Cross-Country Skiing at L.L. Bean

Sure, it's possible that a heavy dose of prescription medication is responsible for your coworker's winter-long serenity.

But chances are pretty good he's keeping himself sane this season with some good old fashioned outdoor therapy.
If you're going to survive winter without a weekly keyboard-chucking meltdown, you're going to need some winter activity. And L.L. Bean's Walk-On Adventures are cheap and easy way to get it.

Snowshoeing and cross-country skiing "adventures" are available this winter for $15 (which includes instruction, equipment and 1-2 hours out there trying not to fall down).

Having never cross-country skied before, I wasn't about to dish out the cash for equipment (and find out two days later I hated the sport, curse fate, chuck the skis into the basement where they'd rot for six months until I sold them at a garage sale for $10, which I'd then waste on a chicken wrap and some chips).

So instead I tagged along on a walk-on, where I was told we'd get the luxury of trying out the sport without the monetary expenditure.

Our group met up inside the retail store (at the Outdoor Adventure info center near the new hunting/fishing wing) and filled out the obligatory "should-you-die-your-mom-can't-sue" forms. We boarded a bus with Instructor Suzanne (a sure sign you're on your way to something special) that dumped us off at the nearby training "lodge" (a repurposed house). We were greeted by Tom inside, who instructed us to grab a pair of boots and take a seat.

Tom and Suzanne (of bus driving fame) spent the next 20 minutes going over the basics (i.e., how to lock your boot into the ski, how to hold the poles) until we could absorb no more and we headed outside.

No one fell putting on their skis (the falling came later) but Tom prepared us for the inevitable with a quick demonstration of the "turtle." If falling isn't embarrassing enough, rolling into turtle position will surely kill your pride. A few practice steps to the right - a few to the left - and we were ready to get moving.

The field we skied in was adjacent to a moderately busy road, which I noticed at one point, but forgot about quickly. We followed - single file - a set of precut tracks in a large practice circle, with Tom and Suzanne skiing alongside us to offer helpful tip. Still, no one fell.

After confidences were built up high enough, Tom led us into the field, keeping close to the tree line (apparently a good out-of-the-wind place to ski). Not being at all graceful or athletic, I spent the next twenty minutes unsteadily scooting along, staring at my skis in mild panic.

Eventually, as anxiety gave way to a rhythmic push of my left ski, right ski, left ski, right ski, I was able to actually look up.

Not a bad-looking view.

Although amply warm, I didn't find the exertion overwhelming (although a few of my cohorts had already begun removing layers). And Tom, as any good teacher does, told us we were doing better than most groups (riiiiight). Maybe it was a lie, but I'll take it just the same.

Seeing as we were all such fantastic cross-country skiers (don't argue, we're just going to ride out that delusion) Tom decided to take us into the woods.

Here the tracks weren't as easy to follow, and leaves and branches on the path kept tripping me up. And here is where people began falling down. First it was an icy decline (fair enough, it's to be expected). Then it was just an icy patch (again, ice is slippery. Falling happens). But once you've seen someone fall, and you have the notion of potentially falling in your head, it does something awful to your nerves.

People began dropping for no apparent reason. "We're like spooked horses," I heard someone say. Perfect analogy.

We stopped to enjoy some much-appreciated hot chocolate (thanks, Tom) and take a breather, but trying to simply stand still was nearly more trouble than it was worth. Looking back, I think think Tom's "hot chocolate break" was a well-disquised set up. Think about it: ten unsteady skiers, spillable hot drinks and a resting place that just happens to be a giant patch of ice. I'm just sayin'.

We headed back toward the lodge with a little less enthusiasm and a little more I-think-I'm-going-to-fall shrieking (and yes, more tumbles). But seeing as most of our group was brand-spanking new to cross-country skiing, I think we did pretty darn well.

We were out for about an hour and a half (it flew by), which was just long enough to get a real feel for the sport but not so long that you needed to crawl back to the bus. Still, it was nice to get the skis off.

Truthfully, there's an ulterior motive for the Walk-On adventures: L.L. Bean is hoping you'll test out a sport, fall in love and return to the store to spend your hard-earned dough on equipment. I figured we'd have to hear out a sales pitch or two before the afternoon was over.

I was wrong.

Tom answered questions (of which there were many about what kind of equipment to buy, his suggestions on the essentials to get started, etc.) and encouraged us to grab catalogs or browse the store. But it was a no-pressure event.

I have no complaints about the entire day. In fact, I'm thinking an archery walk-on this spring might not be a bad idea - maybe some target shooting. I'll try it all.

And for $15, you can't go wrong.

Swing Dancing at North Deering Grange Hall

I hadn't thought about my first school dance since...well, probably since the day after my first school dance.

That awkward sixth-grade memory of a nearly empty dance floor, some boy's sweaty palms and me - unable to stop cracking bad jokes because it was the only way I knew how to deal with the intense nervousness.

Granted, when a couple of friends and I walked into the North Deering Grange Hall recently, anxiety was low (though the bad jokes always keep coming). It wasn't until my friend Victoria joked, "It's like junior high all over again. Guys on one side, girls on the other," that a hint of that strobe-lit gymnasium panic came back to me.

