Reflections on losing money and going broke — and bringing home the bacon.
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I asked the manager about that price. “Can that price be correct?” I asked her. “That’s way more than it is in Beverly Hills.”
She studied the bacon carefully. “Well, it is thick sliced,” she said.
Okay…. Never mind.
Off to Hill’s Resort in Priest Lake with Penny and Tim Farmin. We had a super great meal at a modest price. The sun was setting over the lake. It is a pretty much perfect setting.
On the way back, we were held up by a line of at least ten police and sheriff’s and highway patrol cars with their red and blue lights flashing madly. They were by a guard rail next to a ravine. Many police were looking around with flashlights and dogs.
We had already passed two sheriff’s trucks tearing along Highway 200 at a furious pace and two ambulances wheeling up route 57 towards Priest Lake.
When I got home, I saw on the news that two convicts — violent ones — had escaped from custody and that the police believed one had gone through a guard rail while seeking to outrun the police. Scary. I slept with my pistol next to me.
I slept really well and awakened happy. Why not? I am in a beautiful spot, overlooking this mountain lake, and my wifey is very nearby. Why wouldn’t I be happy?
After a very modest breakfast (I have put the bacon in the safe deposit box), I sent out many get well cards to dear friends and postcards to other friends and then rode around City Beach Park on my old Cannondale. Again, I am staggered at how many beautiful women and girls there are in Sandpoint. How can this be? Why are there so many? They all greet me and call me “Ben” or “Sir.” There were two adorable high school girls with hats who greeted me. One was named Reagan. I asked her if she was named after the late President. She cheerfully said she was. She had a smile that could make the polar ice melt. I met a young girl on a bike who had blue hair. “Too cool,” I said to her.
“Thank you, sir,” she said.
Most of the people who want to talk to me, though, are middle aged men who want to talk about Mr. Obama or about the stock market. I usually shine it on. I am not here to talk randomly to people about politics. Blue hair, yes. Politics, no.
Then to dinner on the Cobalt, over to Ivano Del Lago, with Alex and Tim and Penny Farmin. The evening was perfect. Sky light blue, few fleecy clouds, water calm. The food was amazingly good and the other diners a cheery lot. The service perfect, as always. My wife had got off her sickbed to come out for the evening and I think she was glad she did. My sister called while I was taking pictures of the sunset. It was warming to hear her voice from Brooklyn. It was a swell evening, and I was deeply happy that my wife was well enough to enjoy it. But it obviously tired her. Penny Farmin gave her a jacket to wear on the boat even though Penny was shivering. That is a friend.
We came back in the moonlight, with a full moon casting moonbeams over the rippling of the lake. It is about 12 miles from Ivano’s to my dock and we only passed one other boat. There was no sound except the roar of the Cobalt and the whipping of the wind on the windshield. The peace here is fantastic.
When I think of what my ancestors went through living in the Pale of Jewish Settlement or wherever they lived in Eastern Europe — the poverty, the hunger, the cruelty visited upon them by high and low, the keen edge of fear eating into them constantly — and then think of Lake Pendoreille and the peace I get to enjoy, I feel like getting on my knees with gratitude to the military of the United States, to the police, to the ordinary but really extremely extraordinary men and women of the United States who make my life so happy — and most of all to God, who made it all possible. His gifts, made out of sheer grace, for they surely are unearned, are beyond telling. My ancestors made one decision that changed everything: to come to America.