Lucky goes to Walmart...

   He has been working hard for the past five plus years. Perhaps I should say “we have. He has learned to heel, come, sit, front and many other behaviors dogs often learn to do. In addition to the more traditional commands and behaviors, he has learned a few tricks and a few dog rally stunts too.

   He loves to ride in the car and I think deep down inside he would probably like to learn to drive, but his legs are to short to reach the peddles and his paws slip off the steering wheel. It might help if I put wooden blocks on the gas and brake peddles and he had thumbs, but I think he is content to sit and look out the window, watching the world pass by, keeping a watchful lookout for the next Dunkin Donuts shop or just falling asleep on the back seat. (Did you know that many Dunkin Donuts shops will often give your dog a munchkin at no charge? Please, no chocolate ones.)

   He enjoys taking walks and going to the park. Often there are other dogs there and it's playtime. The exercise is great, for both him and me.

   Unfortunately on a recent walk Lucky learned one of life's harsh lessons though. Not all dogs are friendly and while he may have wanted to greet, sniff and play, the other dog had other thoughts and ideas. Kinda sounds like life as a human being too, doesn't it!

   Lucky likes to visit Grandma and at first we were somewhat reluctant and cautious about taking him there. My mother lives in an assisted living facility with lots of older folks, many with canes, wheelchairs and  most a bit unstable on their feet. But he seems to know that as soon as we park the car and walk toward the door, it requires a different, more calm and subdued behavior. A quick walk around the parking lot to get rid of some of the energy and he is ready. Most of the residents love and admire him and he soaks in all the attention and he has heard many stories about their favorite pets.

   Lucky is very friendly and eager to meet people and there are times it is a challenge to make sure he doesn't show his enthusiasm for meeting strangers by jumping and other “friendly” dog behaviors. Often we will sit on the bench in front of the local grocery store as people come and go. Many people walk right by and just as they ignore him, Lucky does the same to them, he ignores them. He may look, but then goes back to sniffing the pavement and sidewalk.

   On the other hand, he seems to sense who should get his attention, and as if he is able to determine who are dog lovers,  he waits to see if they come over to say “hello.” Once he decides they are OK, he begins to wag his tail. I am curious how he  knows who may or may not show him some attention. Perhaps it is the high pitched sound of..."what a handsome dog."

   Several months ago we were shopping at the local Walmart. It was a bit warm and while Donna shopped, I walked Lucky around the parking lot, getting him out of the hot car. We stood close to the front doors, out of the direct sun, watching people rush in and rush out of the store, and similar to the experience in town, some folks would stop and say “hello,” often followed by a pat on the head while others would walk right by us (that is a  pat on Lucky's head, not mine).

   While we waited outside a Walmart employee, the security person, came outside and invited us inside. Really? I didn't know. The only restriction...we had to stay away from the meat aisle.

   With a tight leash, I made myself as comfortable as I could on the benches near the checkout lanes. It was amazing to watch Lucky and the customers. Yes, it was busy with people coming and going, shopping carts all over the place and the checkout lanes packed with people. I think that helped keep him occupied and maybe a bit confused. This was something new for him. And for good behavior there were treats and verbal rewards. And probably it didn't hurt that near the exit was a Dunkin Donuts shop too.

   Since then we have continued to visit the Walmart store and he has developed a few fans, both customers and employees. Hew was even offered a Walmart credit card by one of the cashiers

   The other day we walked (heeled) the aisle with the Christmas trees and holiday decorations before returning to the front of the store. He really liked the colored lights on the trees. So did the 2 year old in the shopping cart.

   Lucky's behavior is still not always perfect. He will sometimes bark when someone he does not recognize walks by the house. He continues to protect us from being kidnapped by the mailman. And he needs to be reminded  not to take napkins off laps at mealtime.

   But it is fun to watch the smiles he puts on the faces of people as he wags his tail or sits patiently with paw raised to shake hands. And who can resist those big brown eyes?

   What's that, Lucky? You want what? You want your own......Facebook page?

                                             

Yup! Call me a snob, but...

