I'm back, and here is what we consumed in Florida:

The desserts: I had the Banana Brulee (the one her fingers are on!!) Excellent...


Crabcakes and seasoned fries at a place called Conch Key on the Indian River, an estuary teeming with dolphins, pelicans, and other extraordinary wildlife.

Unusual menus and fabulous Rum Runners: with rums, creme de banana, more rum, fruit and rum.

Had a superb lunch at Chocolate Cafe. I wonder where it got its name?

I know this does not accurately depict Florida - but it truly does depict my vacation. One fabulous meal after another, whether it was braised pork with roasted fennel, or cold shrimp on the house deck with wine, everything was perfect. Yesterday was 78 degrees and we were sitting by the pool, but we flew into Maine in a raging snowstorm today! Tomorrow I'll be more descriptive - suffice it to say it was a fabulous four days and I'm exhausted. I promise alligators, birds, giraffes and ocean tomorrow! I'm already missing the sounds of birds, the warm breeze on my skin, and my good friends Sue and Bill...

I'm outa here!

I woke up this morning to wonderful news! My dear sweet nephew David, son of my sister Robin, was named New England Conference Diving Coach of the Year. You should see this kid (man) around water! He is so talented. And he is such a loving, kind person that he truly deserves this award!!!

As for me, the suitcase is in the car, the dog is on her way to the sitter's, the legs have been shaved. I've double checked my wallet for I.D. and have my flight confirmation and extra cash. I turned all the thermostats down to 55 and put my plants in the kitchen sink with extra water. The trash has been removed and there's nothing left in the frig. (the DAMN frig)
I have my flip flops on and I'm outa here! Talk to you next from Florida where there still exists warmth, sun, birds and beach...............yeah...

The night of bowling with friends report:

My fingers are so swollen today that I couldn't grasp my coffee mug, my shoulder and back feel like a truck hit me. Somehow I managed to actually make a few strikes through pure luck. The best part was sitting in a restaurant with my friends afterward, talking and talking.

Here are some of my friends and a much less demanding sport: We are the Central Maine Precision Marching Lawn Chair Drill Team. We are amazing and you can find us on You Tube! We practiced all winter two years ago, spinning our chairs, clacking them together, throwing chairs through the air, even sitting down in the middle of the routine. I am the leader (this happened because I was late getting to a gathering where the idea was hatched. It was a default honor) and I have a great whistle! I LOVE blowing that whistle and making everyone pay attention to me. I also have to be bitchy because when this group gets together they tend to stray from the task at hand. We decided on silly Hawaiian shirts and at Rockland we had to take the lobster bibs off because they got in the way of the spinning chairs.
Then we marched in the Fourth of July Athens Street Parade and won first place.
Then we marched in the Pittsfield Egg Festival Parade, where the video was taken, and won first place!
Then we marched in the Rockland Lobster Festival, where this picture was taken (you can't see me here cuz I took the picture), and won first place!
We are Undefeated!!!
It is the most fun - people love us and cheer and cheer! And at the Egg Festival Parade when we passed by my BFF Trudy's house, friends ran out into the street and brought us mimosas! At the Athens' parade, which is considerably more laid back, we were handed jello shots.
This summer we are trying for first place in the Yarmouth Clam Festival and practice will begin in a few weeks.
If you live anywhere near us and want to join, come on down! We are always looking for new members. The routines are super simple and we have a ball.

Of course, it is also a great opportunity to embarrass your children and cause others to wonder about your sanity.

Today I begin my vacation. Can you hear my sigh from there?

I leave for Florida Sunday morning but I have today and tomorrow to just go easy and relax....I haven't quite gotten to the point that I can turn off my police/fire scanner, but I have turned off my work phone. I spent more time than usual with the crossword puzzle, I'm still in my jammies, and I'm relishing another cup of coffee.

There is a fabulous program at my church called The Welcome Table, which my fabulous BFF Trudy organized. The church kitchen and dining area is open every Friday from 10:30 to 2:30 for socialization and warmth. A free lunch is also served and civic groups and businesses all over town send a volunteer team each Friday to prepare and serve the food. A local church canceled at the last minute so I'm helping out there today. I great way to spend my first day, I think.

Then a bunch of us are going bowling. Doesn't that sound nerdy and so 1950s? I CAN'T WAIT! I grew up across the street from a bowling alley and we used to sneak there all the time.

I say sneak because to my parents, the bowling alley was on par with rock and roll and cigarettes - somehow the combination of those three would turn us into crazed juvenile killers who would ride around in coupes and convertibles, throwing molatav cocktails into local shops and businesses and pillaging the rest of the town.
We would abandon circle pins and box pleated skirts and white blouses with peter pan collars. No more penny loafers. Gone would be the demure "flip" hairdo, replaced by a messy beehive and heavy-handed mascara.
They expected us to cuff our ciggies in our t-shirt sleeves, roll our jeans and, o dear god, begin drag racing out at the abandoned airport runway.
They knew we would drop out of high school and eventually become that dirty, bummy person that hangs around downtown buying booze for underage kids in exchange for a pint to keep "on the hip."
We would get tattoos and have unprotected sex and end up in homes for unwed mothers.

Still, every Friday, my brother and I, and the kids across the street, Rusty and Janice, used to pretend we were tired and we would go to bed early. We then would jump out our second story windows and high tail it to the bowling alley. The boys would play pool and Janice and I would watch all the other boys. Our parents were such heavy sleepers that, hours later, we were able to just walk back in through the front door.
Of course we eventually were caught when our parents were enjoying a summer night by sitting on our and their front steps and each set of parents watched as the other set of parents' kids bailed out the window. Curtains for us.

I have to admit, though, that even now, more than 40 years later, the sound of bowling pins crashing makes my head swivel and begin searching for the hottest guy in the alley - the one with the rolled jeans and the tight white t-shirt. OMG, it's probably the janitor.

P.S. While I'm away, would all of you lurkers sign in as blog followers please? Just click on the box on the top right that says "follow this blog." It is really simple and if I get enough followers I can begin making some money from this blog through Google Ad. If you visit frequently, please sign in. It makes me feel loved and wanted. And I need the money.

I have been betrayed by my refrigerator.

Wouldn't you think that after leaving the poor Frigidaire empty for nigh on three weeks, and then finally, FINALLY filling it up with good eats...wouldn't you think that big metal box would be grateful? OH NOOOOOOOOOO. Today it stopped running. Dead. Killed. Not breathing even a gasp.
I noticed when I reached into the freezer for a handful of ice and ended up with a wet hand.
I had to schlep all my beautiful goodies - my spinach, my broccoli, the eggs and butter, two bottles of wine, soda, milk - I had to put it all in the snowbank on my back deck. Yup, that's me - white trash using the deck as a refrigerator. Before you know it I'll be cooking me some ribs on a metal 55-gallon drum filled with scrap wood.

But wait, remember a month or two ago when I told you there was some kind of electrical black hole here at The Mansion? When the scanners and the cell phones all went berzerk? IT STRUCK AGAIN!
My friend S told me to check the outlet and so I tugged and pulled and moved the refrig so I could plug it in somewhere else and IT CAME ON.

I also came unglued because there was a dead mouse underneath it. Please, let me remind you that I am housesitting. I cannot be held responsible for the mouse - alive or dead! I guess this solves my odor problem. For two weeks I've been scrubbing the trash can, shoving a bazillion lemons in the garbage disposal, blaming the dog, when all the time Mickey was slowly heading to heaven under the frig. He was accompanied on his journey by about seven Legos, two little plastic people, a magnet and enough dust bunnies to have a marathon with the tortoise. I repeat: I AM HOUSESITTING and therefore not responsible for the any of the goodies hiding under there.

