The Complexities of Romantic Relationships

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ddFmnEBJr5c

    The above is a link to a Maroon 5 song, She Will Be Loved. I became intrigued with it recently when I happened to be watching one of their concerts. As the lead singer, Adam Levine, introduced the song he dedicated it to the women in the audience. He also made the statement that it's because of women that men can write songs. I am sure that he was inspired by someone to write this song.
     I am always intrigued by men's viewpoints about women. Maybe it's because I am a woman, I don't know. A book that was written some time ago, Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus, tries to make the point that men and women are very different. Somehow I don't think men are that much different from women at all. I think we are different as humans but not because of gender.
     I have been in a committed relationship with a man for over 30 years, he also happens to be my husband. let me tell you folks, it hasn't been a bed of roses. At times I felt like I should be committed. What keeps me in this relationship, one thing, love. I remember the very first fight we had, he left to give us some space, when he came home that night he pulled out the cutest little gray and white kitten from underneath his jacket. We made up. You build a history when you're with someone that long. There are those moments we share that are burned into both of our hearts and bind us together.
     I think the greatest thing in any romantic relationship is when you know your partner yet you do not take one another for granted. That can be the greatest hurdle of all. But it is so worth it to look at your partner for their value and not their faults. What is it that we love about romantic movies, it is that first love, new love. I love to hear stories of how couples met and fell in love.
      It's hard to remember why you fell in love with someone when you are in the throes of a heated argument. But the making up can be great, after all I wouldn't have gotten my sweet little kitten if my husband hadn't been repairing our relationship, in some ways I think it makes that kitten much more special to me.

     Don't get me wrong, my husband has done things for me or brought things home just because he knows I would love them, such as the time he brought me home paper white bulbs to grow. It could have been a dozen roses, but he knows I love to grow plants, after all he put up with all of my plants when we lived in a much smaller house. Every year at Christmas it has become our tradition to grow paper white bulbs, but I will never forget the first paper whites, they are a symbol of his love and care for me.
    
     Any relationship can be a complex thing, but romantic relationships are where the rubber meets the road. You live, eat and breathe with the closeness of the other person. Sure, sometimes you will take that person for granted, life is messy, but when it comes down to the end of it all you're glad that they are there because life just wouldn't be the same without them.
    
    

Love

     I like watching sappy Christmas movies because they embody a spirit of giving. In this country especially at this time of year it seems to be more about what you are getting, especially materially. But in order to get something someone has to give.
     The best thing about the message of Christmas is the one that you don't have to have alot materially to give that which is most important and that is love. You can't buy it and you can't sell it. You can't even see it because it is something that lives inside of you.
     One of my favorite movies is It's A Wonderful Life. It's the story of George Bailey, a regular guy. George had plans for his life, big plans. He was going to get out of Bedford Falls, the town where he grew up. He was going to make something of himself but he got sidelined. He met Mary, fell in love, got married and had some kids. Then things went terribly wrong in his life, so much so that he wished he'd never been born, enter Clarence, an angel who gives him his wish. George gets to see how other people's  lives would have turned out if he had not been born and it wasn't good. You see he did things that had a positive impact on the people around him, including saving his brother's life. He also gets to experience being there, interacting with his friends, but nobody knows who he is because he was never born. He experiences true despair because he is disconnected from the very people he had the greatest connection with and their connection is love. The greatest seeming trouble which had to do with money, the very thing that caused George to wish he had never been born, somehow is no longer important. So George wants to go back, his wish is granted. George's joy knows no bounds, his friends know him, his beloved Mary is there. George's friends rally around him to help him out of the financial difficulty. None of them have alot, but when pooled together their resources become more than enough.
     The greatest lesson learned is that each individual is special and precious. You were born for a reason. Your life blesses others. I pray for each one of you that read these words, that you would realize how precious you are, you are a blessing, you are the pearl of great price. God so loved you that He gave that which was most precious to Him, just for you.      http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NdHBx34ALjU