   We recently purchased tickets to attend a cooking show and demonstration in nearby Augusta. The cost of the tickets was $50 each so with that price, we expected something special. As VIP attendees, as printed on the tickets, there was a cash bar and hors d'oeuvres beginning at 3:30 pm with the program beginning at 7:00 pm. Seating was assigned for the demonstration and we were down front, in the second row. The price also included a 'goodie bag,' full of coupons.

   The doors opened at 3:30 for the VIP ticket holders but three hours and and thirty minutes seemed like a long time to wait. Maybe there would be vendors selling their wares or other brief cooking demonstrations taking place before the main show. Was there going to be some type of dinner? In addition to the snacks, would there be other food available to cover the dinner hour or should we walk in with a McDonald's bag?

   Having never attended an event like this before, we thought it appropriate to pass on wearing jeans and tee shirts and dressed in what we thought might be more reflective of the ticket price. This was not going to be a rock concert where someone might spill a beer or soft drink over your head, so slacks and a neatly pressed shirt seemed like a good choice.

   We arrived just a few minutes before the doors were set to open and we were surprised to see a rather lengthy line waiting to get in. As we joined the others waiting for the doors to open, it was obvious by the discussions going on around us that for many, this had become a yearly event for them. Some had attended as many as ten or twelve times. Sheepishly when asked, we admitted this was our first. “Oh! You'll love it” was the most frequent response. And the crowd? It appeared to be a mix of an older generation, some like myself, as well as many who were much younger and more women that men.

   Promptly at 3:30 the doors opened and after turning in our tickets and receiving our 'goodie bag', we were directed to the lounge with the cash bar and hors d'oeuvres. On the main floor, just around the corner, were a number of local businesses who set up booths, many of these businesses helping to sponsor the event.

   I find that as I get a bit older it has become somewhat of a challenge to hold a napkin piled high with food in one hand, a glass of wine in the other and mingle among the crowd. So, to be on the safe side and in an attempt to cause myself the least amount of embarrassment possible should I drop something, I found the nearest chair and made myself comfortable. It also gave me a good vantage point to 'people watch.'

   Every few minutes the staff would bring plates with samples to be tasted. The recipes would be shared and prepared during the demonstration later that evening. And while it may not have been a rock concert, the bumping and pushing to be the first in line to get the fresh samples...well you understand.

   Now I understand that times have changed. As a society, behavior and what people wear have become very relaxed. I am always shocked by what some folks will wear when they shop at Walmart. Perhaps it would more accurate to say what they don't wear.

   Fleece pajama bottoms, ripped and torn tee shirts, Snoopy slippers. Don't get me wrong. I like my fleece pajama bottoms and will wear them around the house. I will even wear them when I take the dog outside, but only under the cover of early morning darkness.

   Thank goodness there were no fleece pajama bottoms or Snoopy slippers here tonight, but I was amazed at what some had decided to wear on this particular Saturday evening.
   One might argue that clothes can cost a lot of money or that maybe they didn't get an opportunity to change after going to the Common Ground Fair. But call me old fashioned, I still think there is a time and place for everything and for me, that includes neat and proper dress. Yup! Call me a snob.

   The chair I had selected just happened to be next to the table where the speaker for the evening was signing her newly published books. I have never done a book signing, probably because I have never written a book, but it was very entertaining to watch and listen as many lined up to meet and greet her. It was her first time in Maine, she lives just north of New York City and is a recent graduate of the CIA (Culinary Institute of America)

   The show began at 7:00 and despite a few technical difficulties in the beginning, it was very informative and entertaining, even after the long wait.  But one of the disadvantages of sitting near the front was the smell. What she prepared certainly did smell appetizing  and not having any dinner, it was all I could do to keep from jumping up on stage and asking for samples.

   Attending the cooking demonstration was a new experience and turned out to be fun. If we were to do it again, however, we might arrive a bit later and have a mid-afternoon light dinner. And about what to wear? I have my neatly pressed shirt and slacks laid out on the chair, ready for next year.

                                                     

It is the middle of September and...

   It's the middle of September. The weather has been a bit different than normal this Fall, although I am not sure what normal is anymore. Lack of significant rainfall and warmer temperatures have delayed the colorful Fall foliage we come to expect this time of the month, but that didn't deter us from taking a trip to Farmington, Maine. Why go to Farmington one might ask? It's the third week of September and it's 'fair week'. It's the Farmington Fair and Tuesday is... Senior's Day. What better way to spend $2.00.