So, now I have a refrigerator in front of the kitchen sink. And a dead mouse in the trash, wrapped in three paper towels inside a hank of newspaper inside three zip lock bags. I think I'm sufficiently protected until I can drive to the dump tomorrow morning. Right after I call an electrician.

So, I was interviewing a cow today...

This lovely little lady insisted that all her comments were off the record. And look at the glare she is giving my photographer...

The life of an agriculture reporter...I tell ya. I have all the fun. Seriously. I do.

And take a look at the sweet old man behind her....87 years old and still farming. We grow em strong in Maine. When I asked the farmer how tough dairying really was, he reeled off a litany of accidents: caught in the PTO of a tractor, nearly drowned in the manure pit, had both knees replaced, rotor cuffs are so shot that he can no longer lift his arms above his head and his child bride - Erma, 84 - has to put on his hat and sweatshirt for him. Oh, and one time when they were baling hay, Erma accidentally cut off all the ends of his fingers on his right hand.

They met as teenagers at a 4-H conference and then eloped, only to have to return to the farm early the next day to get all the chores done. They've been married 66 years this June and they once went 13 years without missing a single morning or night milking.

And some people have the nerve to complain about the price of a gallon of milk. This poor old fart is only getting paid $8 for every 100 pounds of milk those beautiful, doe-eyed cows produce. And here we are, bailing out bank executives. Something seems a little wrong with that, doesn't it?

Attention all visitors:

I have two more days until my vacation begins.


I just wanted to brag.

There's some monkey business goin' on!

Here is what I discovered this morning, before I even had my first cup of coffee: There she was, my sweet little Emma, sleeping away, blissfully dreaming of hot dogs and liver treats and running in fields of clover in the sunshine, tucked into her bed with her special pink quilt. But where was her faithful pal Monkey? The one toy that she doesn't chew on and carefully carries with her from room to room? What the heck is actually going on here? I do believe that Monkey is taking liberties here with Miss Emma. Monkeyshines, I say, and I'm putting my foot down.

But wait, it just occurred to me that Emma is five, which is actually 35 in dog years. Well past the age of consent. And who am I, after all, to stand in the way of true inter-species love? All I can say, then, is that nobody better expect me, the queen, to be babysitting any doggie-monkey pups.

Sunday's mixed bag of 10 random wanderings...

Randomness #1:
Several of you asked about my paintings so I'm showing off today: an on-line gallery of some recent completions.
The scenic is quite large 3x3', while the others are 24 x 36" or in the case of the red dress, just 12 x 12 inches. I paint the whole canvas, including the edges, the stems of those daisies wrap right around the bottom. I also often paint right over another painting and most of the time I write things on the canvas before I paint. Secret thoughts, things I want to celebrate or bad things I want to discard or "paint over."
I've talked about my style before - how I paint large, whimsical characters with little detail so that my brother and sister, both legally blind, can see them. It's very hard, sometimes, especially with commissions, to see past all the detail and try to capture the sense of place, the way it feels. Mostly, however, it is a very selfish thing. It's all about how the painting makes ME feel. If you happen to like it, that's even better, for both my soul and my wallet!

Randomness #2:
The full moon party was last night and it was very warm out (I think our January thaw got lost and wound up in February) - about 33 degrees - so everyone really enjoyed skiing in the park. All the food and drink was great too. Everyone brought great stuff, as usual: Maine shrimp, homemade dill bread, dips, treats.. My shredded chicken with orzo stew was good, if just a bit too thick, and the ziti and sausage came out fine. There was a lot of laughter and conversation - we are so easy and loving with each other!

Randomness #3:
Is it unreasonable to be peeved at people who confirm they are coming to your party and then never show up, without a word as to why?

Randomness #4:
I keep thinking about that old black and white movie with Don Knotts called The Ghost and Mr. Chicken. Man, I love that movie. Remember the pipe organ that played all by itself?

Randomness #4:
Today I gave my LOVE sermon at church - I managed to hang onto the paper clip this time and not decapitate the organist. But it wasn't any easier this time than the first time. I was terrified. I liked my sermon but I thought it was a little too serious. I've got to inject some humor in there next time!

Randomness #6:
I need you people to remind me to shave my legs before I leave for Florida. And pack my cell phone charger.

Randomness #7:
Who has a GREAT recipe for date bars that taste just like my Grandmother Amelia Henrietta's?

Randomness #8:
In my nod to my anal retentve disorder, I packed my suitcase for Florida this morning. WOOO - I pulled out that brilliant tourquoise bathing suit and coverup; my favorite jean capris; my flip flops; SHORT sleeve shirts. I packed my sunscreen and two new, hopefully riveting books.
Yes. I know. I'm not leaving for SEVEN days....but you just cannot leave these things to the last minute. You know what I'm saying? Who knows what kind of fun might come along and distract me this week? And then I would be packing four minutes before the plane begins taxiing down the runway and end up with 6 woolen socks, thermal underwear, and the capris from last summer that no longer fit me.

Randomness #9:
Can there be any greater combination that Coke on ice, hot buttered popcorn and a good book?

Randomness #10:
My son-in-law Matt is coming to stay overnight tonight on his way to Portland. Thank goddess: I have an incredible over abundance of ziti and sausage and there is nothing like a 6-foot, 8-inch man to help you with leftovers!

From the ridiculous to the sublime: this series of three pictures shows how I began and ended my morning....all this before noon!

This is Tom Gilbert. He is my hero today. I began my day at 12:15 a.m. when a local lumberyard's sawdust silo caught on fire. It was -4 degrees, as evidenced by Tom's icicle moustache. Still want to go to work with me Gladys? It was so cold that the fire hoses were steaming and I was shaking like Don Knotts on his first date.
The firefighters all think they need to take care of me now that I'm getting older (and I let them, they are all so cute) and they ordered me to get inside the cab of one of the fire trucks to get warm for a bit. Guess what I learned at the butt crack of dawn? The button that makes the fire truck's siren go WOOO WOOO WOOO is on the FLOOR! Yup. I stepped right on it and scared a dozen firefighters half to death. When sirens go off DURING a fire, it means Get.The.Hell.Out.Damn.Quick.Haul.Ass: The roof is caving in.
I'm not going to live that one down for QUITE a while. Those firefighters have looooong memories. It's also surprising how quickly they can lose their footing on wet ice when a siren goes off behind them...
I got back to bed at 4 a.m. and shivered myself to sleep.

The horse is Ginger, a mini, and the dog is Chance, an Australian shepherd. By mid-morning I was at a horse drawn sleigh rally one town over from here. Jingling bells, dashing through the snow, in a one-horse open sleigh. Over the fields they went, laughing all the way. It was fun but a bit chaotic. My sleep deprived head didn't like the loudspeaker, which kept announcing things like "Mary Jones, ready to go. Obstacle course. Mary Jones, are you ready? Mary Jones, are you driving? Mary, raise your hand if you are ready. Has anyone seen Mary Jones?''
This was all done at the volume of a ZZ Top concert, backed up by The Who, with undertones of Chain Saw Massacre.

Finally, heading home, I stopped at my son's house in the woods of tiny Detroit, Maine, and left him a little surprise on his kitchen table. His dad's tractor in the snow near his home made me sad and wistful and I couldn't resist taking its picture. I remember my daughter Faye trying to learn to drive the tractor during haying season, and crying the whole time (she is now 28 and STILL does not have her drivers' license.)
On the other hand, the Maine Store on the corner of the village square called me once to tell me that my 11-year-old son Daniel was down at the intersection POPPING WHEELIES with this tractor. I do not know how that child survived himself.

Well, there was the first half of the day and the afternoon is to be spent writing the stories to go with the pictures.

"Tonight, tonight, won't be just any night," according to Tony and Maria, who, as you know, lived on the West Side. It's the second Winter Full Moon Party! WAHOOOOOO! It's supposed to be a bit cloudy but it is already 28 degrees - a heat wave - and it should be sweet out there tonight. Last night I prepared a fabulous shredded chicken and orzo soup, and a HUGE pan of ziti, sauce and sausage. I've got the wine glasses lined up on the sideboard and I'm hoping tonight will be as big a success as last month!

