather than the currency user. There are still constraints on spending, but "MMT distinguishes the real limits from delusional and unnecessary self-imposed constraints."