   It has been a long time since we've attended the Farmington Fair. We lived  and worked in Farmington for many years and went to the fair regularly. A move away, life, jobs and raising a family took priority over going to the fair for many years. But now, being retired and with more free time, why not spend a bit a beautiful fall afternoon mingling among the crowds.

   Maine has a long history of local country fairs that highlight farming and agriculture across the state. And while some of the country fairs may be a bit more famous and have well known names such as Fryeburg and Skowhegan, the Farmington Fair has always been one of our favorites. It's a bit smaller than some of the others  but has a wonderful hometown feel about it and while the food vendors have changed over the years and the amusement rides have become a bit more daring (at least at my age), there are still many elements of fairs of the past. This  was the fair's 175^th year dating back to its original opening in 1840. Yes. That was before the Civil War.

   To understand the history of country fairs, it is helpful to understand the 'Grange'.

   According to Wikipedia, the Grange, officially referred to as The National Grange of the Order of Patrons of Husbandry, is a fraternal organization in the United States that encourages families to band together to promote the economic and political well-being of the community and agriculture. ( I could say something very politically incorrect here, but I think I'll pass.) The Grange, founded in 1867, shortly after the Civil War, is the oldest American agricultural group with a national scope.

   In 2005, the Grange had a membership of 160,000, with organizations in 2,100 communities in 36 states. It is headquartered in Washington, D.C. in a building built by the organization in 1960. Many rural communities in the United States still have a Grange Hall and local Granges still serve as a center of rural life for many farming communities. And in Farmington, the major building and the center of attraction on the fair grounds, in addition to the animal barns and cattle pulls, is the Grange Hall display.

   One of the advantages of going to the fair on Senior's Day beside the $2.00 entry fee is that, with the kids at school, it's basically an all adult crowd. Now don't get me wrong, I like kids and my own had attended the fair many times when we lived in town. But when you get a bit older, it's a different perspective and while it is fun and entertaining watching the kids race from ride to ride and spill ice cream on their shirts, with the older folks, on Senior Day, there is more of a feeling of..."it's good to be home again". And no, I didn't spill any ice cream on my shirt. That's ketchup from the french fries.

   But one of the disadvantages of being in the crowd is that we all look alike, i.e. gray hair, no hair, gray beards, lots of flannel and fleece jackets and zip up sweatshirts, and long lines at the bingo booth and the betting window at the horse track.  When my wife disappeared, I couldn't find her!  And the music in the background? Early country-western. (Didn't see many cellphones in use either except to take pictures of the cows, sheep and ducks. Those ducks were really cute.)

   Although it has been several years, actually many years, since we last went to the fair, there were still people moving in the crowd who we recognized and who recognized us.  And the smell and taste of the freshly cut french fries and the sausage and pepper sandwiches would make anyone’s mouth water. Is there anyone who can  leave the fairgrounds without taking a big bite into a low-calorie (right) dough boy, topped with melted butter and powered sugar? It may be worth a trip back next year just for the dough boy.

    Going to the Farmington Fair or any fair for that matter is like a walk down memory lane and if you haven't done so in a while, it might be worth a spending a little bit of time in the 'country fresh' outdoors, patting a friendly sheep on the head, cheering for your favorite steer or ox pulling team and getting reacquainted with your neighbors. (Hmm. I wonder if Donald Trump has ever been to a country fair and taken a ride on the Ferris wheel. He might just learn a thing or two about the people who live outside the big city limits!)

Discovering a road less traveled along the way.................

   “Two roads diverged in a yellow woods, and sorry I could not take them both and be one traveler, long I stood and looked down one as far as I could to where it bent in the undergrowth:”
   Hmmmm. Sound familiar?

   I was recently traveling on the back roads of Piscatiquis County, heading home and singing along to the music of “Lone Star,” quite loudly I might  add. Suddenly I realized I had missed a turn and was somewhat lost. Me! Lost! Come on now. I have never been lost in my life. OK. Maybe once or twice.