Cross your fingers that I don't fall asleep in the onion dip...

These are my two favorite things today:

First is my painting table (I paint flat, no easel) which is waiting for me....I am working on a special secret commission and I'm having a wonderful time creating it. I promise to show you when it is done.
The second is: I FINALLY WENT SHOPPING! I have pretzels and noodles and onions and broccoli and spinach and chicken and carrots and mayonnaise and butter and oh my, I am so happy.
Today is shaping up to be sooooo good. I got to sleep late - the sun on my face woke me, that has happened since last summer! I got all my laundry done. I'm on my way now for a much-needed haircut. AND AND AND It's MOVIE NIGHT!! We're watching a film based in Paris, an homage to Trudy's upcoming European trip, and its a comedy that took all kinds of film honors. Can't wait.
Sometimes I piddle away my day off, really accomplishing nothing, while, most often, and to my friends' dismay, I work all day, making calls, setting up interviews and taking pictures. In the spirit of full disclosure, already this morning I did take a call from a state legislator about wine legislation, set up an interview with an antique farm tractor collector and let my home office know that a snowmobiler went through the ice at Eaton Mountain. Don't worry, it turns out he was able to get himself out. But, in my defense, all of these things came to me. I didn't instigate them.

I have to admit I love my work - it is exciting, rewarding, challenging, and, of course, it allows me to buy the groceries I'm enjoying. But today, with its brilliant sun and slow mood, today is for painting. I love painting. I love disappearing inside the colors for hours on end. Choosing just the right shade - sometimes I love a color so much I want to EAT it. (Thank goddess I went shopping huh?) I hear them: the brushes are calling, the canvas is humming, the colors are ready to envelop me.
ta ta see ya later.

It's getting really bad now...

First, I wanted to show you a detail (a small section of one bottom corner) of a painting I just finished. I have no reason to show this off except the colors make me happy on a cold, overcast day when snow is predicted. It makes me smile. Don't you want to walk down those stepping stones, sit under the flowers and visit with whoever lives in those little crooked houses? I do.

I digressed. Back to my desperate problem of how I somehow continually keep forgetting to go to the grocery store. I think it has been well over a week now and the last time I went I only bought soda.
I had to eat old, hard cookies for supper last night and I'm down to the last of the bag of dog food. For Emma, silly, not me. I REALLY have to go to the store.
I can't even make coffee (no milk) or tea (no bags) and I used dish detergent for shampoo this morning. That right there gives you an idea of how desperate this really is.
I was forced to buy my breakfast at the local gas station this morning. Really.

Anyway, let me tell you where I went at the butt crack of the dawn today with my gas station coffee when even the nasty cawing crows were still asleep: I went logging with horses.

This is going to be a great story and so much fun to write...handsome rugged men, staggeringly large gorgeous horses - two pairs: black beauties Bill and Ben, golden Belgians Kate and Nell - with creaking harnesses and bells ringing from their collars, long sleds full of firewood - beech, maple, ash - snow still clinging to the bark. It was 22 degrees - a sort of heat wave up here - so beautiful and peaceful in the woods - until the chain saws started. But the men ended their cutting quickly and then quietly loaded the wood on the sleds. They grabbed each log with a pulp hook (It looks just like Captain Hook's hook with a handle on one end to grip it with) and it makes a hollow THUNK THUNK sound when it bites into the wood. And then they heave the four foot logs on the sleds. It's hard work and the men - the GORGEOUS men, I might have mentioned already - took off their coats...oooooo....whoops, you lost me for a minute.
I got to ride on the sled, which is about 12 feet long: standing up going into the woods and sitting on the logs coming out. Those amazing animals pulled 1500 pounds of wood back to the farm. And me. That alone caused them to sweat and blow out their breath in huge giant clouds of steam.

Now I am frozen. I have peeled off two hats, a 34 foot scarf, a turtleneck, a wool sweater, flannel lined paints and wool boots, and I'm still dressed. I think I left my feet in the woods because I sure can't feel them. And I'm really, really hungry.

oh dear lord - I just took stock: I am now forced to make something with eggs, a soft avocado, a head of lettuce, hot mustard, a jar of red grapefruit sections, a frozen pie crust and a half bottle of merlot... I think I can make it work. And then, I REALLY need to go to the store.

I'd like to thank the Academy...

Sometimes a sweet little deed, like sending me this award today, can really make someone's day. Thanks a bunch, Libby. The feeling is mutual.

Isn't this the most pitiful thing you ever saw?

Not the present - the refrigerator.

It looks like an orphaned child. Even the abundance of diet Coke isn't mine - it belongs to Movie Night goers. And the eggs? What is up with the eggs? I have not a slice of deli meat, not a bowl of fruit, no gooey dessert or even leftover lasagna but I have three dozen eggs. And a Ziploc bag of salad. how thrilling...
Please notice the full doors. I loves me my condiments. I have hot sauces, cold sauces, barbecue sauces, the All American Ketchup, hot mustard, beer mustard, Maine maple syrup and horseradish. There's a small bottle of Midori and another of Bailey's.

But also notice my milk is nearly gone, as is the orange juice, and the mayonnaise disappeared two days ago.

I have been busy. Busy playing and painting. I have a bridal shower to attend this afternoon and for the past several days (in between working, yes, boss, I was actually working) I have been putting the finishing touches on a painting I am giving the happy couple. The one in the picture is very similar to the one I painted for them but I forgot to take a picture of the gift before I wrapped it.

I also went to my BFF Trudy's Friday night for dominoes. Now if you haven't played Mexican Train before, here is my advice: get a handful of good friends, throw in a bowl of licorice, a bag of cheetos and at least two bottles of wine and play. It's the kind of game that you can still have a party around, not like cards where you actually have to pay attention.

The moon must have been in a very strange phase Friday night because we never laughed so well. Sue had to turn sideways in her chair to hold on, she was laughing so hard. Everything was funny, we were so silly and even spontaneously began jointly singing show tunes at the top of our voices, like some sort of Broadway chorus gone mad.

John started suddenly speaking in a French accent and wearing one winter glove. Trudy was clutching her heart and talking about some dead dog named Shep. And Royce kept disappearing to fill the wood stove and shouting from the other room "It is my turn? Is it my turn?'' Then, we he got back to the game, it really was his turn and he moaned "Why is it always my turn?"

I want it perfectly clear that I am NOT blaming the merlot but I suddenly developed a temporary paralysis of my fingers and dropped at least four pounds of snacks by my seat under the table. No, my seat wasn't under the table, just the cheetos. There was an actual debris pile under there.

And then yesterday, I still was finishing the painting but was also writing a sermon. Alright, get up off the floor and sit back down in your chair. Every other week a lay person delivers the sermon in our church (we are very poor and can only afford our minister part time.) A few months ago, I wrote one on gratitude and even though I was terrified, everyone liked it and I temporarily lost my mind and volunteered to do another. My topic is love.

Doesn't that sound easy? HA. And another HA. I mean, we've all been in love. We've all lost at love. Done things we're not so proud of in the name of love. Learned to smoke cigarettes and converted religion because of love (oh, wait. that was just me.)

My first love was David Baker in fifth grade. He had brilliant red hair and the most freckles I ever saw on a face. There were so many freckles that they had started to overlap and he was almost one HUGE freckle. He followed me home from school one day and I invited him for supper. My mother, who did not drive then and only had a limited amount of food in the fridge (See? It is genetic, this failure to stock up on groceries thing.) But my mother made it very special, this first time I brought home a boy. She served us in the DINING ROOM - where we only ate on Sundays and holidays - with a TABLECOTH and a CHAFING DISH. The menu? Scrambled eggs. (What is with the eggs again?) But the way she did it up and gave it importance, we could have been having filet mignon and caviar. David Baker gave me a little ring but it turned my finger green and I was so insulted that I gave it back to him in a huff, stomping my saddle shoes in true disgust.

