The Dance

From the day my mom and dad brought home our first hi-fi (I was maybe 5), I have loved music. Our music repertoire was limited – seems to me Stardust was a favorite as was a Jimmy Rodgers of Honeycomb fame. Once it was in the house, my brother and sister would get 45’s to play and as they got older our LP collection grew. Looking back from the perspective of 67 years I realize how the songs we played on our Hi-Fi, at Teen Canteen and on our radios became the soundtrack of our lives. The Beach Boys, The Beatles, PPM (Peter, Paul and Mary), Paul Simon, etc. were played over and over until we needed to stock up in needles!

One night, recently, Stephen Colbert was interviewing Paul Simon and mentioned the song Slip Sliding Away. The song came on the radio in their car in 1968, and it resonated with both mother and son for different reasons. Colbert mentioned how the song touched his heart and the memory of being in the car and his mother listening to that song. There was one particular verse that resonated with his mother and her life. Colbert, with great emotion, said he remembered how his 10-year-old self, realized he was privileged to be granted a rare glimpse into his mother’s reality, something not generally revealed to 10-year-olds. Simon said he would play it for him. He did not while the show was being taped, but I hope he did when it was over.

Scarborough Faire by Simon and Garfunkel will forever be a favorite of mine, we played the album endlessly the year before I moved to PA and I experienced a seismic shift in my life. It will forever represent the times when I was truly happy in high school; excited to start my junior year, looking forward to Friday night football, an exciting combination of academics, school friends, church activities and dating. Within three months I went from a full schedule of a typical high school junior to being a new kid in school who simply did not fit in, in any shape or form. It was as if my life in Hopkinton was in full color and my life in PA was in stark black and white. At night, I would sit on my front porch waiting for the time when their signal was powerful enough to be heard in south central PA, it felt like I was lurking just outside of my old life.

I loved reading about a musician/songwriter as they explained the back story about one of my favorite songs. I would read the back of the album or an insert as the technology progressed to CD’s and tapes. I was fascinated by their experiences and how the musical piece meshed with the lyrics, often written by someone else. One of the stories I loved was about Tony Arata, a country music songwriter. I had never heard of him before I watched a documentary on Garth Brooks. Arata wrote The Dance some fifteen years before Brooks would make it his signature sign off song to his concerts. Arata said that he wrote it for a guitar, but Brooks added that haunting piano notes that introduces the piece and are repeated at the end of the song. He said it took a sweet song and made it so powerful that it surpasses the label of country music.

From the talented mind/fingers of Tony Arata:

Looking back on the memory of
The dance we shared ‘neath the stars above
For a moment all the world was right
How could I have known that you’d ever say goodbye?

And now I’m glad I didn’t know
The way it all would end, the way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance I could have missed the pain, But I’d have had to miss the dance. 

Yes my life It’s better left to chance I could have missed the pain, But I ‘d have had to miss the dance.

Holding you, I held everything, for a moment wasn’t I a king. If I’d only known how the king would fall, maybe, hey who’s to say, you know, I might have changed it all.

But now I ‘m glad I didn’t know the way it all would end the way it all would go.

Our lives better left to chance, I could have missed the pain, but then I would have had to miss the dance.

Maybe it is because I have lived long enough now to know that some things will never come around again. That ship has sailed as they say. And yes, there is still pain and a bittersweet memory of a pain you would never want to miss.

Lessons of life.

A Blizzard, an Earthquake and a Solar Eclipse

This April Maine is going to have the hat trick of weather phenomenon: on Thursday we had a blizzard going at least for part of the storm, there was a fair amount of wind with the storm, resulting in down trees and sea foam that needed to be plowed. Twenty-four hours later there are still thousands without power, although this time, the luck of the draw meant that I could sit here after having a hot supper, hear the furnace running occasionally and the sump pump doing the same. It is not always like that; this time we were spared. This morning, I was up very early to see if Grace could get her car out to go to work (she could not), and suggested she check on the smaller of our two trucks and one was able to operate after a little shoveling. Usually, our snowplow man has it all cleaned up for us, but of course, his truck sprung a hydraulic leak just before he was coming to our house to finish opening the drive. Dave slept in, I waited for the dishwasher repairman who was coming sometime today to see if he could coax my dishwasher into washing without me getting down on the floor to fiddle with a plug which occasionally rewarded me with lights on the dishwasher.

