September 12, 2018--9/11 at 17

That morning, 17 years ago, before heading to the office, Rona went out to our terrace to check the weather. Would we need something warm to wear?

It was a clear day, not a cloud in the sky. Shirtsleeves would do.

At that moment, flying at very high speed, the first plane roared right overhead. Much too low.

"I think it's in trouble," Rona said. 

Two minutes later we heard a explosion less than a mile south of us. 

And when, within five minutes, there was a second, even louder explosion, we knew that the world had changed.

Here is something I wrote about that day and posted in October, 2013--

We had a few hours to kill after we drove at dawn to Frosty's in Brunswick for a donut orgy.

We were waiting for the Bowdoin College Museum to open. It was the next to last day of the Maurice Prendergast show. I especially like his work on paper--watercolors, pastels, gouaches, mono prints--and didn't want to miss it.

Thinking about what to do, Rona remembered that our friend Al Trescot was planning to berth his boat in a nearby marina at the end of Mere Point. He plans a book of photographs of the waters of Casco Bay. "Let's drive down to Paul's Marina," she suggested, "From our GPS it looks as if it's only five miles."

We took our time as the historic town of Brunswick gave way to clusters of suburban-looking ranch houses before quickly turning into the more familiar look of rural Maine. The turnoff to Paul's came up quickly and I had to brake hard not to glide past the dirt road that lead down to the marina.

It turned out to be more basic than the yard where Al had been mooring his boat the past two years as he worked on a soon-to-be-published book about the Sheepscot and Kennebec Rivers. But I agreed with Rona who felt it had much more charm huddled among cabins and cottages that lined the shore facing the bay and Merepoint Neck.

We parked next to one of the cottages, maybe a bit too close; but we thought that would be all right since we intended to take a brief look around to get a visual fix on where Al would be moored early next spring.

"Let's get a quick cup of coffee," I proposed, "Just as Al said, there's a general store, over there, Judy's," I pointed toward the dock, "And maybe something to . . ."

"After what you ate at Frosty's an hour ago you want more . . ."

"Maybe some lobster?" Rona said.

I was confused. "See what that sign says."

"The Lobster You Buy Here Today,'" Rona read, "'Slept Last Night in Casco Bay.'"

"This is a perfect place for Al," we both laughed, "Let's just get a cup of coffee. More to see the shop than for the coffee or . . ."

"Good idea."

The coffee was hot and full flavored. We took it outside to a small deck and sat on a bench, passing it back and forth, looking into the half-risen sun and staring languidly out to the first of the more than 300 islands of Casco. More than enough for Al to find subject matter.

"Time to head out," I said, "By now the museum's open and I don't feel comfortable leaving the car so close to that house."

And with that, the door to it eased open and an elderly but seemingly physically vital man with a severe Amish-style beard began slowly to lumber down the few steps, heading toward our car.

I whispered to Rona as we trotted toward where we had parked, "I don't like the way he's looking at it or us. In fact, I don't like the way he looks. Let's just get into the car and not say too much. I'm in too good a mood to get yelled out for where we parked. Maybe I'll just signal a brief apology and move on."

"I see you're . . ."  I couldn't make out what he was saying but from the tone he seemed friendly. I also noticed that our car was not really encroaching on access to his garage.

I relaxed. He sensed I didn't hear him and repeated, "I see you're from New York." I nodded, by then half seated in the car. "What parts?"

"Manhattan," Rona said. "Downtown."

"Not my kind of place," he said. "All these islands right here are enough action for me." With his hand he swept the horizon.

"Where you there on 9/11?" He didn't turn to look at us.

"Yes, we were," Rona said. "The first plane flew right over our terrace. I went out there to check the weather. To determine what to wear when it flew by just above the roof, going full speed. I thought it was in some sort of trouble. Not of course what was really happening."

"Terrible day. Terrible. Terrible time. Then and since."

"I agree with that," I said, "Things haven't been the same."

"We've lost our way," he said. "That's why I hardly ever leave this place. What more do I need? I got all my wants taken care of. I don't need any of that other nonsense."

"I understand," Rona said. "When we're here we feel the same way."

"From then on things have been different," he said, still looking into the sun. "They'll never be the same."

"I agree with that," I said. "It's awful, just awful."

"Do you know what happened the day before?"

"You don't mean yesterday?"

"No, September 10th. That day before."

"Your asking about that reminds me that two of the hijackers started that day near here in Portland."

"That's right, they came to Portland on the 10th, stayed overnight, and then flew from Portland to Boston the morning of the 11th when they got onto the plane that they hijacked and crashed into the first building."

