Of fathers and daughters and random encounters on a December Friday in Maine

It is always good having Mandoline here with us, though she is far too busy and organized so that when she leaves, as she did Friday to return to Paris via Boston and New York and Air France, I feel like I didn’t quite get enough time with her. After she left on the Concord to Logan, I went to play basketball as I do three times a week. We play at a small company which took over one of those ‘50’s primary schools that were up for grabs several years ago and transformed the building to produce high-tech brain probes for cerebral research around the globe: unlikely anywhere but perhaps especially in Bowdoin, Maine. The building serves its purpose well, but I am convinced that the owner of the enterprise really took it over because of its basketball court: the real thing yet small enough for 60 something’s to play full court, especially four on four, and the mid-day pick-up game is inspired. It’s co-ed, mostly employees, and fairly high quality: lots of tight defense, good passing competition, all in the spirit of fair play.

This particular Friday there were fifteen people who showed up so we played games to seven of five-on- five, and they were spirited. There was a newcomer, Ken, a local builder who had some down time. He clearly had played some ball and now in his fifties was still in good shape and had a nice touch on his shot, usually launched a bit tentatively and from not too far out. He wore a T-shirt from a running store and was fit and gentlemanly. We matched up for a couple of games and though he is a better player than I, it was an even go as this was his first time out and I had “home court” advantage. After a couple of games we rotated to new players and I drew Sarah, my height and less than half my age, a good player who runs me ragged. There are some patterns to her play though, so I can usually hold my own. All in all it was a good session.

That evening we drove down to Portland to see a concert by Childsplay, an annual festival of musicians who all have a connection through the violins made by Bob Childs. It’s a fun evening of wonderful music. And there sitting three seats down is Ken, who comes up to me at intermission with “what are you doing here” look on his face. Turns out one of the Childsplay musicians, and one whose music I know well, is his daughter, Lissa. (Last weekend we went to Rockland to hear Crooked Still play at a sold out Strand – fun concert - and we sat next to an chatted for a while with the father of the group’s bass player – who I know from fiddle camp and elsewhere – who is married to Ken’s daughter…)

Enough? Well not quite. Pierre and I went to get the Christmas tree this afternoon - -Staying local but not trekking out into our own woods we headed out the Brown’s Point road and cut a nice full one at a farm that has transformed an old hay field into five or six rows of now ready firs. After fixing the tree in the back of the pick-up, and paying the farmer, he handed me a card to prove that I bought it – apparently now the State law. Turns out he is Sarah’s father.