My nephew Harry and I drove seven days to my sister Libba’s house in western New York, where we were joined by my sister Lee, Harry’s mom. We rested a day then headed up to Maine for the wedding of Libba’s son, my nephew Jason.

We broke the trip to Islesboro, the location of the wedding, in Portland, Maine, staying at a Howard Johnson’s motel which had a surprisingly good restaurant attached to it, where we ate surprisingly excellent lobster rolls — one of the unexpected roadside treats we encountered, mostly by chance.

I was thoroughly hammered by this point and sorely in need of an unexpected treat.