"The one I saw," Rona sighed.

"No one seems to know why they came to Portland on the 10th," I said. "Do you have any idea why?"

"I have my theories," he said. "Before I retired I used to be in law enforcement."

"Your theories?"

"That's for another day." He waved the thought away. "But I'll tell you something I bet you don't know about."

"What's that? I've tried to read a lot about the hijackers."

"In your reading did you see that they came to this here marina?"

"Really?" I exclaimed. "Here? Why would that be?"

"Don't know about why, but I do know they came right here the day before. Was a beautiful day just like today."

"To do . . .?"

"As I said, I don't know. But I do know it was them. Atta, the leader, and that Abdul fella."

"I think it was Mohammed Atta and Abdulaziz al-Omari. For some reason I seem to know the names of all 19 of them."

"They sat down right there on that dock." He pointed to a small float directly behind me. "For more than an hour."

"My God," Rona said.

"As I told you I was in law enforcement and they didn't look right to me. They didn't look like they were from here."

"What did you do?" I asked hesitantly, not wanting to probe too deeply into what might be a terrible memory.

"Well, I had my suspicions. Of course not about what they did. Who could have imagined that. Though I should have . . ." His voice trailed off.

"No one could have imagined what they were plotting," I said. "No one." And that was the truth, not something I said to make him feel better.

"But I did write down the license plate number of their car."

"And, if I may, what . . ."

"They sat down right there on that dock." He pointed to a small float directly behind me. "For more than an hour."

"My God," Rona said.

"As I told you, I was in law enforcement and they didn't look right to me. They didn't look like they were from here."

"What did you do?" I asked hesitantly, not wanting to probe too deeply into what might be a painful memory.

"Well, I had my suspicions. Of course not about what they did. Who could have imagined that. Though I should have . . ." His voice trailed off.

"No one could have imagined what they were plotting," I said. "No one." And that was the truth, not something I said to make him feel better.

"But I did write down the license plate number of their car."

"And, if I may, what . . ."

"I was at a meeting the morning of the 11th and just as we were about to get started someone rushed in to say something terrible just happened in New York, that we should come out and watch on the TV. So just like millions of others we were glued to the screen. When the second plane hit we knew it was an attack. We were all from law enforcement but no one could guess the extent of the damage or if there were other attacks all over the country. Or if we were bein' invaded."

"You're bringing that time back to me," Rona said.

As if not hearing her, he continued, "Two of the men who were at the meetin' had family working in those building and they raced to the telephone. Of course all the lines were tied up and they couldn't get through. So they came back to join us and we moved in close to them to help them get through what might turn out to be a tragedy for them too.

"At that time, horror-struck, I wasn't puttin' any pieces together. The two men who sat on the dock out there and what was happening in New York and Washington, D.C. too. Over the next few days we all went through pretty much the same thing. Fear, anger, wantin' to get even. No matter our politics we were one nation, indivisible. Just like the Pledge says we are, but for the most part we've forgotten."

"True. True," Rona said.

"A few days later--from your reading," he turned toward me but still looked out over the glinting water, "you probably know how many days--they released the names of the hijackers. The murderers."

"It was about three days," I said.

"Then a couple weeks after that they began to show pictures of them. Passport photo types. I forgot how many. 'Bout 20 of 'em.  And that's when it struck me--two of 'em (the Atta one and that Abdul fella) who took over the first plane were the same men who were here that day before. Spent an hour looking up at the sky and all them planes flyin' high overhead on the great circle route from Europe toward Boston and New York. 'Oh my God,' I thought, 'I had 'em here and let 'em get away.'"

I could hear his raspy breathing.

"There's no way you could of . . ."

He waved me off. "I let 'em get away. I'm from law enforcement. I even took their license number."

"What could you have done?" I asked, wanting to reach out to him, touch him. "Even if you had notified the police it's unlikely they would have done anything at all right them. Though they knew you and you had justifiable suspicions as it tragically turned out, it would not have been a priority for them. No one would have connected any dots and assumed they were up to such evil."

"I know what you're sayin' makes sense, and though I did talk to the FBI as soon as I saw who it was, thinking there might be more to learn about them and who was behind this, still I have trouble sleeping at night."

"I do too," Rona said. There are many nights when we're in the city and I hear a plane overhead heading for LaGuardia, my heart stops. As you said, things will never be the same."

"One more thing."

"Anything."

"You remember," for the first time he looked directly at me, "You remember where the president was? Bush?"