My second love was Jerry Calsetta who took ballroom dancing classes with me but didn't give me a ring. Instead he gave me his band pin, a cheesy brass thing shaped like a G-clef, and again I broke it off. What the heck was my 11-year-old self holding out for? Emeralds?

And then there was Joe. Dear sweet, BMOC Joe, who I met at a dance in 1963, fell head over heels, dated him all through high school, married him 13. 2 seconds after I graduated, bore him three children and then, on one particularly hot ugly summer day, divorced him. I still love that man for who he is, the father to our children he is, the son to his mother he was, but there is no way we could stay together.

And then there was Dan the farmer. Yup, you've got it. Fell head over heels, married him, bore him three children and then took the kids and left him. We are still friends. (Are you sensing a pattern here?)

I'm still the winner in all this broken love, though. I get to eat popcorn in bed with the light on while reading, dressed in a ratty sweatshirt and polka dot boxer shorts and no one whines at me to turn out the light. And I get to spend a whole day painting or writing or, apparently, from the sad state of my refrigerator, eating scrambled eggs. It's the life, I tell ya.

There is no excuse for my absence.

Except I was playing with Kiley, who was here visiting for FIVE days...ahhhhhh. Heaven.
She left yesterday afternoon and I cannot believe how quiet the house is.

But today I went to the grocery story for two bottles of caffeine free Coke. Apparently so did everyone else in a 100 mile radius. There is a storm predicted for this afternoon and the crazy weather people can't make up their minds whether we are getting three inches or 18 inches. Thus the stampede to the supermarket.

What is going on? I mean, this is Maine, folks. It snows here. A lot. And sometimes the plow won't come by for, oh let's say, TWO HOURS!!! Not TWO WEEKS!!!
What could you possibly run out of in two hours that would be such an emergency that a meth addict would look at you in pity and say "Hey dude, sorry for ya.''

Now I can see if you are out of pet food or toilet paper. But Pop Tarts? Vinegar? Scented candles?

One woman had five gallons of milk in her cart. Either she bathes in milk or she doesn't plan to shovel her driveway until April. She also had four loaves of bread and enough meat to keep the entire Neanderthal population alive.
And the shoppers are also so GRUMPY. Mouths are down turned and eyes averted. Carts are racing through the aisles as if the storm will start and end in five minutes, dumping its whole load on the parking lot while they're in the store.

Me? I bought the soda, stopped at the library for a new book and a couple of movies.
As long as I have Coke, pretzel sticks, and Morgan Freeman, I'm golden.

Here are the birthday kids...

Faye (almost 28) and Daniel (almost 31) were born on the same day, three years apart. WAAAAAY back in 1978, when Daniel was born, Connecticut had a horrible blizzard. Really bad. So bad, the Governor closed all the roads to everything but emergency vehicles. OF COURSE I went into labor. My father in law was chief of OB-GYN at Hartford Hospital and he made it there through all the snow just in time to deliver his first grandchild, who, I might add, peed all over him. That was Feb. 2, Ground Hog's Day. (Which was so odd and bizarre and made for wonderful jokes because we had a hog farm!)
Fast forward three years, and I had a BIG birthday party planned for Daniel with about 24 people expected, when I went into labor again. My mom came over to watch Daniel, I went to the hospital about midnight and Faye was born in the wee hours of the morning, also on Feb. 2. I let them weigh her, do the Apgar and then I brought her home.

By then, little Daniel was sitting at the table having breakfast with my mom.
"Where did you go?'' he asked.
"To get your birthday present,'' I told him.
"Sit down here and I'll give it to you,'' I said, and he sat down on the rug in front of the kitchen sink.
And I handed him his little sister.
To him, it was the best gift - there was never a moment's jealousy, after all, SHE was HIS. When everyone came that night for the birthday party, we didn't tell anyone she had been born (it was less than 18 hours earlier and believe me, I still had that big belly and my loose clothes made for a good disguise and my mother had promised not to breathe a word.) Shortly after the party began, Daniel announced he wanted everyone to see what he got for his birthday. Again, he sat down on the rug in front of the kitchen sink, and again, I handed him his sister.

They have remained very close always. Daniel was a BMOC, football star, etc., and he threatened every boy in their high school to watch themselves around her and it got to the point she couldn't get a date. He was crushed when she began dating, cried when she left for college, wept at her wedding and is DEVOTED to her daughter, the famous Kiley. He was the first family member (besides myself who was already there!) to make the drive north to see her when she was born.
Even now, when they are supposed to be grownups, they slip into this silliness when they are together, talking to each other in movie dialogue and retelling every, every, every story from when they were growing up. They SKPE each other almost daily and he has been known to drive two and a half hours just to have lunch with her and then turn around and drive the whole way back. They both brag about each other to anyone who will listen.

They are brother and sister, yes. But even more than that, they are best friends. What more could a mom ask for?

We're having another party here!

The kids are coming!
I've made a salad and a HUGE shepherd's pie - it weighs about 174.8 pounds - I always make too much food. My gorgeous daughter in law Amanda is bringing her famous yeast rolls along with my son Daniel; my daughter Faye, her hubby Matt and my precious Kiley are on their way over from Machias in a light snow. I even invited my ex-husband because we are celebrating Danny and Faye's birthdays. They were both born on Feb. 2, Ground Hog's Day, three years apart. Matt is bringing the cake and the ex is bringing the ice cream.
The only thing that would make this perfect if my other kids could be here too....too far to come in winter weather, though. Two are in Connecticut and then Eric is in Afghanistan, of course.

We'll eat a lot and laugh a lot and Kiley will get to see how many people really love her.
Tomorrow I'm hosting a Goddess Breakfast (pot luck and everyone catches up on what's new) and then Matt is taking Faye away for the weekend and so I get Kiley to myself!! HOORAY!!! We are going to watch Higgleytown Heros and go outside in the snow and snuggle all evening together. I don't even care right now that it is snowing - the house is clean, the food is ready, the kids are coming! The kids are coming!

Okay, the party is over. Take off your tutu, Trudy, and put that feather boa away.

This morning I can't help but think about the first morning in the White House, how the Obamas are waking up on Pennsylvania Avenue (By the Way, how did Pennsylvania get THE avenue, anyhow? Why not Maine Avenue? How about the PEOPLES Avenue, or something a bit more regal like QUEEN's WAY? or BRING YOUR PROBLEMS HERE Road... )

First, the little girls probably weren't able to get past the Secret Service to jump on the President's bed. Did they have to root around in their Hello Kitty nightgowns to produce verifiable identification? Or have they had little microchips inserted behind their ears like their new puppy will have? The SS can wave a wand and declare "Yes. These are the REAL presidential daughters,'' as opposed to some alien, robotic, sent by Iran to blow up the WH daughters.

Inside the Obama's room, there was that lovely white, off the shoulder gown Michele wore to the all the D.C. balls, crumpled in a pile on the floor. (Didn't she look like a bride in it, completely outshining hubby? I would KILL for her legs and don't get me started on her shoulders!) Obama's tux was draped over the shower rod and let me tell you about Michele's bedhead do. Well.
Anyway, I can imagine the Prez, rubbing the little sandman grains out of his eyes, turning to his First Lady and asking "What's for breakfast?"
Immediately, 741 security agents escort three chefs to the foot of the bed, because - of course - they have bugged the Presidential bed with invisible listening devices. And don't even let your imagination go there...

Each chef has a scroll and reads the offerings:
Eggs Benedict, your honor and honoress.
South Western Omelet, sire and madame.
Grits and cheese, your holiness and the queen.

