On Saturday morning, Howard and Alfie and I stood on the side of the road and watched the Old Home Days parade in the tiny town of Lovell, Maine (population just over 1000)  There is something nostalic and charming about such events: the aged VFW guys, the float with a handful of Girl Scouts, the solitary man in a kilt, playing bagpipes. And on the sidelines, with their folding chairs and leashed dogs, the townspeople: a combinaton of year-round residents and "summer people"...some of the latter with famous and recognizable faces.

And here is the Center Lovell Market, where you can get a NY Times or an egg salad sandwich and maybe stand in line at the cash register behind Stephen King.

There is a fine library and there are varous performances at the Old Brick Church and there is an unspoiled lake with a view of the sunset over the western mountains.

And if you drive down a road called Hardscrabble Road you will come to my house.