You're A Native If

     This is Jeff Foxworthy's take on living in Maine. My husband and I laughed when we read this because it is true. I'm going to add a few of my own personal experiences.
    You're a native if you not only can use jumper cables to start a car, but know if you drive a standard all you have to do is get it rolling, hop in the car, pop the clutch and your car will start.
What's worse is that you drive said car and deliberately park it on hills so you can get it rolling without pushing it.
     You're a native if you know the unemployment rate goes up in September and drops the following June.
     You're a native if you understand the following words , Ayuh, cah, lobstah, bot, chimley.
     You're a native if you know you have to drive to Bangor or Portland to go to the mall and you know how many hours it's going to take to get there.
    You're a native when the folks in your area identify you by who your parent is, I would always hear, "I know you, you're Camilla's daughter."
    You're a native if you know where Moody's Diner is and the special on Saturday night is baked beans.
    You're a native if you go to the grocery store, stop and talk, because you run into someone you know in practically every aisle. When my granddaughter moved here from Virginia she asked me if I knew everybody because when we went to the store I'd have conversations with various folks.
    You're a native if it amuses you when people make fun of the way you talk or they're enchanted by it, while working at a local store years ago I asked a woman if she wanted a bag for her stuff, she turned to the woman she was with and said, "don't you just love the way they talk."
    You're a native if you know you better wear an orange hat in November and you have several of them in your house.,
     You're a native if you've eaten lots of seafood and you have annual festivals that celebrate lobsters and clams.
     You're a native if you raked blueberries and you know the difference between a blueberry rake and a clam fork.
    You're a native if you were born here, if you moved here you are not a native. It's sort of like citizenship, if you were born here and moved away, you'll always be a Mainah. If you moved here you will never be considered a native. But it does help if you have natives for relatives, like my mom was born in Michigan, but her mother and grandfather were natives, so she could be considered native through them.

   
   

The Morning Glory Story

                                             Morning Glories growing in my kitchen


     What is it about these flowers that I love. Their beauty, the color, the way they open themselves up to the morning sun revealing all of their glorious splendor.
     My love for morning glories started long ago, when I was but a child. Every year the school would send us home with seeds to sell and morning glories were among them, always the heavenly blue color. I determined in my heart right then that when I grew up I would grow them. Why I never attempted to grow them in my tender youth is a mystery.
     Morning glories come in many colors, but mine had to be the heavenly blue. Perhaps because they remind me of the summer sky of my childhood when I would lay in the grass looking at the clouds and blue sky pondering on life. If you look at the center of the morning glory it looks as though there is a white cloud contained within the flower.
     A few years ago I went to Baltimore to visit a friend, while out on a morning walk I spotted some wild morning glories growing, words began to fill my head, it became a story about the flower, written in rhyme, a story that imparts how messy life can be until love and compassion are shown, because of kindness and help the beauty of life shines through, it is The Morning Glory Story, I am near completing it, it has been a process, I was only given the first 2 paragraphs, but more has come recently and it should be finished soon. I believe there is a time for every purpose and it cannot be rushed, but what I hope to impart in my story is to look beyond what is on the outside and to have love and compassion for others. As many authors who have gone before me I carry a message, my message is delivered from the heart of my youth, when I lay in the grass looking at the blue sky and white clouds pondering about life and dreaming that we could love one another, transcending all of our differences.  
     