   I was at a point  where  there was a fork in the road (I never did understand why they call it a fork in the road. Doesn't look like a fork.) and  I needed to  turn either left or right. There were no signs. This was rural  'rural' Maine. Signs cost money. Or maybe some teenage boys  had stolen them and they were now part of someone's rec room. Bad boys. 

   I looked to the left., I saw  nothing except trees and the road, The view to the right, the same.. Not a  house or building in site. Which way to go?

   I did have several maps under the piles of newspapers on the back seat and a Nuvi tucked under the front seat. But I was a man and real men don't ask for directions or use maps. They just go! So looking left, then right, and then at the sun, I made my decision. Beside, how bad could it be. All roads lead somewhere, right?

    I remember as a child that, often after church on Sunday, we would climb into the Plymouth station wagon to go on the endless 'Sunday drive”. By the way, that was when gas about 25 cents a gallon and the NFL Today was not on TV. But Johnny Unitas was! The good part? There was usually some ice cream waiting near the end of the ride.

   In those days, one might drive just for the fun of it, going no place special,  just driving for the enjoyment. Today however, gas cost a whole lot more and we travel to 'get somewhere', not just for the fun of it.

   The road I had selected was quite narrow and the brush and trees were now quite thick. I reached for my cell phone to call home to tell my wife I would be a bit longer than expected. She would ask why and I would have to tell her I was lost, an admission I did not want to make because I knew every road in these parts, or so I wanted everyone to believe. Good! No cell service anyhow.

   Often you reach a point and time on every journey when you ask...”Should I stop,  turn around or keep going?” I had no idea where I was but decided to keep going remembering and hoping that all roads do lead some place, or so I hoped.

   The sun was beginning to set and I was aware of several deer and yes, there was the faint outline of a moose off in the bog. Was that an eagle overhead? The fields of wild flowers by the water's edge were beautiful.

   I  decided to keep going. It was  too late to turn around and besides, the scenery was beautiful. Within several miles, I was back on a major road, saw signs to places I knew and felt relief to be back in familiar territory.

   My little detour had caused me to think, however. Sometimes, it's OK to take an unfamiliar turn and  slow down just a bit. Now if there had only been a Dunkin Donuts Coffee Shop!
    “I shall be telling this with a sigh somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I.... I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.”
   Thank you Robert Frost.

You too, could be the next 'American Picker'...

   One of my favorite shows on television is American Pickers. I don't watch it continuously nor am I addicted to it. I don't record it on my DVR, but I do watch it often, especially when I want to get caught up on what's hot in the world of 'picking and collecting' or when I need to do a reality check on prices and how much people may be willing to pay for “stuff.” Maybe not that much in Maine though. But at least the show does give me a general idea of what items may be worth and for me, the show is becoming more entertaining that watching professional sports these days. How many years will we talk about deflated footballs?

   It has been rumored that not too long ago the show spent some time in Maine, not that we would have many folks around that fill up their tool sheds, garages or attics with rusted out cars, old gasoline tanks, early metal signs, old toys and games or antique motorcycles. The list goes on.

   But after spending many Sunday mornings at local auctions, stopping along the roadway at a yard sale or on occasion, just poking around an empty old barn, I may be wrong. There are many who just put “stuff” away somewhere in hopes that in the future it may bring a big score in dollar value and someone will offer them lots of money. And it seems that there is very little that doesn't have some value to someone. Old tobacco tins are always very popular.

   A few years ago, tucked away in the woods in a rural Piscatiquis County town (northern Maine) among the trees were many old cars, trucks and school buses, dating back to the 1940's. During the late 40's and early 50's many cars were shipped north from Boston after the war and sold to the locals as cars and other vehicles were difficult to get in rural areas.     During the war much of the manufactured steel had been used to makes boats, tanks and weapons and cars were hard to get.

   Over the years though, many of the cars that were destined to live out their remaining days rusting away in the woods, were either restored or became props in Hollywood movies as directors learned of their existence tucked away in the Maine woods and directors were quite willing to buy and ship them to California and restore them to some degree their former elegance, although I am not sure a black 1938 Ford would be described as elegant.

