I got an email today from good old Chris Cromwell, who's running the The Town Motel and Moseley Cottage Inn this summer up in Bar Port, Maine; big old houses that rent out to fair-weather visitors. His special lady's family has been running it for 35 years. Seems pretty cool.

He's also blogging, and Crom is a really great writer. Here's an excerpt:

Tonight you won't be able to sleep until after midnight. Usually you're in bed by ten and asleep by ten thirty and that's really pushing it. Tonight you'll sit on the floor with your old dog, running your hand through his fur and remembering what he was like as a puppy, on the loose, or even just five years ago when his sight first started going. He can't curl up in the hollow of your body any more so you curl your hollow around him. He stretches. You have to walk behind him now when he goes up stairs; you have to help him with his hind legs. And the roof is wet in one room and the heaters out in another. There's no shortage of things to worry about, but you and your dog both have something to teach each other. His lesson for you is terrible, just feels horrible. You remember that last night in your dream your dog was with you and ran with you, ran without hesitation like only animals and children can, while someone chased you with a wood pole. You don't know what your lesson for him is; you feel he may be beyond lessons. In your mind you envision yourself, tall and friendly, with treats and friends and you try to beam this image to him, your friend, your old dog.

I have to give the man credit for affecting my writing and performance style with the work I observed him doing at ETW. All this scans good with your eyes, but it pales in comparison to having Crom put on some choice music, gather up a few ideosyncratic props, and read it to you like a fable.

I don't know if Vagabender is going to make it that far north in New England, but if so we'll definitely be dropping in.