My Life

                                                              Fred and I, 1975

                                                           Fred and Adam, 1979

                                                                Fred and Erica, 1982

     I was a child of the 6o's, too young to attend Woodstock, but attracted to the hippie life.
As a teenager I would come home from school, lock myself in my room, read and listen to music. My taste in books and music was eclectic and ranged from Led Zeppelin to Cat Stevens from Herman Hesse to Richard Brautigan. One of my favorite books on hippie life was Home Comfort, it was a day by day experience of a group of hippies in their own commune in Vermont, I still have that book, it has great recipes in it, pumpkin pie sweetened with maple syrup being one of them.
      In my mother's day the girl's ambition was to get married and have a family. My dreams consisted of backpacking across Europe and joining a commune. But alas, as John Lennon sings, life is what happens to you when you're making other plans.
     I went to Monhegan Island, worked there for awhile, came home, had no job, no plans, went camping, ran into a guy I had known for awhile, Fred. We stayed up all night talking, he asked me to move downeast with him, so I packed up my knapsack and guitar and moved into a camp in the woods. No electricity, no running water, but a nice waterfall that came in handy as a shower and a river and scrub board, a great way to wash clothes. It was an adventure.
     We eventually moved into an apartment in Camden, but the following summer we would pack all of our belongings, putting our bigger items in storage, each of us packed a knapsack of clothes and started hitchhiking to Florida. Stopping in New York City to visit a friend of Fred's halted our plans to go to Florida. New York City is where we stayed for awhile, Fred could find work everyday by simply showing up when the temporary jobs were assigned. He did everything from moving vending machines to loading gold bars into armored trucks. It was the 70's and New York City was something else, something wonderful, an adventure. We were young and carefree, no ties, we were only bound to one another by our love.
     After New York we moved back to Maine, tore a barn down and built a small house with an upstairs loft to sleep in. Sometimes I'd stay up all night reading if I was into a particularly good book.
     A few years down the road I would get pregnant with my first child, Adam. I would hold him close to my heart. He had a sunny disposition, always happy and content, we lavished our love on him without measure. About three years later our daughter would be born, Erica. She was more frail, sick from the start. We were more vigilant over her because of her health, but she thrived and grew. When you become a parent you are always a parent, thinking of your children, wanting what is best for them. The natural progression of life is that your children grow up, they live their own lives. But, speaking from the perspective of a child who recently lost a mother and the perspective of a parent with children of my own, loving means you are always bound to those you love, no matter distance, time or death, these things can never erase the connections you hold to loved ones.
     Quite a few months ago I was inspired to write a poem, dedicated to my husband, Fred.
                         Us Two
Hanging on my wall is a picture of me and you,
When we were young, first married, it was just us two.
A few years down the road another picture was hung,
Of you holding our newborn son, now it was us two, plus one.
One picture remained to be placed with the others,
A sister for our son, now a big brother.
Two plus two, many pictures taken as our family grew,
 But I will always remember the one,
 taken when we were young, first married, just us two.

Details

I like details, finding out what things mean.
For instance R.S.V.P., now most people know if you are invited to a party and receive an R.S.V.P. it means they want to know if you are coming so you have to contact the invitor and let them know.
My husband and I were puzzling over what the R.S.V.P. stood for, he thought it may mean respond very promptly. He's close, but no cigar. I was watching Martha Stewart one day, I know, she can be a bitch, but she's a very informative bitch and I enjoy her show. Guess what, I learned,  R.S.V.P. stands for  répondez s'il vous plaît, meaning “reply please” or "please respond". I can even correctly enunciate it, thanks to Martha.
Now I know nobody loses any sleep over these details, but it makes me feel somewhat smarter to know these things.
I have even learned I can impress some people with my vast array of meaningless knowledge. I work for the census bureau off and on, during one of the decennial censuses lucky me got stuck with an area in which every other form was a long form with many personal questions that pissed alot of people off,  I was interviewing a college professor and had to ask him about his and his wife's ancestry. He said," my wife is English, but it goes so far back she's almost French." To which I replied, "Oh you mean when William the Conqueror sailed over in 1066 and conquered England." This took him aback, I mean here you have the lowly census worker who happens to know a random historical fact. I could see the surprised look that came over his face, he was so impressed he made me a cup of good old English tea.
During one other instance a woman came out of her house all pissed off, I simply remarked on her houseplant, "what a lovely clivia miniata." Her whole perspective towards me changed. Knowing meaningless trivia can be really good.
Now I'm going on a bit of a rant here. As most people know I am a conservative, so here's the rant, being a conservative doesn't give one the right to be stupid. I heard on a conservative show during the last census, oh my God, the government is going to count illegal aliens during the census. Newsflash, the government has always counted illegal aliens, as far as I know, during the 4 decennial censuses I have been involved with, we have never asked if someone is a citizen. So reporters get your facts straight before you report, otherwise you come out looking like a pack of idiots.
If more people researched what is fact / truth as opposed to what is fiction / lies there would be less idiotic statements made. Thus ends my blog.