   I was fortunate to be given an old sign from an early school bus which still hangs proudly in my home and is something that has more value to me as a school day memory and a gift than any amount of dollars someone might be willing to pay.

   In a recent episode of American Pickers, as Mike and Frank searched the contents of one of six outbuilding on an elderly man's property, the two became somewhat overwhelmed by the number of items that had been collected and saved. Not only was it like going back in history, but as Mike commented, it was “ like experiencing different parts of this man's life.” Not only did it reflect different points in his 'living'  but in many cases what he had saved and collected also showed who he was as a person, what he valued and what he treasured and insight into who he was..

   Deeper into the show it became obvious to the viewer, me that is, how difficult it was for him to give up many of his “treasures,” even if he was paid for the them.

   At the auction the other day, and from one who is a people watcher, my attention was drawn to a couple looking over the items on a table and by the way they were reacting, I could tell that some of the things up for sale this week had possibly come from family members, perhaps a mother or father, or maybe a grandparent who had passed away. As they looked through the box of old photographs, it was obvious they were having second thought about having them sold. Would someone really pay money to relive another family's life and history?

   I will never be an “American picker,” have my own television show or travel to the ends of the ends of the earth to buy a rusty 1931 Ford roadster. Maybe I should. It appears I could make a few bucks by purchasing old rusty bodies, mine not included. But, I admit that I do like to 'poke around' every once and a while an old attic or storage shed, maybe even at the local 'dump'. But with new “No Dump Picking Allowed” signs and all these shows on television now, people just are not throwing things away like the use to. 

                                                 

The year was 1951...I think!

   If my memory serves me correctly, it was September 1951. It was my first day of school, of kindergarten. I don't remember much about that day. In fact, I don't remember anything. It was a long time ago. I am not even sure I remember the name of the school, although I'll take a guess at Roseland Elementary School in Roseland, New Jersey.

   With that day, it was the beginning of 13 years of classes in grades K-12, then college, graduate school and even more graduate school. But over the years the nature and delivery of education has changed tremendously. OK. I'll say it. Today's classroom is not your grandfather's classroom any more.

   What I do remember of the early days was the playground, school lunches, and neatly arranged chairs and desks in five rows with seven chairs in each row, each classroom exactly the same. We all went to the boys room and girls room at the same time, even if we didn't have to go and if someone in class misbehaved, we all stayed inside at recess time.

   And then there was the little red-haired girl who  always sat in front of me in class. We always sat in alphabetical order. But that's a story for another day.

   In the early years if we had a question we raised our hand and, when called upon, we stood up to ask the teacher or were called up to the teacher's desk.

   Back in the day, there were black boards, white chalk and erasers that needed to be cleaned (clapped) almost daily. We always clapped them against the red brick wall of the school building, right near the front door, right next to the window of the principal's office.
   The black boards were washed each day and washing the black board for the teacher was either a reward for good behavior or a punishment for bad. (For the record, I did my share of washing! Your guess as to which reason.)  

   Above the black board, tacked to a strip of bulletin board, were green cards with the letters of the alphabet. In K-3, they were block letters and after grade three, they were the cursive letters of the alphabet for handwriting lessons.

   It was the No 2 yellow pencils for writing, plain 'off white' paper for math and blue lined composition paper for writing. On occasion we used pens instead of pencils and I am still trying to remember if this was a time when the ball point pen was taking the place of a 'fountain pen'. But, we were never allowed to use a pen for math. What would happen if you made a mistake? Ink didn't erase!

   Let's see now...there were the robins, the blue jays, and the turtles, the poor turtles and poor Joey P, who was a turtle most of his years in school. These were often the names given to the reading groups.

   Remember reading groups? While one group gathered in a circle for reading instruction, the rest of the class was busy at their desks, supposedly doing either map work or doing extra math problems. Nothing to do? How about practicing the alphabet, both the capital and lower case letters. I mean, how many times can you write the alphabet? The teacher called it guided practice time. We called it 'busy' work.

   The worst time of the week... music class. Once a week, the music teacher would come into the classroom and attempt to 'teach' us to sing. She would take out her pitch pipe, pick a note and start to sing ”The itsy-bitsy spider. Every day, year after year.  In grade 1 or 2 it was probably OK.  But in the 6^th grade.....please.