Does Obama go to breakfast in his boxers? Or does he have hot, low slung pajama bottoms (OOOOPS I digress...)?
So after cornflakes and skim milk, the slim duo head off to .... where? What exactly happens on the first day of the rest of America's life?
I hope the first thing they did was hold a voodoo ceremony to rid the W.H. of bad karma. I hope they burned smudge in every room and had a parade of priests, ministers and seers come through to exorcise the place. And then I think Michele would busy herself with rearranging all the furniture. Since the W.H. has about 82 gazillion rooms and most of them are pretty damn ugly, lets be honest here, she has her work cut out for her. Since the girls already spent three THREE THREE hours learning flower arranging a few days ago - a skill that will definitely help them deal with the press over the next four years - they are probably already pretty bored. Today could bring bowling, movies or just roller blading through forty million loooooong hallways - all without leaving home.
As for Obama, I bet it was like an ice water bath to look out the window and realize, this is it baby. The Presidency. I wonder if he ran for the bathroom. For sure he must have taken a few deep breaths.
That's what I'm doing. Taking a few deep breaths. Today is a new beginning. A second chance to get it right. I feel like we won the lottery, we found the pot of gold and the silver lining. (Could I use any more cliches?) I was driving down Interstate 95 in Maine when the oath of office was delivered and I admit freely that there were tears just a flowin down my face. I had to scrabble on the floor for some kind of tissue and all I came up with was an old, used, Kentucky Fried Chicken napkin with a mummified French fry tucked inside. Cars were actually stopped along the Interstate to hear his speech. I called my BFF Trudy and we had a little cry and then got off the phone so we could hear him.
Later in the afternoon, there was a party at a nearby bowling alley and the pink tutus came out andTrudy danced the "Yes We Can-Can For Peace" and everyone was crying and laughing and so, so hopeful.
What a hard, hard road this beautiful young president is on, the road to reclaim America for its people. To invite the world into the process of finding peace, stabilizing the economy and bringing respect, dignity and honor to every citizen of the Earth.
But first, Mr. President Obama, go down the hall and hug those little girls. Play a game of Candy Land. Tell them to make their beds and practice the latest jumping rope rhymes. Kiss your wife and tell her how spectacular she looked last night. Rub her aching dancing feet.
And then get to work. We have a looooooooooooooong way to go.

If Kiley could talk, this is what she would say today:

Today my future in hope begins.
Today I can see to a day of equality, a day of peace, a day of genuine respect and global strength.
Today I can reach out my hand in friendship to my enemies, while being ever watchful of my own security.
Today I can be assured that sooner rather than later, Uncle Eric will come home from the Middle East.
Today I can have dreams for my children, and my children's children.
Today my leader is a man I respect.
Today my leader is a man with vision.
Today my leader honors ALL Americans, not just the ones that look like him or sound like him or think like him.
Today America will look not just to the wealthy or the fortunate, but to the unfortunate with a helping hand.
Today the rest of the world will start to think about coming to the table of peace, finding common ground in our humanity.
Today begins the rest of my life and today let the bells ring, and the choirs sing, and the people dance in the streets because today, I have hope.

And now for a vision of spring...

I bought these lovlies earlier this week at a local florist - who, goddess bless her, calls me whenever a shipment of tulips arrives. There is nothing that says spring like tulips and the color of these is just such bit of warmth in the chill of this winter. If I scrunch myself down and look right into the flowers, I can pretend I'm on my belly in a big patch of bright green grass. It is deep into spring and the birds are noisy and the bees are buzzing in my ears and the sun is hot on my back. If I could, I'd sent a bouquet to each of you.

I've decided to use imagination therapy to escape the cold.

You know how you use aromatherapy to mask that you just cooked brussels sprouts, or, in my case, that my sons are visiting?
You know how you use physical therapy to fix the kink you got in your neck from having sex in the backseat of a Corolla?
You know how you use shock therapy to tell your mother that, yes, you are pregnant...again?

Well I am using imagination therapy because it is twenty three degrees below zero outside. I had to spell it completely out in words, not numbers, because it is truly that bad.
And so, as I sit here with my fingers curled around a hot cup of tea, I have decided to pretend it is summer.
Come along, close your eyes and join me:

It is hot. Really hot and humid and as the day progresses, it just gets hotter. The sun is so relentless you can smell it's heat and it creeps into every corner of the house and melts the candles and exhausts the dog and turns the children into lolling, crabby monsters.
But, it's a full moon tonight and the call goes out from Trudy: FULL MOON GODDESS PARTY, TONIGHT AT DARK.
We gather at her pool, just after ten, in our bathrobes.
We bring wine and tell stories and laugh. We hang our towels high on the stockade fence.
We skinny dip.
It doesn't matter that our bodies wear our pasts: the stamps of having children, old injuries, surgeries and abuses; it doesn't matter that we droop here and sag there; that we no longer have waists and that the tops of our arms wave like flags.
We are women who need the water on our skin tonight. The pool accepts us easily and we immerse ourselves into this womb-like place.
The bats from the old house next door fly and swoop, feasting on summer insects, and they just miss the tops of our heads and still we float, our toes and fingers getting all pruney.
The water is cool but the air is so hot and our bodies are so hot that the water is a baptism of joy. It is so dark we can barely see each other, just the light patterns the moon paints on the water's surface.
We swim lightly, treading water, talking in lowered voices.
We are careful not to laugh too loud, but we do laugh, deeply and often, at moments only this sisterhood can understand.
We look up and see the full moon smiling at us and the incredible clusters of stars scattered in the dust of the Milky Way. Someone asks Renata, who recently took an astronomy course, how to tell which constellation is which.
"How the fuck should I know,'' she replies, sending us rippling into laughter, giggling like girls instead of strong women bent under responsibility and duty.
Trudy cannonballs off the diving board, the moonshine flashing white over her nude wet skin.
We finally cool and begin to climb out, wrapping ourselves in our robes, leaving the heat and oppressiveness of the day back in the pool, letting it drown.
"Good night,'' we say to each other. "Good night." And we head to our homes and our husbands and our lovers and our children. We are refreshed, washed and cooled, reborn from the heat of the day by the cool of the night.

Today, deep in mid-January, the pool is dark, its waters choked with fall's jeweled leaves. Ice covers its surface and the bats are long wrapped in their cloaks of hibernation. My sisters of the water are scattered here and there, keeping their home fires as Winter's breath chills and burns and encases us.

But we can dream. We can slip into a memory.
We can close our eyes and swim in the heat of the summer.

Baby, it's cold outside.

When I put the dog out this morning, all 12 pounds of her, she stopped so fast when her tiny feet hit the ice covered steps that her back end flipped right up in the air. She was actually standing upside down. She then did a u-turn and tried to get back inside, mucho quicko. It was -14, -23 with the wind chill factor.

How cold is it?
There are no dog walkers in my park today.
There are barely any snowmobilers.
Only 109 people turned out at an election yesterday for a new town councilor.
The little hairs inside my nose froze when I went out to start the car.
The car almost didn't start.
When you walk on the snow, it makes that styrofoamy crunchy sound.

And here is the really good news - it is predicted that tomorrow will be the coldest day in Maine in THREE YEARS.

I quit. Call the airlines. I'm going south.

Wahoo! Libby at Nea's Nuttiness has presented me with an award!

I have admired her honesty in her writing for such a long time (both as a lurker and a de-lurker) and so this is very meaningful to me! Thanks Lib, I am touched and honored!

But awards come with rules! (Don't you know yet how much I hate rules?)

The rules for the Honest Scrap award:
The honorees are to:
A) first list 10 honest things about yourself - and make it interesting, even if you have to dig deep!
B) pass the award on to 7 bloggers that you feel embody the spirit of the Honest Scrap.