Things My Parents Told Me

  
                                                 My dad, Joseph and my mom, Camilla

      During a thunderstorm you're scared witless, your parents tell you the angels are bowling in heaven.
I asked my mother once why I had little white marks on the top of my fingernails, her reply, "you get them when you tell a lie."
You ask your parents where you came from, their reply "we found you under a cabbage leaf in the garden."
You're about to get a spanking, your parent says, "This hurts me worse than it hurts you." oh really, why am I the one crying.
"Go to sleep so Santa can come." You eventually find out Santa ain't never coming and he is, in fact, your parents.
"Don't stare at the sun, you'll go blind." well it probably was a good idea not to stare at the sun.
"Don't go swimming after you eat, you'll get cramps and drown." this one may have some medical proof to back it up, I have yet to research it.
You're at the doctor about to get a shot, "This won't hurt a bit." It didn't hurt a bit, it hurt alot.
"This medicine tastes good." I wised up to that one and found out if I held out they would pay me some money to take it, 50 cents bought alot back then.
"The tooth fairy didn't make it last night, she'll be here tonight." The tooth fairy a.k.a. your mother fell asleep and didn't put the money under your pillow.
These are a few of the things my parents told me. It makes me laugh now.

Familiarity

     Experiencing the familiar can be a comforting thing. We know our surroundings and the people around us, there is great comfort in our creature habits.
    But it can have its downside too. It can cause us to take the people in our life for granted resulting in a failure to truly appreciate them.
    I feel this more sharply than I have ever felt it before. We don't fully understand until the person that we have taken for granted is no longer there anymore. There is a void empty space.
    Memories are a double edged sword, there is joy in remembering, but there is pain in knowing that no more memories will be created with that person.
    You really realize in your heart how much that person meant to you. You may have known it in a thought, but it's like it has hit home.
    If there is one thing I could impress on you it would be, do not take your loved ones for granted. It may sound silly or trite and make fine words for a Hallmark card, but truth is truth.
    No amount of someone telling you that your loved one is in a better place is going to make you feel better. I expect in time the heart adjusts to the loss, comes to accept the way things are. The moments of acute pain will dull. The lesson learned is to look at the ones you dearly love who are still right here and appreciate them. Appreciate means it gets more valuable with the passage of time. May we truly appreciate our loved ones and look at them with new eyes.

Friends

     I had to go to Rockland today and on my way home I began to think of my mom. The place she stayed at was in Rockland. I started feeling really sad, thinking about how I just couldn't stop and visit her anymore because she wasn't there. It's the same feeling I used to get after my father passed away. My father used to sit by the window in his wheelchair. I had to drive by my parent's house on my way to work and it hit me, my father was no longer sitting by that window. It sounds silly, but all I could think of was Tiny Tim in A Christmas Carol, the part when they show his little chair by the fireplace empty because he is no longer there. I always get choked up and cry when that part of the movie plays.
     As I was driving home I decided to stop and visit a friend of mine. We had a cup of tea, nice imported English tea. We sat and talked. I felt cheered up. Tonight I turned on my computer, went to youtube and found a friend of mine had made a new video. I watched it, it made me smile. It cheered me up.
     Ever curious to know things I googled friend, here are two meanings of friend:

1. a person attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard.

2. a person who gives assistance; patron; supporter

     My conclusion is how fortunate I am to have friends, who by the very fact that I know them are a blessing to me.

     I want to finish this blog entry with a little poem. I did not write it, but I love it and it fits the topic.

 

Make new friends,
but keep the old.
One is silver,
the other is gold.

A circle is round,
it has no end.
That's how long,
I will be your friend.

A fire burns bright,
it warms the heart.
We've been friends,
from the very start.

You have one hand,
I have the other.
Put them together,
We have each other.

Silver is precious,
Gold is too.
I am precious,
and so are you.

You help me,
and I'll help you
and together
we will see it through.

Across the land
Across the sea
Friends forever
We will always be

 

 

The Union Fair-The Exhibition Hall

Hooked Rugs

                                              
                                                    Handmade stained glass mirror

                                                  
                                                             Quilts, Tablerunners, Etc.

                                     
                                                                Necktie Quilt

                                                 
                                          Paintings from the art gallery in the exhibition hall

                                                   
                                               Wood lathe to make wooden bowls, etc.