   We called her the old maid. She wore the same gray sweater with big leather button and always had the smell of mothballs Along with the sweater she wore the same blue plaid skirt. On her feet she wore thick stockings and black shoes that laced up the front. When she walked around the room she often sounded like a small horse, the heels of her shoes hitting the wooden classroom floor. It was always the longest 25 minutes of the week and sometime a good time to get sent to the office to see the principal.

   The truth is, I must have found some comfort and pleasure in the classroom. After high school, I went on to college and, after spending a year or so in business administration classes and along with tutoring high school kids at several local high schools in some very rural sections of West Virginia in my free time, I decided to become a teacher and school counselor. Those of you who know me know that I spent the next 35+ years at various levels of public education before retiring.

   Those early years, both as a student - and I was not always the best student for sure - and as a beginning teacher, taught me the importance and value of a good education and what could be accomplished with just a little hard work

   Schools have changed a great deal since 1951. From the robins, blue jays and turtle reading groups, to trading in the yellow No 2 pencil for today's latest computers or tablets, today's schools offer opportunities we never dreamed 65 years ago. But one thing has remained the same...the importance of studying hard and getting the best education possible.

   And about that music teacher that drove many of us crazy in class for 25 minutes each week, perhaps she was attempting to teach us more about life than how to sing back then. The good news? We at least all started the song on the same note. 

Silencing a long standing tradition....

   An article in the local paper this past week caught my attention. At first it caused me to chuckle a bit. Why would people get so upset because the town manager decided to silence the town's fire horn, especially after receiving several noise complaints from town citizens. But what he may have failed to realize was it's long standing tradition within the community.

   North of Bangor, tucked away in the woods is the town of Millinocket, once a community with thriving paper mills, busy main streets lined with shops and businesses and championship high school athletic teams every so often.

   Since the early 1950 the fire horn has been an important part of everyday life in the Millinocket community, blasting twice each day, first at 8:00 announcing the start of school and then again to 9:00 pm, reminding folks of the town's 9:00 curfew. The curfew had been eliminated many years ago, but the practice of sounding the horn at 9:00 pm continued until.... August 18, 2015.

   In protest to the decision to silence the fire horn, community members have taken to their cars and at 9:00 pm drive up and down the main streets of the town, honking their car horns, in an attempt to keep alive a long standing community tradition. But there may be a bit more to this story.

   For many years the backbone of the Maine economy has been it's 'world known' pulp and paper industry. But in recent years the industry has fallen on hard times and many of the mills have either moved away or shut down. The mills in  Millinocket closed about two years ago creating financial and personal hardships on many families in the area. And as recently as yesterday, another mill in western Maine announced the layoff of over three hundred of its workforce. Another blow to the Maine economy. But is this a surprise?

   Even back in the mid to late 1980's, the paper companies began to send a message that the industry was changing. In the future it would be very difficult for young people to graduate from high school and transition into what were generally considered well paying jobs at the local mills. The jobs would not be there. And that warning has now proven to be a reality.

   But old traditions don't give up easily. The mills are gone, the jobs are no longer available. Young people are migrating to more populated areas in search of jobs and a new way of life. The once busy mill towns are now only a skeleton of what they were in the past. No smoke spews from the deteriorating smoke stacks.

   But the people in the area are working hard to create, develop, and establish a new future, with new traditions.

   But until such time, for those who remain in the area ...is there really anything wrong with continuing to sound the fire horn twice a day, just for a few seconds, keeping one small tradition as a reminder there are new and exciting things to come to the region?

   Perhaps even as early as 1964, who would have known that a folk singer by the name of Bob Dylan would have been able to see the future...

 

                                   " Come gather 'round people

                                    Wherever you roam  
                                    And admit that the waters  
                                    Around you have grown                                    
                                    And accept it that soon                                   
                                    You'll be drenched to the bone                                   
                                    If your time to you                                    
                                   Is worth savin'                                    
                                  Then you better start swimmin'                                    
                                  Or you'll sink like a stone                                    
                                  For the times they are a-changin'."

   Maybe Dylan was right. But please don't let this be the fire horn's last blast.