"I do. Somewhere in Florida at a school."

"In Sarasota. At an elementary school. And you remember what he did? Or what the Secret Service had him do?"

"I do. Until they knew the nature of the attack they flew him around from Florida to an air force base in Louisiana and eventually to the Strategic Command Center in Nebraska where he would be safe."

"Well, my son at the time was in the Marines. With everything goin' on I was worried about him. I couldn't reach him. I was real worried. Like I said, no one knew the full story of what was happening. There were all sorts of rumors."

I was confused about why he was talking at the same time about President Bush and his son.

"Then when Bush returned to the White House later that evening--he was eager to get to there--they showed him landing in his helicopter on the south lawn. Like they often do. But this time it felt more important to know he was all right."

"I remember feeling relieved about that," I said. "Even though I wasn't his biggest fan."

"And then I knew my son was also all right. You see, he was one of the pilots for the president's helicopter. Marine One it's called. And I saw him there when the president got off and turned to salute him."

With that, he turned toward Judy's General Store. "Gotta get me some of her muffins," he said sounding cheery, "before they run out."

In silence we drove back toward Brunswick.

At the museum, Rona said, "He never told us about his theories."

September 12, 2016--9/11 @ 15

That morning, 15 years ago, before heading to the office, Rona went out to our terrace to check the weather. Would we need something warm to wear?

It was a clear day, not a cloud in the sky. Shirtsleeves would do.

At that moment, flying at very high speed, the first plane roared right overhead. Much too low.

"I think it's in trouble," Rona said. 

Two minutes later we heard a explosion less than a mile south of us. 

And when, within five minutes, there was a second, even louder explosion, we knew that the world had changed.

Here is something I wrote about and posted in October, 2013--

We had a few hours to kill after we drove at dawn to Frosty's in Brunswick for a donut orgy.

We were waiting for the Bowdoin College Museum to open. It was the next to last day of the Maurice Prendergast show. I especially like his work on paper--watercolors, pastels, gouaches, mono prints--and didn't want to miss it.

Thinking about what to do, Rona remembered that our friend Al Trescot was planning to berth his boat in a nearby marina at the end of Mere Point. He plans a book of photographs of the waters of Casco Bay. "Let's drive down to Paul's Marina," she suggested, "From our GPS it looks as if it's only five miles."

We took our time as the historic town of Brunswick gave way to clusters of suburban-looking ranch houses before quickly turning into the more familiar look of rural Maine. The turnoff to Paul's came up quickly and I had to brake hard not to glide past the dirt road that lead down to the marina.

It turned out to be more basic than the yard where Al had been mooring his boat the past two years as he worked on a soon-to-be-published book about the Sheepscot and Kennebec Rivers. But I agreed with Rona who felt it had much more charm huddled among cabins and cottages that lined the shore facing the bay and Merepoint Neck.

We parked next to one of the cottages, maybe a bit too close; but we thought that would be all right since we intended to take a brief look around to get a visual fix on where Al would be moored early next spring.

"Let's get a quick cup of coffee," I proposed, "Just as Al said, there's a general store, over there, Judy's," I pointed toward the dock, "And maybe something to . . ."

"After what you ate at Frosty's an hour ago you want more . . ."

"Maybe some lobster?" Rona said.

I was confused. "See what that sign says."

"The Lobster You Buy Here Today,'" Rona read, "'Slept Last Night in Casco Bay.'"

"This is a perfect place for Al," we both laughed, "Let's just get a cup of coffee. More to see the shop than for the coffee or . . ."

"Good idea."

The coffee was hot and full flavored. We took it outside to a small deck and sat on a bench, passing it back and forth, looking into the half-risen sun and staring languidly out to the first of the more than 300 islands of Casco. More than enough for Al to find subject matter.

"Time to head out," I said, "By now the museum's open and I don't feel comfortable leaving the car so close to that house."

And with that, the door to it eased open and an elderly but seemingly physically vital man with a severe Amish-style beard began slowly to lumber down the few steps, heading toward our car.

I whispered to Rona as we trotted toward where we had parked, "I don't like the way he's looking at it or us. In fact, I don't like the way he looks. Let's just get into the car and not say too much. I'm in too good a mood to get yelled out for where we parked. Maybe I'll just signal a brief apology and move on."

"I see you're . . ."  I couldn't make out what he was saying but from the tone he seemed friendly. I also noticed that our car was not really encroaching on access to his garage.

I relaxed. He sensed I didn't hear him and repeated, "I see you're from New York." I nodded, by then half seated in the car. "What parts?"