                                               
                                                           Handmade wooden bowl

                                            
                                                   Handmade stained glass lamp shade

                                           
                                                               Crocheted Doilies

                                                        
                                                            The Garden Produce

                                                
                                                            Homemade pie display

The Union Fair -The Hodge School

     When I was growing up, there was an abandoned one room schoolhouse right up the road from my house. I spent many a happy day there playing, writing on the chalkboard, sitting at the desks. The Hodge School on the fair grounds remind me of that schoolhouse.

the back wall

a reading paper on the wall

the desks from the front of the classroom

side view of the desks

the blackboard

the schoolhouse light

the woodstove, to keep the classroom warm in the winter

How Long

How long will it be
I move forward,
Slipping backwards
I cannot see
Tears flooding my eyes
Coming on strong
Please tell me
How long
Everywhere I look
There is a reminder
Another memory
How long will it be
Will these tears
Ever leave
How long
Will I grieve

Finding The Humor

Even in the midst of the pain there are the moments of humor.
For instance while correcting what the funeral home had written so that my mother's obituary could be sent out to the papers, I told my daughter we should write, she worked at Sylvania for several years until she told her supervisor to go to hell and they fired her. Which is exactly what happened. But even though it might be an interesting read the constraints of proper society stop us from making such a faux pas. It however is a revelation of who my mother was, a spitfire.
She also used the word friggin alot. She never really swore, it was, friggin or oh sugar when she was upset. I guess oh sugar would have been used for mildly to moderately upset and friggin was used for the more upset she was or to drive a point home. My son noticed in a video I did of her recently, she says to me (referring to my videotaping with the camera) "I don't think you should be frigging around with that." He calls that "classic Gram."
My mother was always concerned that she not get fat, so she would run outside around the school for exercise. At one point I remember her buying a machine. You stood on the machine, put a belt around your hips and turned it on, it was suppose to jiggle the fat away. I'm laughing just writing this. One of her nurses said my mother remarked to her one day, "You must like to cook." The nurse said, "As a matter of fact I do." My mother then said, "I can tell, you have a fat ass." Thank goodness the nurse didn't take offence at it. Mom truly did not usually talk to people that way, I guess the alzheimers and old age got the best of her. She had friends that were overweight so she was not a fatist (my word for those who discriminate against overweight people).
My mother was a true friend. One of her friends got cancer and when she got very ill and was in the process of dying my mother went to her house almost every day, tended her, sat next to her, wiped her brow and held her hand.
She loved carnations, they were her favorite flower. Her favorite movie was Gone With the Wind, I personally think it's because of Clark Gable. She loved Paul Newman, she thought he had the prettiest eyes she had ever seen.
She wasn't a complainer, she always took things in stride, and would bear up under the adversities life brought.
She was always fun to be with, after my Dad died, she and I would go to Moody's diner, get coffee, 1 piece of pie we cut in 2, saved us money and calories, and we would sit there and talk.
I took her to Virginia with me after my father passed away. On the way home we got to Massachusetts and it started snowing, you could tell it was going to be a pretty good snowstorm. She turned, looked at me and said,"I'll give you fifty cents if you get me home safe." I said, "is that all you're worth, fifty cents." She just laughed.
She's home safe now.

Great Grandmothers

                                     
                                       

     My great grandmother's name was Ella Conant Black. She was born in Maine in the late 1800's. While she was still a teenager her family decided to move to North Dakota. Ella moved with them, but she hated North Dakota so she would move back to Maine. When she came back to Maine she met and married my great grandfather, Thomas Black. They had four children, all girls, my grandmother, Sadie, was one of those girls.
     I don't remember my great grandmother, I was only 2 years old when she died. But my mother and grandmother told me stories about her. Here are a couple of those stories about her and me.
When I was born my mother and father was living with my grandmother and grandfather, also dwelling in the house was my great grandmother, Ella.
     From the day my mother brought me home from the hospital my great grandmother assumed the care of me. I doubt that she got up at night with me, but her days were spent holding me and feeding me. She loved me, but as I grew she also spoiled me. I was told that at Christmas, the first Christmas I could walk, I toddled over to the tree and tried to take a glass bulb off the tree. My great aunt, Lou, reached out to slap my hand. My great grandmother took her cane and hit Lou with it for slapping my hand. Being an old woman pays off, you get to hit people with canes and get away with it.
     I was also told I called my great grandmother Mama and called my grandmother and mother by their first names. When my great grandmother passed away there was nobody to save me from punishment when I was naughty. The first time I did something bad my mother came after me. I ran to my great grandmother's bedroom door, which was closed, started kicking it and said, "Help Mama, Camilla and Sadie are after me. "Mind you, these stories are complete hearsay, but I have no reason to believe my mother or grandmother would make these things up.
     Having recently lost my mother, it will now be up to me to carry on the family tradition and tell Jack stories about him and his great grandmother, Camilla. Due to the modern age of technology, not only do I have pictures, but also videos of him and his great grandmother. Heaven help the little nipper.