Here goes (and I'm not sure my children even know some of these things):
1. I have four tattoos. Isn't giving me a bath in the nursing home going to be interesting??

2. My first real job was tending the aquariums in a W.T. Grant Store in Windsor Locks, Ct. I was fired.
I have also:
Driven a garbage truck.
Sold baby clothes for Sage and Allen.
Been a waitress at Friendly Ice Cream, Wurdig's Restaurant and Tony's Pizzaria.
Taught second grade.
Managed a slaughterhouse.
Typed in a typing pool (in the days when we still typed on typewriters.)
Catered stag parties with my first and dearest mother in law.
Operated a day care.

3. I named my first son David after David Draghi who went to my high school and looked absolutely GORGEOUS in oxford cloth, button-down collar shirts. He didn't know I was alive.

4. I've skinny dipped in approximately seven bodies of water (not counting swimming pools) in four different states.

5. I was once so busy at work that I rushed home to serve my two children, Daniel and Faye, who were both born on Feb. 2, two Hostess chocolate cupcakes with candles stuck in them, before rushing back to work. I have never forgiven myself.

6. I once chased a herd of teenage boys out of a tent occupied by teenage girls who were having a sleep over in my hay field. They all hated me for that.

7. I have gone to Washington D.C. to picket BOTH the Vietnam War and the Iraq War. In a related incident, I was arrested for chaining myself to the capital steps in Hartford, CT., and thrown in a real "paddy wagon" and my father, a proud member of the American Legion, the Veterans of Foreign Wars and the Forty-and-Eight, refused to bail me out of jail. I was ecstatic but somehow lost my shoes and had to wear paper booties to court.

8. I was once kicked in the face by a man.

9. I was also tied to tree in my front yard when I was 12 by my brother when my parents went to a wedding. I was there so long I peed my pajama bottoms. I retaliated by whacking him on the head with a metal pot holder loom.

10. I have hosted 38 exchange students from all over the world - Saudi Arabia, Egypt, France, Germany, Japan, Hong Kong, Thailand, Korea, Vietnam....they remain in a secret place in my heart forever.

There - I'm sure many of you know far more about me now than you ever wanted to...

And here is who I pass the Honest Scrap Award to:

Weldable cookies - who challenges me every day with her honesty.
Gladys Tells All - who looks the truth in the face and laughs at it.
Bluebirdbaby - whose softness and gentleness makes the truth run away, scared for itself.
a la mode - who has a direct and funny way of getting to the truth.
Chatting at the sky - who although she is from the land down under, is tops with me.

Alright ladies - let's read your 10 honest truths!

I am an agriculture junkie with dirt under my nails...I love

the smell of silage; I can tell the difference between horse, cow and pig poop.
I know how milk is priced ( a complicated formula based on the price of cheese in Chicago).
I know how to bale hay, milk a cow, farrow pigs, castrate piglets, ride a horse, milk a goat, steal eggs from mother hens without getting my eyes pecked out, the difference between a Holstein and a Hereford, how to tell if a rabbit is pregnant, how to slaughter, clean and ready a turkey for the oven, how to carry chickens and how to extricate myself from a barbed wire fence.
I have pulled calves from bawling mothers, rescued pigs frightened by a hurricane, taught my children to ride horses, lugged 55-gallon drums of garbage to the cooker to feed the hogs, grown vegetables, corn and pumpkins.
I love all animals so much that when I was a little sweet girl, in my little feed sack dresses and my little pigtails and my little freckled nose - oh wait, I didn't have freckles - I would pick up all the dead birds, flattened frogs and poor deceased butterflies that I found walking back and forth to school. I put them in my lunchbox. Why I never died after eating my lunch that had been sitting with some decomposing blue jay all morning is beyond me.
So when I grew up, of course I married a farmer and spent the next two decades raising hogs and children.
Today, agriculture is my reporting specialty at my newspaper.
And today was like my Christmas, birthday, Mother's Day, Fourth of July fireworks, a giant banana split and a terrific night of sex all rolled in one: It was the 68th annual Maine Agriculture Trade Show. Three days of workshops on topics such as cooperative marketing, sustainable agriculture, foot and mouth disease, milk commission pricing, .... ah, heaven.
I love it.
I seriously love it.
I love smelling the iodine on the dairy farmers' jeans while hearing about crashing milk prices.
I love seeing the women knitting while they listen to tips on energy efficiency.
I love smelling and eating the homemade sausage from Maine farm-raised hogs.
I love seeing the rows of fresh, green herbs in the little pretend greenhouse.
I love tasting all the Maine artisan cheeses.
I love seeing maple syrup evaporators, and Nu Pulse milking machines and the man that makes scythes and watching little and big boys climb all over the bright shiny new tractors.
I'm a pig in shit today. I couldn't be happier. And I get to go back tomorrow!!

But, I think I need to take back that comment about a good night of sex. That may just have an edge on beekeeping and seed saving.

The clouds stayed away and the moon shined brightly...

A soft glow lit up the park brillliantly, making the night light so intense that many of the skiers and shoers turned off their headlamps to embrace the night. Even non-skiers went for a brisk walk (which reluctant John called "A FORCED MARCH") Then inside we added a little candlelight and some VERY good food, and, course, some spirits. Here's what everyone brought: corn chowder, lobster bisque, mixed salad, hot crab dip, four loaves of homemade bread, stuffed clams, a compote of fresh fruit, shrimp, mixed berry cups.....wine, wine, wine - boxes, bottles and jugs - peppermint schnapps to go in hot cocoa, and a bowl of Clementines. ahhhhhhhhh
The best parts were the old and new friends, enjoying the eats, diving into the wine and talking for hours and hours and hours.
Here is Donna, Hector and John. Notice the poor demolished plates of food...we know how to enjoy, this group does!
Royce, Tom, Trudy and Alice converged for conversation around some of the food.
Trudy is telling a story while Renata isn't listening, but John and Sue are.
The porch was strewn with showshoes and the snowbank looked like a porcupine with all the skis standing tall. Inside, Bonnie Raitt, Tracey Chapman and Eric Clapton wailed in the background and it got so hot, I had to turn the thermostat down!

These are the most amazing friends - friends I sometimes feel I don't deserve but wonder how I ever lived without them. Everyone had such a good time that we are going to do it again at the next full moon, right around Feb. 9.
Wanna come?

Everyone cross your fingers, cross your knees, cross your eyes

and even cross your buns! Tonight is the Winter Full Moon Party at The Mansion. About 20 people are coming with snowshoes, cross country skis and lots of food and they are going to have a great time mushing or shoeing or whatever in the park behind the house. I'll ring the gong at 7 p.m. and we'll all come in and eat (pot luck, except I made a fabulous corn chowder and have plenty of snacks and wine). The moon is nearly full and it should be spectacular if those winter clouds don't roll in. Send me all your good energy for a cloudless, party-filled night!

Movie night at the Mansion was a huge success!

Especially because the movie that we selected was Momma Mia and if any of you are over....ahem, say 35 (but really 50) DO NOT MISS this...it is such a slice of fun. The music, well suffice it to say there was a lot of singing going on in the movie room...which I've provided photos to show you! One shows the room without the lights dimmed and the other is with the movie on. Turn on the surround sound, pop a little corn and that projector turns it into movie heaven.
The movie was late (C. was driving it down from Sugarloaf and we forgive her because 1. she is always late, 2. there was a snowstorm and since she was coming down a mountain, when she comes, when she comes, we cut her some slack. There was wine and chocolate and lap blankets for those who wanted to snuggle. Can't get those at your local multiplex!
Anyway, we are going to repeat this fun adventure every single Thursday night: next week we'll go to a favorite classic: On Goldon Pond, which is a movie dear to all Mainers. Th Th Th Th That's all folks!

My best friend is going to Paris. URK UGH BWAAAA!