"Manhattan," Rona said. "Downtown."

"Not my kind of place," he said. "All these islands right here are enough action for me." With his hand he swept the horizon.

"Where you there on 9/11?" He didn't turn to look at us.

"Yes, we were," Rona said. "The first plane flew right over our terrace. I went out there to check the weather. To determine what to wear when it flew by just above the roof, going full speed. I thought it was in some sort of trouble. Not of course what was really happening."

"Terrible day. Terrible. Terrible time. Then and since."

"I agree with that," I said, "Things haven't been the same."

"We've lost our way," he said. "That's why I hardly ever leave this place. What more do I need? I got all my wants taken care of. I don't need any of that other nonsense."

"I understand," Rona said. "When we're here we feel the same way."

"From then on things have been different," he said, still looking into the sun. "They'll never be the same."

"I agree with that," I said. "It's awful, just awful."

"Do you know what happened the day before?"

"You don't mean yesterday?"

"No, September 10th. That day before."

"Your asking about that reminds me that two of the hijackers started that day near here in Portland."

"That's right, they came to Portland on the 10th, stayed overnight, and then flew from Portland to Boston the morning of the 11th when they got onto the plane that they hijacked and crashed into the first building."

"The one I saw," Rona sighed.

"No one seems to know why they came to Portland on the 10th," I said. "Do you have any idea why?"

"I have my theories," he said. "Before I retired I used to be in law enforcement."

"Your theories?"

"That's for another day." He waved the thought away. "But I'll tell you something I bet you don't know about."

"What's that? I've tried to read a lot about the hijackers."

"In your reading did you see that they came to this here marina?"

"Really?" I exclaimed. "Here? Why would that be?"

"Don't know about why, but I do know they came right here the day before. Was a beautiful day just like today."

"To do . . .?"

"As I said, I don't know. But I do know it was them. Atta, the leader, and that Abdul fella."

"I think it was Mohammed Atta and Abdulaziz al-Omari. For some reason I seem to know the names of all 19 of them."

"They sat down right there on that dock." He pointed to a small float directly behind me. "For more than an hour."

"My God," Rona said.

"As I told you I was in law enforcement and they didn't look right to me. They didn't look like they were from here."

"What did you do?" I asked hesitantly, not wanting to probe too deeply into what might be a terrible memory.

"Well, I had my suspicions. Of course not about what they did. Who could have imagined that. Though I should have . . ." His voice trailed off.

"No one could have imagined what they were plotting," I said. "No one." And that was the truth, not something I said to make him feel better.

"But I did write down the license plate number of their car."

"And, if I may, what . . ."

"They sat down right there on that dock." He pointed to a small float directly behind me. "For more than an hour."

"My God," Rona said.

"As I told you, I was in law enforcement and they didn't look right to me. They didn't look like they were from here."

"What did you do?" I asked hesitantly, not wanting to probe too deeply into what might be a painful memory.

"Well, I had my suspicions. Of course not about what they did. Who could have imagined that. Though I should have . . ." His voice trailed off.

"No one could have imagined what they were plotting," I said. "No one." And that was the truth, not something I said to make him feel better.

"But I did write down the license plate number of their car."

"And, if I may, what . . ."

"I was at a meeting the morning of the 11th and just as we were about to get started someone rushed in to say something terrible just happened in New York, that we should come out and watch on the TV. So just like millions of others we were glued to the screen. When the second plane hit we knew it was an attack. We were all from law enforcement but no one could guess the extent of the damage or if there were other attacks all over the country. Or if we were bein' invaded."

"You're bringing that time back to me," Rona said.

As if not hearing her, he continued, "Two of the men who were at the meetin' had family working in those building and they raced to the telephone. Of course all the lines were tied up and they couldn't get through. So they came back to join us and we moved in close to them to help them get through what might turn out to be a tragedy for them too.

"At that time, horror-struck, I wasn't puttin' any pieces together. The two men who sat on the dock out there and what was happening in New York and Washington, D.C. too. Over the next few days we all went through pretty much the same thing. Fear, anger, wantin' to get even. No matter our politics we were one nation, indivisible. Just like the Pledge says we are, but for the most part we've forgotten."

"True. True," Rona said.

"A few days later--from your reading," he turned toward me but still looked out over the glinting water, "you probably know how many days--they released the names of the hijackers. The murderers."

"It was about three days," I said.