Dread

                                                            My beautiful mother, Camilla
                                                        


So not looking forward to my mother's funeral today. Her death has hit me harder than my Grandparents and my Father's. It is one of the hardest things I have had to endure. I worked till 2:30 this morning making her tribute video. Inserting all of the pictures, adding 2 of her favorite songs and watching it to make sure it came out right reinforced in my heart that she is gone. Even though I know and believe her soul is alive in heaven, it is still a difficult weight to bear. But more than my pain and my tears is the desire to honer her. In some ways even though it is painful it is also therapeutic. It is an outlet for my grief.
Sometimes that grief is like an ocean wave washing over me, it crests and there are no words only the welling up of it  in my soul. My tears pour forth like a tributary flowing into a river, being carried by a current that is greater and stronger than myself. I give myself over to it until I feel empty.
I know in time things will get better, but for now I must grieve.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w0oWn61irGQ

Mom

You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed. Psalm 139:16
Today came as usual, the sun rose. For the past two days previous I had spent with my mother. Her condition much worsened and the end was drawing near. The hospice nurse told us my mother might rally, but we all knew in our hearts this was not to be.
Erica and I went to see Mom, she was unresponsive, staring at us, yet behind her eyes I could see, even though she was unable to speak. I didn't want to cry in front of her, not wishing to upset her. At one point Erica got tears in her eyes and my mother's eyes scrunched up, inside my chest tears were falling from my heart, I mustered up all the strength I could not to openly weep. I sang my mother a silly song that she had always loved and that we used to sing together. Erica sang to her, caressed her forehead and hugged her. The following day I went directly to my mother's side and stayed until 11:30 p.m. at which point my sister-in-law stayed with her until 2:00 a.m. and her son took over watch at 2. My sister went in again the next morning and then I came over. My sister and I spent the rest of the day by her side and into the evening with my brothers and all our children who came in  at different times. We gathered together as a family surrounding our mother who had always cared for us.  I stayed until 12:30 a.m this morning. So tired I had planned to go to work today then go straight to Mom's side in the early afternoon. It was not to be. I had my plan that when she died I would hold her hand, I wanted to do that even though I dreaded that moment when she would draw her last breath. It is hard to let go. Instead my Mom died early this morning, I was not there. Thankfully my nephew who took over my watch was with her. I felt crushed when I got the phone call, my first thought was that I was suppose to be there. However God's plans are not our plans nor His ways our ways. I accept that and my mother is now free.
I went to her room and hugged her now empty shell one last time. All that is left are the formalities for those of us who are left behind.
My mother's favorite flowers were carnations and this was her favorite song http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aVNj9Pl-i7I 
My mother has spread her wings and flown away.

Fairy Tales

As a child I loved fairy tales, one of my very favorite was The Twelve Dancing Princesses. The story tells of 12 princesses who were locked in their room each night, but each morning their shoes were worn through as if they had danced all night. Their father, the King, is determined to find out what is going on and so the story goes. Other favorite fairy tales were, The Princess and the Pea, Rapunzel, Rumplestiltskin.
There is the secrecy aspect of the fairy tale, as in the dancing princesses story, the king had to devise a way to find out what was going on. Fate happened to be on his side as an old soldier returning from war had a chance meeting with an old woman who gave him a cloak of invisibilty and advised him on what to do.
There can be someone who is villainous, as in Rumplestiltskin, what kind of a mean person would demand someone's child, he needed to be found out.
There is a test to be endured, as in The Princess and The Pea. How else could the Prince have known that she was a real Princess without that pea. After all, sensory integration disorder had not been discovered back then. But maybe, in fact, Hans Christian Andersen had it and incorporated it into his story.
All I know is that fairy tales are magical and everything turns out right in the end.

