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I smacked down the map of Harpswell on my kitchen table and circled eight locations around the town, connecting them with lines like a TV detective stumped by a high-profile case.

In the book world, June signals the beginning of "beach reads." What makes a book a beach read? Simply put, it is engaging and not heavy in either weight or complexity, thus making it perfect to bring on vacation.

Among the many reasons why I love Harpswell are the perfect mornings. My description will not do justice to either the feeling or the atmosphere. It is the sense and smell of everything awakening, the sound of lobster boats on the water and the birds chirping.

I awoke to the smell of fresh-baked pie. Sure enough, there was a pie cooling on the counter. I was young and it was a hot Sunday in June. We were going to spend the day at a lake we frequented as a family.

We were puzzling over the lengthy restaurant menu, struggling to work with our limited vocabulary in Italian. Southern Italy is a delightful place to visit, but with far fewer Western visitors than you find in northern Italy, you cannot expect to read everything in English.

"I like that one," I say, pointing to a small gray brushstroke that is next to other hues of small gray brushstrokes on our living room wall. "What is it called?" Allison looks at the color and the little paint jars that sit below each one.

The Harpswell social season is upon us, and I've got brushing up to do. I want to be invited to parties and when I'm there, I don't want to be the person people edge away from because I have spanakopita in my teeth or because the only stuff I can think to say is weird.

The old adage that "sticks and stones may break your bones but words will never hurt you" should now be filed in the archives, along with "actions speak louder than words." Both sayings seem obsolete.