"Then a couple weeks after that they began to show pictures of them. Passport photo types. I forgot how many. 'Bout 20 of 'em.  And that's when it struck me--two of 'em (the Atta one and that Abdul fella) who took over the first plane were the same men who were here that day before. Spent an hour looking up at the sky and all them planes flyin' high overhead on the great circle route from Europe toward Boston and New York. 'Oh my God,' I thought, 'I had 'em here and let 'em get away.'"

I could hear his raspy breathing.

"There's no way you could of . . ."

He waved me off. "I let 'em get away. I'm from law enforcement. I even took their license number."

"What could you have done?" I asked, wanting to reach out to him, touch him. "Even if you had notified the police it's unlikely they would have done anything at all right them. Though they knew you and you had justifiable suspicions as it tragically turned out, it would not have been a priority for them. No one would have connected any dots and assumed they were up to such evil."

"I know what you're sayin' makes sense, and though I did talk to the FBI as soon as I saw who it was, thinking there might be more to learn about them and who was behind this, still I have trouble sleeping at night."

"I do too," Rona said. There are many nights when we're in the city and I hear a plane overhead heading for LaGuardia, my heart stops. As you said, things will never be the same."

"One more thing."

"Anything."

"You remember," for the first time he looked directly at me, "You remember where the president was? Bush?"

"I do. Somewhere in Florida at a school."

"In Sarasota. At an elementary school. And you remember what he did? Or what the Secret Service had him do?"

"I do. Until they knew the nature of the attack they flew him around from Florida to an air force base in Louisiana and eventually to the Strategic Command Center in Nebraska where he would be safe."

"Well, my son at the time was in the Marines. With everything goin' on I was worried about him. I couldn't reach him. I was real worried. Like I said, no one knew the full story of what was happening. There were all sorts of rumors."

I was confused about why he was talking at the same time about President Bush and his son.

"Then when Bush returned to the White House later that evening--he was eager to get to there--they showed him landing in his helicopter on the south lawn. Like they often do. But this time it felt more important to know he was all right."

"I remember feeling relieved about that," I said. "Even though I wasn't his biggest fan."

"And then I knew my son was also all right. You see, he was one of the pilots for the president's helicopter. Marine One it's called. And I saw him there when the president got off and turned to salute him."

With that, he turned toward Judy's General Store. "Gotta get me some of her muffins," he said sounding cheery, "before they run out."

In silence we drove back toward Brunswick.

At the museum, Rona said, "He never told us about his theories."

October 19, 2015--Donuts

It was still dark at 6:15 but Rona was stirring.

So in a whisper I said, "Are you awake?"

"Sort of," she mumbled.

"Interested in Frosty's?"

"For donuts?" Without waiting for an answer, she threw back the covers and stumbled quickly toward the bathroom.

We hadn't been there for about a month and for the past were feeling a donut rush. And we knew, to get the widest selection--especially Boston Creams--we would be pushing our luck if we showed up after 8:00. It's about a 50 minute drive and knew if we didn't hit the road by 7:00, traffic being unpredictable, we might make all that effort and wind up disappointed.

And Frosty's is the last place in the world where you want to be disappointed. If you can't rouse yourself, better not even to go.

"Look at that pink sky," Rona said, almost impossible to understand with the electric toothbrush whirring away.

"That's sunrise. You're rarely up early enough to see it." I was attempting to represent my insomnia as evidence of my moral superiority. "Right now, actually in about 15 minutes, it should be rising above the horizon just north of Monhegan Island."

"If I hurry, do you think there's enough time to drive to the Pemaquid Loop so we can see it?"

I checked my watch and said, "It depends on what you mean by hurry."

"I know, I know, this is about donuts."

Well, Rona did hurray sufficiently and we did get to the Loop just in time to see the fireball of the sun leap above the horizon at the edge of the Gulf of Maine."

"I have to try this more often" Rona sighed. "I'm missing too many things of this kind. But let's get a move on I need one of those Boston Creams."

"I think we'll be OK, but to be sure why don't you call them to reserve one?"

"Reserve one? You can reserve a dozen. But just one?"

"It never hurts to ask."

Which Rona did and when we got there--almost too late at five to eight--there it was in a small white paper bag propped up on the counter with "Rona" written on it.

You get a better price if you order a half dozen so we asked for a Glazed Raised, a Butternut Crunch, one Maple Glazed, and two Chocolate Coconuts to accompany the Boston Cream. That made a half dozen.

"If we need more," I told the woman serving us, we can always come back for them."

"If there are any left," she alerted us knowingly. "If you want, I can put a few more aside for you."