Sometimes the Goddesses travel in February to beat the winter blues. We went to Florida to visit friend Sue - what a great time; and then four of us went to Charlotte, North Carolina (here we are, the gorgeous quartet in the world's most fabulous candy store in Lexington). Notice our spectacular lips - we are nothing if not makeup experts. Also please notice the HUGE bag of candy Trudy has scarfed up. We are (from left) Trudy, The Queen, J and D. Great traveling companions until we got into a fight on the last day about who was going to stash all the wine bottles in their luggage that Trudy bought while on the tasting tour at The Biltmore Estate. There was also disagreement about how many times you can truly go to Krispy Kreme Donuts without people getting suspicious of your presence. The staff there knew us by first name and greeted us joyfully each time we herded through the door.

I'm thinking of heading south again in February or March with D. to visit friend Sue in Melbourne. The lure of the warm air, the sea, the manatees at their wintering spots, a leisurely visit to amazing wildlife refuge, and the cut-throat games of Boggle in the evening with a good bottle of wine on the table - they just keep creeping into my head. It can be a bit disconcerting, especially when the manatees and the spoonbills try playing Boggle in there.

But Trudy can't go this time - she is going to Paris. Yes, there it is. The ugly green monster has reared its head. Not only is she going to the city of Luuuuuuuv, but she is going with someone who sounds fantastic.

Trudy's son D is doing a spring semester of college at the Sorbonne and his roommate's mom, S., is Trudy's companion. S is an amazing woman: smart, lovely, politically active, funny, smart, did I mention politically active (which is like an aphrodisiac for Trudy.) I am totally convinced that she will steal Trudy away and after a year-long tour of the world, they will end up feeding orphaned refugees in Africa and will only come home to protest occasionally on the mall in Washington D.C. She will, of course, call and write frequently at first but the letters will come farther and farther apart and their tone will be more and more distant. Until she disappears altogether, only to be heard from during her annual campaign for food for her orphans every December.
I know that this makes me a horrible best friend, being so jealous of this "new" woman in Trudy's life.

I mean, Trudy is mine. MINE I tell you. And I'm not letting her go.
No, I'm not chaining her to the pipes in the basement.
I won't lock her in one of the spare rooms of the Mansion, feeding her only her two favorites: black coffee and dark chocolate.
I won't feed her amnesia pills and then convince her she is my long, lost sister who is agoraphobic and can never go outside and she is allergic to cell phones and Skype and cannot communicate with ANYONE except me.
I won't write a fake story in the newspaper that the terrorist level is RED and all travel overseas has been suspended.

Oh damn the lure of Paris. Gay Paree. Eiffel. The Louvre. The Arc de Triumph. Driving on the wrong side of the road (do they?). The cheeseries. The bakeries. French horns. The chocolatiers. The gorgeous men. The sidewalk cafes. The countryside, the rivers, the sea, the mountains. French kisses. The sound of the language which makes "I'm can't flush the toilet" sound like "You are the most spectacular creature on Earth." The cinema. The tiny-waisted ladies walking arm in arm with men with tiny pointed moustaches. French fries.
Oh hell.
When it push comes to shove (oh, could I shove her in the backseat of my car and hide her in a little cabin by the lake?) I will of course wish her a safe and wonderful journey, think of her each and every day, knowing that she is on a great adventure and will have fabulous stories for the Goddesses when she returns. She will be a converted Francophile. She'll be wearing a beret and carrying a cigarette in a holder and will constantly be mumbling things like "Merci,'' "au revoir,'' and "oui, oui.'' Her breath will smell like chocolate and she will take to posing with her chin up, while leaning provocatively against a wall, with the smell of French perfume swirling around her. She will move her dining room set outside on the driveway and begin calling it The Cafe. She'll feed her family French soup and baguettes and mounds of French vanilla ice cream.

But at least I know she eventually will come home, not because she cannot live without me or the other Goddesses. But because she will HAVE to tell us the stories...
And she better bring me a present.

Warmth! Sweet warmth! Last night was toasty and snuggly

and I slept like the dead. I think I'm getting a handle on these heating zones - although the sun is shining brilliantly today and helping to warm up the workspace...No more penguin colonies in my bedroom.
But - isn't there always a damn but?
Not the big butt problem, which many of us are all too familiar with,
not the cigarette butt problem, which HOPEFULLY most of us have conquered,
and not the buttes of the western mountains which is actually pronounced beaut... I don't get it.

Anyway, now I can't seem to get the damper on the fireplace correctly closed. I see a call to a friend's husband coming on.

Today I have to tell you about Skype and my Christmas present from my kids: a web cam. This device needs to be CAPITALIZED: A WEB CAM. Not only did I get to see my son in N.J., but he took the camera around his apartment so I could actually SEE it. So cool. I admit, it was hard to SEE him and not be able to TOUCH him. (Except when he, true to character, mooned me.) I got to show him the new painting I'm working on and he even had me hold up Emma, who misses him so much that when she even hears his voice, she pees a little bit on the floor.

That empty arms feeling came back when I watched my Kiley playing. The video stream sometimes is a bit pixelated (is that even a word?) into little cubes but Kiley's web cam is in her playroom. I feel like June at Bye Bye Pie who watches her dog Tallulah on the doggie day care's web cam while she is at work - it is incredibly addictive.
I almost killed myself and the dog last night when I heard the little bubble sound that means the web cam is calling.
Emma and I were under some blanket throws, reading (She was already a little stressed because she was reading "Call of The Wild") and we got all tangled up and fell off the couch and I crawled away a bit and literally unrolled the dog from the throw. Somehow I lost a shoe in the whole misadventure and Emma has decided to blame the blanket for the terrifying incident. She's been giving it dirty looks and haughty shoulder-shrugs all morning.

On the camera, Kiley crawls around, pulls books off the shelves, throws up a little bit on herself, grabs handsfuls of the cat's hair, pulls herself up on the furniture. It's the best movie I have seen...bar none (Except for THE AFRICAN QUEEN which will forever been on my top shelf along with RUDY, REAR WINDOW, THE MAJESTIC, and SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION).

And the best part is: She sees me!!! She waves and says "HI" and laughs at me when I laugh at her. We even had a round of fake coughing going last night.
It's a magic bridge, a way to stay connected.
Do you remember talking to someone not so long ago, and wishing for phone-a-vision?
When I think of all the Jetsons' space-age inventions, they are already here!
I have a coffee thing that makes me a cup o' Joe in three minutes.
The inside of my refrig makes ice.
A microwave still defies logic.
And don't even get me started on cell phones, lap tops and digital cameras.
I used to have to wait for the bus to pull into town to ferry my newspaper film to the main office. Now, I can send photos directly from the scene.
I was at a fire scene last November, and from the side of the road I was able to write my story and post the pics, and one of the firefighters was able to read it on my paper's web site from his phone before we even left the fire! My car even tells me when it is icy out, not to mention that it can sense when the passenger is my 12-pound dog or my grown up daughter and turn on the airbag.
The Internet defies common sense: I can ask it if dogs get headaches or find a recipe for cauliflower and curry; I can find old high school friends or conduct interviews for work; I can enlarge my penis (according to the 11,386 email offers I get daily) or collect my $5.6 million in winnings from the ex-wife of the cousin of the brother of the deposed leader of Nigeria.

And to think: I learned to type on a manual typewriter from Mrs. Russell, who strangely sounded like Morgan Freeman but looked like Don Knotts in a business suit and sensible shoes. The adding machines still had arms on the sides that you had to pull down. And we still made calls from phone booths. In fact, I got high school detention for writing my boyfriend's telephone number on the blotter in the school's phone booth. What a wild child....

Sometimes this technological explosion is a bit scary - where will it lead? I'm not sure I would be comfortable with it invading my bathroom and hearing a disembodied voice intone "Queenie, you just missed a spot of soap on your back" while I'm in the shower. But it would be nice to have an early warning system that let's you know you are out of paper BEFORE you really need it.

