Mr. Pitiful.

Labor day
By couch potato emmet
You’ve done it again, haven’t you?
Oh, you had such grand plans that you assembled all winter when the wind blew half the roof off your barn and the snow drifts were shoulder-high in the driveway. You were going to make this the summer that was, with camping trips to Cobscook Bay, bike trips to Machias (and strawberry pie at Helen’s); maybe even the car trip to PEI that you are always flapping your gums about. For at least 10 years you have been talking about a trip to New York City’s Guggenheim Museum and the Museum of Modern Art.
How’s that working out for you?
If you haven’t noticed, it’s getting dark quite early now, the Blues festival, the lobster festival and the Union Fair have all passed and you have not left your couch for any of them. The nights are delightful now, but you will be using blankets before September is over.
Labor Day is here.
The bicycle sits in the barn collecting dust and cob webs. It gets 20 mile trips in Florida where there is a paved path safe from rampaging motorists. But the midcoast area is just not safe, you argue. “Brain” gets hit by a motorist every other year and The Chief was cut off at a stop sign and broke his foot in two places. At his age, he might never heal. The doctors said his bones are like chalk. Some guy had his leg cut off by a passing lawn mower up north. Better safe than amputated.
You never even made it to Damariscotta’s Landings Restaurant and their Friday night oyster party. You thought it was a big deal when partied on Grima’s pitiful muddy lawn, when you had to bring your own wine…and chair.
You have enough camping equipment to cater to the Donner Party but it hardly ever left the (leaky) barn. If Bridget and Andrew didn’t let you into the Four Seasons Campground on a pass for Father’s Day, you never would have a night outside. And you passed on the traditional tent camping for a luxurious, shore-side camper trailer.
You are pitiful.
This was going to be the summer when that Ocean 13 kayak travelled all over the state, maybe even in that-long planned trip on the Charles River in Boston. Right. If Jefferson Phil didn’t open Pine Island to the immigrant population, that thirsty kayak would never have tasted water. The annual Camden-Lincolnville kayak trip might have to go back on the 2014 schedule.
You wasted this summer like you have wasted most of your life, sitting on the couch, doing three crossword puzzles a day, watching old movies and new ball games. The only difference is now you watch even more movies on Netflix “streaming” and keep an Ipad on your lap at all times so you don’t miss that vital e-mail from Cousin Jerry, who, at last notice was flying to Germany to marry a woman he has never met. The Twomey (mother’s side) Story never really ends, just adds a new chapter.

If it is humanly possible, you got even lazier, and a little fatter.
You are pitiful.
There is only one thing to do, of course. It is now time to make hysterically active plans for September and October (before it snows) for camping, kayaking and bike riding (on paved trails), then a trip to New York City for that museum tour. Hell, throw in a trip to Ballyvourney, Ireland to the family home. Why not? You aren’t going to do any of those things and you know it.
Because you are pitiful.
Wait. That’s me!