Not wanting to appear as out of control as we were, I shrugged and said, "I think six will be fine for us."

Rona kicked me.

"OK," I corrected myself, "How about a Glazed Twist and another Butternut Crunch. We really love those."

The server smiled, having heard it all.

After filling up on Frosty's--we did manage to eat all eight--heading home I spotted a sign for Orr's and Bailey Islands.

"We've never been there so why don't we see what there is to see."

After only four miles we entered another universe of glacier-gouged coves, fishing villages from another era, and a landscape dotted with lobstermen's cottages and cabins.

Rona said, "This feels like a perfect place to get away from things and readjust one's inner balances. That Log Cabin Inn looks to be where one could book a room to take all of this in and get reoriented."

"It looks just right for that. Maybe next season we should check in for a few days."

"How about next week?" Rona said only half kidding. "They are clearly still open."

"Maybe we should," I said, "Thursday's our anniversary."

"And Frosty's only a short drive from here. And . . . "

On the way home we talked about the popularity of donuts. "At least as popular as pizza," Rona said.

"Or bagels," I said.

"I wonder about the origins of donuts," Rona mused.

"I don't know why I'm saying this but my guess is that they're of German origin. I mean, pretzels are and I think bagels."

"Donuts are not really like either pretzels or bagels. Except maybe they have similar shapes. But neither are fried. In fact, quite the opposite."

"If we had a smart phone we could look it up."

"I'd rather look at Casco Bay," Rona said, staring out her window at the foliage, now close to their magnificent peak.

So I stopped rattling on about donuts and paid attention to the narrow, twisting road.

Back home, after checking emails, In Wikipedia I looked up donuts. For certain they are not of German origin. In fact, who first made them is not definitively known. Probably the Dutch who in the early 19th century made what they called donut-like oliekoeks, or "oil cakes." The term donut itself is an American invention. First appearing in Washington Irving's History of New York. He called them doughnuts, and they were really more what Dunkin Donuts calls Munchkins, or donut holes.

Later that afternoon, agreeing it had been one of our best times ever, I said, "I know you won't believe this after what we ate for our so-called breakfast, But I'm feeling a little hungry."

"Me too," Rona sheepishly admitted. "Since we're not having a healthy eating day, why don't we heat up that can of Chef Boyardee ravioli we impulsively bought a couple of months ago. You said, it was 'for old times sake.'"

"Another guilty pleasure. But what a wonderful idea," I said, reaching for a small sauce pan. Rona already had the mini ravioli can opened.

With enough parmesan cheese, they were in fact delicious, tasting to each of us just as they had the last time we had any. Decades ago. "I don't think they had the mini version back then," I said.

"Maybe for next time we should get the classic version."

"The next time? You mean you want these again? Soon?"

"Why not? I read the label and the ingredients are all pretty much OK. With an arugula salad and some crusty bread they could make a pretty good dinner."

"We'd probably need more than one can. For lunch, one is plenty; but for dinner, I think a can each."

"We could make a mix of both kinds--the classic and the mini."

"Listen to us," Is said. "It's come to this. The next thing we know we'll be checking out recipes for Spam."

"While you're looking things up," Rona said. "Check out Chef Boyardee. To see if he is or was a real person."

In less than a minute I knew.

"Yes, he was an actual person, an Italian immigrant named Ettore "Hector" Boiardi, who made and served ravioli in his restaurant in Cleveland. They were so popular that his customers urged him to produce and sell them, which he did beginning in 1928. They appear to be made in the same factory."

"What a country," Rona said. Frosty's in the early morning, Chef Boyardee in the afternoon. What shall we have for dinner?"

October 17, 2013--Midcoast: That Abdul Fella (Concluded)

"They sat down right there on that dock." He pointed to a small float directly behind me. "For more than an hour."

"My God," Rona said.

"As I told you, I was in law enforcement and they didn't look right to me. They didn't look like they were from here."

"What did you do?" I asked hesitantly, not wanting to probe too deeply into what might be a painful memory.

"Well, I had my suspicions. Of course not about what happened. Who could have imagined that. Though I should have . . ." His voice trailed off.

"No one could have imagined what they were plotting," I said. "No one." And that was the truth, not something I said to make him feel better.

"But I did write down the license plate number of their car."

"And, if I may, what . . ."

"I was at a meeting the morning of the 11th and just as we were about to get started someone rushed in to say something terrible just happened in New York, that we should come out and watch on the TV. So just like millions of others we were glued to the screen. When the second plane hit we knew it was an attack. We were all from law enforcement but no one could guess the extent of the damage or if there were other attacks all over the country. Or if we were bein' invaded."