Ok, so I can't figure out the heating zones here at The Mansion.

Case in point: There is a thermostat in one of the upstairs bedrooms, another in the front room, another in the master bedroom, a fourth in the family room and a fifth downstairs in the office.
Which controls what? Who's on first?
Why, if I set the front room at 65, is it 33 in the kitchen? And if I set the bedroom thermostat at 62 (I like to be able to see my breath when I'm sleeping - of course I look around when I'm sleeping and notice if I can see my breath. Don't you?) Anyway, if I set it at 62, it hovers at 72 and I'm dying. So last night I was watching television in the family room, which has its own zone, and I had set it very low. I was buried under two blankets and wearing a hooded sweatshirt and I guess I didn't notice that it was colder than usual when I unearthed myself and went to bed.
About 4 a.m. I woke up when my Emma was pushing me out of bed. She was trying to get closer and closer to get warm - WE HAD NO HEAT! It was 44 in the bedroom. I swear there was ice on my eyelashes and a colony of penguins had taken up residence under the north window. I didn't look but I do believe there was a polar bear in my shower. He was singing sea chanties and reciting "The Wreck of the Hesperus."
I couldn't even feel my feet and the dog, the poor dog, was crawled up inside my pajamas at this point.
So I checked and, sure enough, no oil.
At 4 a.m. when all good people are surely still asleep, I was trudging up and down the cellar stairs with wood and kindling and more wood. I got the fireplace in the living room roaring which helped warm up the rest of the house a tad.
Like one degree.
Like not even noticeable.
So from 4 a.m. until the oil man arrived at 9, the dog and I hugged the fireplace. I was gorgeous: a grey t-shirt covered by a lime green sweatshirt with hood up, multi-striped flannel pajama bottoms and navy and white polka dot slippers. Dahling. I was a vision.
So my front, the part of me facing the fire, was 970 degrees, while my back was 12. I fell asleep sitting up in a wooden rocker twice, waking with a start when the fire crackled and I thought the house was burning down. I heard the paperboy come and go, watched lights wink on and off in the neighbors' houses, and generally tried to keep my circulation from stopping dead by running up and down the stairs bringing more wood.
The oil man came, filled the tank, restarted the furnace and left, leaving me still in an icicle state since it took forever for the boiler to heat the water and then circulate it around The Mansion. (Have I mentioned that there are three floors, three bathrooms and 12 rooms?)
Now I am still in a pickle because I have to wait until the fire goes out so I can close the damper and then turn on that thermostat to get the living room, dining room and kitchen warmed up. I've run around the room and lit every candle I could find so that I could trick myself into thinking it is warmer. The poor dog has not budged from a quilt placed for her in front of the fireplace. I'm sure she's stopped speaking to me because she is upset that penguins are now living in our bedroom.
And as for the bear, I definitely asking him to leave, unless he can figure out all these thermostats.

Goodbye 2008 - there were parts of you that were glorious.

Glorious #1: Kiley Alane Bauman - I was privileged enough to be present and participating in her birth. She has awakened such a joy in my heart. She is not only a reflection of my past and present, but also of my future.

Glorious #2: Watching Kiley's parents become parents. What an amazing journey this is! They are wonderful, caring, fun, silly, serious, careful, joyful and responsible parents and I have no doubts they will raise Kiley to be a spectacular person.

Glorious #3: I bought my wonderful house in Machias, close enough so I can smell the sea and hear the gulls but tucked alongside a town forest. Deer in my backyard, geese in my sky, my children just across the driveway. It is my own piece of heaven and I cannot wait until I get there permanently.

Glorious #4: Getting to spend almost a wholeextra year with my friends, whom I thought I would be leaving last February. We had planned on a winter move but instead, here I am, still carefully held in their loving arms and enjoying all the fun they can provide.

Glorious #5: Two first place Maine Press Association Awards and a first place in the New England Association of Newspaper Editors. Awards from your peers are always the best.

Glorious #6: All the people who let me into their homes, their businesses, their lives, their joys and their tragedies this year for interviews. It has been an honor and a privilege to tell their stories.

But then again, 2008, there were times I hated you, cursed you and will be so glad to be rid of you. I lost my mother, my dear Betty Lou, in just four days and my heart will never recover. I couldn't move to my home in Machias and instead lived virtually in the office, spending way too much time alone. I failed to understand the complexities of my son Daniel and offended him and caused us to be apart for two long, unbearable months. My beautiful grandsons, Joseph and James, moved even farther away: from Connecticut to South Carolina. Eric went to Afghanistan. Matt lost his brother. I had to watch too many homes burn, too many cars crash, too many people hurt; dead babies, dead soldiers, wounded hearts, lost businesses, failed dreams.

But, right around the corner, comes a second chance, a new opportunity for rebirth, revival and re-energy. 2009. I kind of like the sound of that - I never really liked the number 8 anyway. So here is a toast (okay, so it's decaf coffee, but...) to better days, longer laughs, higher highs, deeper relationships, and growth - personal, economical and spiritual. To love. To life. To moving forward. And here are my resolutions: move, move move. do something as often as possible that scares or challenges me. read even more. write even more. be more understanding, patient and kind. watch less television. find peace.

May your resolutions be achievable and your 2009 dreams come true.

The top ten reasons why I love living in a small town:

1. Three men with dogs jogged past my driveway this afternoon as I was getting out of the car and I knew every one of them: Mike, Ethan and David. I don't know the dogs, however, except by reputation.

2. I was alone, sitting in a restaurant having a salad, reading a book, and my BEST FRIEND FOREVER Trudy saw my car and came in to visit with me, making my heart smile! And she invited me to lunch tomorrow for homemade soup...

3. The librarian not only knows what I like, but will put books on hold I HAVEN'T EVEN ASKED FOR just because she knows I will like them. And she's not even cranky when I tell her I HATED them.

4. When Reny's ran out of ice melt granules, they sent me to Hancock Lumber, where I not only found plenty, but they were CHEAPER. And, because I've wrenched my back shoveling, the Hancock Lumber person carried the big bucket to the car for me.

5. While out and about today, I passed one of the town's sanding trucks three times and I know the driver, John, and he waved to me EACH of the three times we passed. Too bad he wasn't on my street, which looks like a retreating glacier, with ruts that could swallow a horse whole.

6. When I took all my Christmas trash, cardboard boxes and recyclables to the transfer station this morning, both attendants called me by name and gave me two BRAND NEW recycling bins. They also helped carry the stinky bags to the dumpster. Does this make me famous? That the dump attendants know me? Or does it just make me trashy?

7. The dog groomer didn't want to charge me for clipping Emma's toenails this morning because Emma cried through the whole three minute procedure. What a little scam artist, she is, trying to get out of paying...I wonder if I should have tried that with the ice melting granules.

8. The time and temperature sign at People's Heritage Bank said 40 degrees. Across the street, the one at Skowhegan Savings Bank said 41. And my car said it was 39. I'm just going to pretend it is 75 with a balmy breeze from the east.

9. I picked up the mail and the post office had DELIVERED, not REJECTED three Christmas cards that had been addressed to the house where I moved from last February. One of Santa's elves must be hiding inside one of those rolling mail sorters back there because that truly is a miracle.

10. And the best one: I watched THREE, Three, THREE people rush to help an older man cross a very icy patch behind the town office. He was wearing actual galoshes. GALOSHES - with the little buckles and all. In many places, that poor old geezer would have fallen flat on his ass. And that would have started a long, downhill slide because he could have broken his hip and had to be moved to a nursing home, away from his wife of 54 years, who he still very much loved and liked, and then he might have given up on life and .... But not in my town. He was embarrassed by all the fuss but shook hands all around and wished everyone a happy new year. And the three people smiled and went about their business.