About 10:30 I was getting ready for a video visit by a doctor from Medicare, Dave came down and asked me if I felt the house shudder. I had not, intent on getting my video link for the visit. Dave said it woke him up. Just as he said that NBC’s Lester Holt announced breaking news – a 4.3 earthquake in northern NJ felt from Mid-Maine to Maryland/DC. Earthquakes do not happen much around here but when they do there is not much to stop the waves of the shock from spreading unlike California with its mountain ranges. Wonder at that latest earthly delight lasted the rest of the day, until it turned its eye towards April 8th.

On April 8th Maine is in the swath of totality for the solar eclipse. Maine has been gearing up for this for months. Most hotel rooms, airb&b’s and guest rooms of many a resident have been booked for months. There are a few towns in the swath, but mostly is it the deep Maine woods. We see interview after interview about expected traffic jams, longer hours for restaurants and diners and of course, the warning on how to tell if your eclipse shades are the real thing and not a China knock off. You would think you do not need to warn people about it, but then they show pictures of eclipses in the past and there was President Trump shading his eyes and looking at the sun. I wonder if he will be somewhere along the path of totality in Texas or some warm spot. Will he use his “special” USA, flag embossed, version of the bible: with Lee Greenwood lyrics; the constitution; the pledge of allegiance; to shade his eyes to take in this eclipse?

Unwelcome politics aside, the folks who rely on winter sports and vacations to meet their bills have been sorely tried this winter. Known for our snows, ski slopes and miles of snowmobile trails, we have had hardly any snow all winter. The ice is out of our lakes, and we are firmly into mud season. A word to the wise, dear visitors, 14 inches of snow makes a muddy road so much worse. Pack a couple extra outfits and shoes in case you end up stuck in a slippery mess in your search to find just the right open space to view the eclipse.

Meanwhile, let us enjoy nature’s gifts, for all too soon we will be back to unsavory politics and arguing over red flag laws, and Lee Greenwood bibles.

We have a sailor in our future!

Today is one of those days. Two days ago it was 60 degrees- I was not ready to break out the shorts, but I definitely had a t-shirt on with no sweatshirt to wear over it. Today we have 12 of the 18 inches that we are due, and the world is silent except for the ssshhh of an occasional car, the flutter of wings as the birds circle the feeders like planes over Logan Airport. Occassionally, we hear the growl of the snow plow who comes to clear off the end of our road with extra care because it is well known that the curve and the angle of the roadway, makes it extremely easy to flip a car over if one is not careful. The Smiths have gone out there with jackets and raincoats, sneaker and boots, most often manning flashlights to figure out 1) where the wreck is, down the embankment, in our neighbors yard, and 2) whether or not the passengers have survived a brush with death. Cars do not look good when they have flipped over 2 or 10 times. Anyway Spring is supposed to make her appearance on Sunday again, in time for the solar eclipse. The line of totality is not far from our home, I want to adventure a little further north but my spouse thinks Maine will have one of its few traffic jams on the 8th. Did I tell you he hates traffic jams? In truth we can see it from home, the totality figure will be about 98% or so, but there is a place called Quills’ Hill up near Rangeley that is absolutely in the middle of nowhere. I think Dave is afraid it will be jammed packed with people and it will ruin it’s magic for us.