"You're bringing that time back to me," Rona said.

As if not hearing her, he continued, "Two of the men who were at the meetin' had family working in those building and they raced to the telephone. Of course all the lines were tied up and they couldn't get through. So they came back to join us and we moved in close to them to help them get through what might turn out to be a tragedy for them too.

"At that time, horror struck, I wasn't puttin' any pieces together. The two men who sat on the dock out there and what was happening in New York and Washington, D.C. too. Over the next few days we all went through pretty much the same thing. Fear, anger, wantin' to get even. No matter our politics we were one nation, indivisible. Just like the Pledge says we are, but for the most part we've forgotten."

"True. True," Rona said.

"A few days later--from your readin'," for the first time he turned toward me but still looked out over the glinting water, "you probably know how many days--they released the names of the hijackers. The murderers."

"It was about three days," I said.

"Then a couple weeks after that they began to show pictures of them. Passport photo types. I forgot how many. 'Bout 20 of 'em.  And that's when it struck me--two of 'em (the Atta one and that Abdul fella) who took over the first plane were the same men who were here that day before. Spent an hour looking up at the sky and all them planes flyin' high overhead on the great circle route from Europe toward Boston and New York. 'Oh my God,' I thought, 'I had 'em here and let 'em get away.'"

I could hear his raspy breathing.

"There's no way you could of . . ."

He waved me off. "I let 'em get away. I'm from law enforcement. I even took their license number."

"What could you have done?" I asked, wanting to reach out to him, touch him. "Even if you had notified the police it's unlikely they would have done anything at all right them. Though they knew you and you had justifiable suspicions as it tragically turned out, it would not have been a priority for them. No one would have connected any dots and assumed they were up to such evil. Sadly, today it would be different."

"I know what you're sayin' makes sense, and though I did talk to the FBI as soon as I saw who it was, thinking there might be more to learn about them and who was behind this, still I have trouble sleeping at night."

"I do too," Rona said. There are many nights when we're in the city and I hear a plane overhead heading for LaGuardia, my heart stops. Things as you said will never be the same."

"One more thing."

"Anything."

"You remember," for the first time he looked directly at me, "You remember where the president was? Bush?"

"I do. Somewhere in Florida at a school."

"In Sarasota. At an elementary school. And you remember what he did? Or what the Secret Service had him do?"

"I do. Until they knew the nature of the attack they flew him around from an air force base in Louisiana and eventually to the Strategic Command Center in Nebraska where he would be safe."

"Well, my son at the time was in the Marines. With everything goin' on I was worried about him. I couldn't reach him. I was real worried. Like I said, no one knew the full story of what was happening. There were all sorts of rumors."

I was confused about why he was talking at the same time about President Bush and his son.

"Then when Bush returned to the White House later that evening--he was eager to get to there--they showed him landing in his helicopter on the south lawn. Like they often do. But this time it felt more important to know he was all right."

"I remember feeling relieved about that," I said. "Even though I wasn't his biggest fan."

"And then I knew my son was also all right. You see, he was one of the pilots for the president's helicopter. Marine One it's called. And I saw him there when the president got off and turned to salute him."

With that, he turned toward Judy's General Store. "Gotta get me some of her muffins," he said sounding cheery, "before they run out."

In silence we drove back toward Brunswick.

At the museum, Rona said, "He never told us about his theories."

October 16, 2103--Midcoast: That Abdul Fella

We had a few hours to kill. It was later in the morning of the day we drove at dawn to Frosty's in Brunswick for our donut orgy.

We were waiting for the Bowdoin College Museum to open. It was the next to last day of the Maurice Prendergast show. I especially like his work on paper--watercolors, pastels, gouaches, mono prints--and didn't want to miss it.

Thinking about what to do, Rona remembered that our friend Al Trescot was planning to berth his boat in a nearby marina at the end of Mere Point. He plans a book of photographs of the waters of Casco Bay. "Let's drive down to Paul's Marina," she suggested, "From our GPS it looks as if it's only five miles."

We took our time as the historic town of Bowdoin gave way to clusters of suburban-looking ranch houses before quickly turning into the more familiar look of rural Maine. The turn off to Paul's came up quickly and I had to brake hard not to glide past the dirt road that lead down to the marina.

It turned out to be more basic than the yard where Al had been mooring his boat the past two years as he worked on a soon-to-be-published book about the Sheepscot and Kennebec Rivers. But I agreed with Rona who felt it had much more charm huddled among cabins and cottages that lined the shore facing the bay and Merepoint Neck.

