Like Brigadoon, Eastport rises out of the mist of its sleepy existance and lives again for a week each July. There are flags everywhere. Houses drip with bunting and crepe paper and images of Uncle Sam. The streets are full of people, among them sailors from the giant ship that is docked downtown for the celebration. Everyone has company, including me, and the IGA is full of people buying barbecue supplies. High school reunions are held this week, all of them as far as I know, and the whole town has the ambiance of a party of old friends not recently seen.
But now I see it is time to feed the dogs and take care of Bella, Sydney's Scottie, who is alone for the festivities. Her Dad is in the hospital, her Mom with him. Or so I thought until just now when I saw Sydney's car go by. Has something awful happened? The gallery opens in an hour as well, and I must be there with my cake.