Like the snow that falls in Spring, I am late writing about our handsome grandson Ethan. For most of his life Ethan has lived around the corner from us. He stayed with us on occasion. got off the bus every day at our driveway while he Mom worked, and we were the emergency contact, something we were happy to do. We had our first introduction to IEP’s an education plan designed to help the student grow and become a happy, productive, gangly kid. I cried the first time the teacher wanted him to be referred to the Emotional Support classes. She took my hand and showed me an art project Ethan had did that was so advanced that they had never seen anything like it. He did an entry for a local car dealership and the judges were sure he had adult help doing his project. We were so happy when Covid came to call that Ethan was now mainstreamed into school and needed next to no assistance with classes or conflicts.

He moved to Arizona when he was in the middle of his junior year, a Covid year at that. Essentially, he lived in AZ nearly 10 months before he could go to school and meet classmates., not helpful to a kid like Ethan. Remote learning was not this boy’s friend, it was not that the learning was hard, it was hard to maintain and attitude toward excelling, and it meant that he, just like thousands of other kids, missed out on school activities, which build social development. The traditional hall marks and rights-of-passage for the Class of ’23 were lost, never to be retrieved. The day after graduation Ethan boarded a plane with his grandparents to return to Maine, where he attempted to renew friendships, just at a time when kids were leaving to break out on their own. We offered Ethan a chance to live with us and figure out adulting rules. It was not easy at first: we had some house rules he did not like (if you are going to be out really late or all night, send Grammy a text or a phone message) and please pick up your stuff so the room does not smell like a gym locker.

We moved on to more difficult challenges: community college, training programs or full-time work. Instead he worked part-time jobs, just enough to pay his car insurance and to buy old beaters which he enjoyed messing with. After 15 months we were still struggling with the idea of full-time work, keeping a room free of pizza boxes and remembering to bring home a gallon of milk once and a while. On the other hand he did bring some exotic food from the store- and while I did not eat any, he would look up recipes to try. He also learned sushi left for three or four days in the fridge will end up in the trash.

He told us all along he was interested in going into the service. He gathered important papers and told us he was visiting the local Navy recruiter. I think he had talked to an Army and AirForce recruiter as well, but Ethan has unbelievably flat feet. The Navy, sent him to an orthopedist and was not dismayed at the information. One day in October he walked through the house and said, “see you in 15 weeks, I have a ride to the recruiting office”. He had just gotten a loan to buy a used car and had a cat he adopted and we had no idea if he made arrangements for either one while he was gone. I did make him stop and wait while I collected a hug. I just could not let him go without that hug. For the next few weeks, we held our breath to see how he was adjusting. We got one letter with about 8 sentences: standard fare for someone in basic training. This was not my first rodeo. We tried to make peace with his cat something Moby would not consider until Ethan was clearly gone.

We heard little at first, but then the call came: Ethan was in the VA hospital in Chicago in intensive care. He had thrown himself into the physical fitness program for recruits and then on the third day he could not get up. His arm and back muscles, hurt and he could not even pick up a shoe. He went to sick bay, then urgent care where they do blood tests and such. When he first went in, he felt like the Corpsman did not believe him, instead thinking perhaps he was dogging it. They asked for a urine sample and took blood samples. His urine sample was close to black, and the blood showed he had an exceedingly high amount of protein in his blood-thousands higher (42K) than was required for admission (5K). The Corpsman returned and told Ethan to sit in a chair, and not to move, they were waiting for an ambulance. His body, having no carbs, sugars or fat to call upon began to eat up his muscles. I had never heard of rhabdomyolysis, but I quickly became informed about it and followed his treatment at the VA. Constant IVs would flush out his system and restore electrolytes and stop dehydration. They did an electrocardiogram to make sure the heart muscles were ok, given the history of HCM in our family. The constant IVs cleaned out his kidneys which improved greatly with good food, and he began to produce normal colored urine again. Turned out he was at the greatest risk of ruining his kidneys. A master chief came to visit him and asked him not once, but twice, if he wanted to stay in the Navy. He answered he intended to get better and return to be with other recruits and mastering basic training skills. By the fourth or fifth day he said he looked like the Michelin man, and they backed down on the IVs a bit and was sent back to light duty for a few days and then he rotated into a new “ship” and continued his basic training. Another episode of rhabdo and he would be sent home with a medical discharge.