We parked next to one of the cottages, maybe a bit too close; but we thought that would be all right since we intended to take a quick look around to get a visual fix on where Al would be early next spring before we could join him for a trip or two.

"Let's get a quick cup of coffee," I proposed, "Just as Al said, there's a general store, over there, Judy's," I pointed toward the dock, "And maybe something to . . ."

"After what you ate at Frosty's an hour ago you want more . . ."

"Maybe some lobster?" Rona glared at me. "See what that other sign says."

"The Lobster You Buy Here Today,'" Rona read, "'Slept Last Night in Casco Bay.'"

"This is a perfect place for Al," I said. "It even rhymes." We both laughed. "Let's just get a cup of coffee. More to see Judy's than for the coffee or . . ."

"Good idea."

The coffee was hot and full flavored. We took it outside to a small deck and sat on a bench, passing it back and forth, looking into the half-risen sun and staring languidly out to the first of the more than 300 islands of Casco. More than enough for Al to find subject matter.

"Time to head out," I said, "By now the museum's open and I don't feel comfortable leaving the car so close to that house."

And with that, the door to it eased open and an elderly but seemingly physically vital man with a severe Amish-style beard began slowly to lumber down the four or five steps, heading toward our car.

I whispered to Rona as we trotted toward where we had parked, "I don't like the way he's looking at it or us. In fact, I don't like the way he looks. Let's just get into the car and not say to much. I'm in too good a mood to get yelled out for where we parked. Maybe just signal a brief apology and move on."

"I see you're . . ."  I couldn't make out what he was saying but from the tone he seemed friendly. I also noticed that our car was not really encroaching on access to his garage.

I relaxed. He sensed I didn't hear him and repeated, "I see you're from New York." I nodded, by then half seated in the car. "What parts?"

"Manhattan," Rona said. "Downtown."

"Not my kind of place," he said. "All these islands right here are enough action for me." With his hand he swept the horizon.

"Where you there on 9/11?" He didn't turn to look at us.

"Yes, we were," Rona said. "The first plane flew right over our terrace. I went out there to check the weather. To determine what to wear when it flew by just above the roof, going full speed. I thought it was in some sort of trouble. Not of course what was really happening."

"Terrible day. Terrible. Terrible time. Then and since."

"I agree with that," I said, "Things haven't been the same."

"We've lost our way," he said. "That's why I hardly ever leave this place. What more do I need? I got all my wants taken care of. I don't need any of that other nonsense."

"I understand," Rona said. "When we're here we feel the same way."

"From then on things have been different," he said, still looking into the sun. "They'll never be the same."

"I agree with that," I said. "It's awful, just awful."

"Do you know what happened the day before?"

"You don't mean yesterday?"

"No, September 10th. That day before."

"Your asking about that reminds me that two of the hijackers started that day near here in Portland."

"That's right, they came to Portland on the 10th, stayed overnight, and then flew from Portland to Boston the morning of the 11th when they got onto the plane that they hijacked and crashed into the first building."

"The one I saw," Rona sighed.

"No one seems to know why they came to Portland on the 10th," I said. "Do you have any idea why?"

"I have my theories," he said. "Before I retired I used to be in law enforcement."

"Your theories?"

"That's for another day." He waved the thought away. "But I'll tell you something I bet you don't know about."

"What's that? I've tried to read a lot about the hijackers."

"In your reading did you see that they came to this here marina?"

"Really?" I exclaimed. "Here? Why would that be?"

"Don't know about why, but I do know they came right here the day before. Was a beautiful day just like today."

"To do . . .?"

"As I said, I don't know. But I do know it was them. Atta, the leader, and that Abdul fella."

"I think it was Mohammed Atta and Abdulaziz al-Omari. For some reason I seem to know the names of all 19 of them."

"They sat down right there on that dock." He pointed to a small float directly behind me. "For more than an hour."

"My God," Rona said.

"As I told you I was in law enforcement and they didn't look right to me. They didn't look like they were from here."

"What did you do?" I asked hesitantly, not wanting to probe too deeply into what might be a terrible memory.

"Well, I had my suspicions. Of course not about what happened. Who could have imagined that. Though I should have . . ." His voice trailed off.

"No one could have imagined what they were plotting," I said. "No one." And that was the truth, not something I said to make him feel better.

"But I did write down the license plate number of their car."

"And, if I may, what . . ."

To be concluded tomorrow . . .