I like to imagine that I was the only person wandering the streets of Portland, Maine, last night with a copy of Sir Walter Scott's novel Old Mortality in my bag.

The first things I saw this morning from my hotel window were a seagull sitting on the ridge of a steep roof and a golden retriever in a red jacket rolling around upside down on the snowy cobblestones.

When we returned to our home, we discovered that it had been taken over by teenage boys. "We're occupying the living room," said James. "Now that the 1 percent has returned," said Tom, "you have to move." Needless to say, the occupation persists.

I'm playing fiddle at the East Sangerville Grange tonight, in a new band that's opening for D. W. Gill, a wonderful blues harmonica player. You should come hear him.

In the meantime, I'd better do some laundry and see if the occupation wants any lunch.