So Sad

    That is how I feel at this moment. A small baby girl, Olivia, just born has cancer. A friend of mine posted on Facebook asking for prayers for the baby and the baby's family.
    Yesterday my daughter's boyfriend, Roy, got news that his aunt, who was only 48, died suddenly.
    We should have no complaints, but cultivate an attitude of thankfulness and lift up others, who have need, in our prayers.

Just Kids

      I have finished reading a memoir called Just Kids by Patti Smith. It chronicles her relationship with Robert Mapplethorpe, from their first meeting in New York City to Robert's death in 1989 and beyond.
     Johnny Depp calls the book a poetic masterpiece, a treasure chest. I, the reader, unlocked that treasure chest and found great delight at the treasure that was contained within.
     It is the personal journey of two young people who share the love of art, and all artistic expression, but it is also the story of two people who love one another. Nothing can destroy their love, it has even transcended death and lives on.
    This book also intertwines stories of the New York City of the 60's, stories of famous people that Patti met. My favorite story in the book is the story of how she met Sam Shepard. She had gone to the Village Gate, with Todd Rundgren, to hear a band, The Holy Modal Rounders, play. Just to show you the complete and utter charm of this book here are the exact words- "It was like being at an Arabian hoedown with a band of psychedelic hillbillies. I fixed on the drummer, who seemed as if he was on the lam and had slid behind the drums while the cops looked elsewhere."
     Patti subsequently goes on to tell of their introduction, she being told his name was Slim Shadow, and asking him for an interview, which he granted. He would later appear at her door at night, and they would go out and walk around together. She gets run down  and is advised by the doctor to eat red meat. She shoplifts 2 steaks at a store and is on her way home when she runs into Slim on the street, after a bit she admits to him that she has two raw steaks in her pocket, so they go back to her place, fry them up and eat them.
     He is concerned for her, and shows up a couple of nights later to take her out to eat at a place called Max's. While she is sitting there, with a big lobster in front of her, wondering if Slim can pay for the meal, she spies a friend of hers giving her hand signals. Thinking her friend wants some of her lobster she wraps a claw in a napkin, and meets her friend in the restroom. Her friend then informs her she is, in fact, dining with Sam Shepard. She goes back to the table and asks Slim if his name is Sam, his reply. "Oh yes, so it is." At that moment dessert arrives, an ice cream sundae. "Sam is a good name," I said. "It will work."  He said, "Eat your ice cream, Patti Lee."
    This book made me laugh, made me cry and above all filled me with appreciation. Patti truly has written a poetic masterpiece filled with passion. It makes me yearn for more.
link to Patti talking about NY and the beginning of hers and Robert's relationship http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=33QXPCAdoX8
 
                                                           

                                                    

Maine

     They say a picture is worth a thousand words, here are 9,000.
     When you first enter Maine you will see the sign at the top of the page, Maine, the way life should be.
     Our license plates say vacationland. Obviously we're not on vacation all the time, but I have to say Maine is a great state to live in.
     I wasn't always so enamored with this state that I was born and brought up in, I hated winter, we had a ton of snow, it seemed very deep, but then again I was a kid and much shorter.
     Maine has grown on me. I love the smell of the ocean in the air and the cry of the loon and seagull. There is nothing quite as soothing as the sound of the ocean waves rolling in and hitting the shore. There's nothing quite as beautiful as the spruce trees hugging the shoreline, rising in their green majesty towards the cerulean blue sky.
     I have always lived in Maine except for a short time I lived in Brooklyn, New York. I love New York City, but my heart belongs to Maine.
     My favorite time of year is right over the horizon, autumn. Our leaves will change to gold, yellow, red and orange. The nights will be cool, the days will be warm. The wood smoke will curl upward out of the chimneys and the air will be filled with the scent of ripening apples in the orchards. Farm stands will boast big orange pumpkins to be carved for Halloween and later cooked in pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving. Lobster traps will be pulled for the season and wood will be stacked for the winter.
Next week the fair starts, everybody will be displaying their handmade crafts, rugs and quilts to name a few. The produce from people's gardens will be on display. I will post pictures next week from the farm museum and the exhibition hall.
Peace out. [][]__
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