We were there to swing. Or at least learn a few basic steps thanks to the one-hour beginners lesson. And we weren't alone. At least two dozen others milled around the large main room or took a seat in one of the many chairs that had been pushed up against the wall. There were a few older fellas (and by older I mean AARP older) and a few younger (high school age, if I had to guess) though most hovered somewhere in between.

A few minutes after 8:00 p.m. instructor Ashley Berry (who I hadn't realized was the instructor because she seemed so young - my bad), asked us to create two lines: ladies in one, gents in the other. With the two lines facing each other, it was clear that he women outnumbered the men - though not by much.

Ashley started with the basic steps: step, step, rock step, step (if I remember correctly) and after running through it a few times in lines, had us split into pairs.

I should note that it isn't necessary to bring a partner to the lesson (a perk for those single wannabe swing dancers). Unfortunately it also means that some swing dancing ladies must learn to share (for the record, no cat fights broke out on this night). A few women also opted to "be the man" to even out the pairs.

Ashley and her partner (who, we couldn't help but notice, bore a striking resemblance to Clark Kent) moved into the center of the room and called out the steps as the couples tried their luck. After a few minutes, partners were swapped (remember the sharing thing).

Though clumsy at first, everyone seemed to get it quickly. A few turns were tried and some more-complicated maneuvering. I found the steps to be simple, but never mastered the rhythm enough to not count out loud.

As 9:00 neared, the crowd in the room began to thicken. And as Ashley congratulated us on a class well done - and we applauded ourselves for the effort - the live band took to the stage.

It was nothing but live swing for the rest of the night. And wow - some of those folks can dance. Forget my stiff step, step, rock, step. These guys were flinging each other all over the place. With the lights low and the band loud, it didn't even look like the same room.

It seemed like there was a core group of folks that probably show up every month - but I didn't feel out of place as a new person.

My friend Victoria danced with one of the instructors and a guy we met a few months ago at a hip-hop class (essentially, you could show up alone after the lesson and not worry about finding someone to dance with). I, on the other hand, used the need to take photos as an excuse to not embarrass myself further.

Ashley did a first-rate job teaching, though she informed me that she's not the usual teacher.

Naked Shakespeare at Wine Bar

Don't let the "naked" trip you up - it's not that kind of production.

Acorn Productions' Naked Shakespeare is minimalist in its performance. That means no period-appropriate costumes (but yes, the actors are dressed), no set (other than the preexisting backdrop of the bar) and no professional lighting (as evidenced by my poorly lit amateur photos). It's all about the poetry.

That was all the information I had going in.

The production started at 8:00 p.m., but my coworker Kate and I headed over a little early in order to cherry-pick our seats (and to get a head-start on the wine). The warm spell had stepped in a few days earlier - as evidenced by the slush piles on Wharf Street and the over-heated second-floor Wine Bar. I'll recuse an unstoppable heating system and not the bar owners - I don't recall being that uncomfortable during previous excursions there.

Kate and I both ordered glasses of Wild Pig (solely because it was called Wild Pig - that's what uneducated wine drinkers do) and found a couch by the bar to settle into.

After just a sip or two of the WP, one of the Acorn Productions actors came along to encourage us to get in on the action with a bit of audience participation. He handed Kate a slip of paper and asked her - when it was time - to introduce the next actor by reading what was written on the slip. Being bolder than I, she was all for it - and even tested a range of dramatic accents in an effort to give her lines the most "oomph." Then, a few minutes after 8:00, a man stood up from amongst the wine glass-tipping audience and began to speak. His hearty voice caused the rumble of scattered conversations to quiet, and the Naked Shakespeare began.

An audience member stood to read her slip of paper - and being at the other end of the room made her slightly hard to hear. But her lines prompted an actor (who had been inconspicuously sitting at the bar) to stand and recite - and these Acorn folks know how to make their voices carry.

Everyone in the room - which was by now without a seat to spare - turned in their chairs or craned their necks to face the speaker. He spoke with the ease and confidence of a seasoned actor, turning to people seated next to him, clutching his glass and blending this solo performance into the Wine Bar scene.

His lines reaching their conclusion, he resumed his seat at the bar, turned his back to the audience and we all began to clap.

When the applause subsided, a second audience member stood to read her introductory line. And so it went. There were approximately 6 actors reciting lines from an array of Shakespeare's plays - each doing one or two before the evening was out.

And Kate - who opted to read sans accent - was even complimented for her reading of the line: "No, really, Iago, take my money if it helps your revenge of Othello and Cassio."

Not surprisingly, the performances were impressive. While Naked Shakespeare features a rotating cast of actors, I'm willing to bet that all of them are as equally skilled as those we saw.

And there's no need to be proficient in the Shakespeare's work to appreciate this production - Naked Shakespeare is good old fashioned entertainment in it's own right. It's not high-brow or overblown, but offers just enough of the Bard's theatrics to make any audience member feel cultured. And hey, did I mention it's free? (Though donations are welcome - and well-deserved.)