We kept track from a distance and through his mom we learned he was progressing and now had a tentative date for graduation: January 3rd. We began to get little notes, he said he was surprised by how much he missed us (LOL) but his throat would thicken when he asked about Moby. We had a great celebration when we found he passed his last test and traded in his recruit hat for a handsome Navy ball cap. He was now a sailor! We prepared to travel to the Great Lakes New Years Day to see him graduate. He had received his blue uniform with the white dixie cup hat.

On graduation day his mother, step-father, grandmother and grandfather watch as he marched into a big hanger type building with ten or twelve other classes or “ships”. We were so proud of him and there was not a dry eye in the place. It was a stellar moment when we first laid our eyes on this tall, handsome, skinny sailor! At that moment we were just taking it all in and wondering how this tall handsome young man was once a sturdy little bulldozer of a toddler. I thought of all the IEP meetings we sat through, the social and emotional challenges that seem to be so hard on him in his elementary years, his stubborn willfulness, and yet here he is, a sailor, making his way through a challenging world, ready to take on learning a new trade, and traveling to new places half a world away on behalf of his country.

The only sad moment was much later when he was on liberty. He asked us about Moby and we told him that just before we left, Moby was suddenly very ill, I took him to a cat hospital where he went through a number of tests, and they sent me home with a guarded prognosis and medication. 32 hours later it was clear Moby wanted to go outside so he could die as cats often do. I took him back to the ER again, where it was determined that his body was shutting down and he needed to be euthanized to end his suffering. It was hard on Ethan, but I brought him an ink copy of his little paw, and a nice note from the ER staff expressing their condolences.

Ethan is currently still in Great Lakes, attending his A school where he will be taught how to be a gas turbine engine mechanic. He expects to be shipped out someplace overseas., most likely across the Pacific. He is planning on spending a little time with his Mom in AZ and with us and his sister in Maine, taking care of a little business before he gets shipped out. I hope he will go with me to church one Sunday in his uniform, as well as to his uncle Allan’s in Union ME. Allan, now 80, was in the Navy till mid-60’s when he was retired due to a catastrophic head wound.

Our family has long been a military minded group. Ethan’s two great grandfathers served in the Army and Navy in WW2, his grandfather and two great uncles served in the Army and the Coast Guard in either Vietnam or Vietnam era and his mother, father and uncle served in the Army, and his other uncle served in the Air Force during desert storm era. I most look forward to the after dinner talk when they get telling stories about boot camp. It never fails to get them laughing to the point of tears, and now Ethan will be able to join in with stories of his own.

As for me, I am still wondering how that little bulldozer of a toddler grew up to be such a chick magnet! I will do my best to send him off to the Pacific with no tears.

Warning Sounds Abound

With all the political and legal drama that surrounds our former President, the news cycle can get pretty tough to slog through. It boggles my mind that he is indicted, and yet he has more political life than The Eveready Bunny. So, while there should be warning sounds all over the place, I found that in the midst of all this drama, I had a little of my own. I do not know about you but I am hearing warning sounds constantly these days. Mostly, it is that the Republican party has no qualms over presenting a candidate with so many charges and convictions in his past and present dealings. And then there is Maralago/bathroom confidential files debacle, the Georgia call seeking to “find” enough votes for him to carry him to victory in 2020, and Trump’s involvement in the January 6th.

Amidst the political dramas, we have had shootings. This past October Maine joined the “Lets get ticked off at the world and randomly shoot and kill regular men, women and children enjoying a night out at a bowling alley and a pub”. In this case it does not appear it was targeting any particular person, unless you count that four of the dead were deaf and one other person is a well-known deaf interpreter. After a shut down through three counties, the next day they found the person: surprise, surprise, he had mental health problems and a family who did not require him to give up his guns.

One day in December I hear a warning tone as I walked through the old summer kitchen in our house. It sounded like a European police car with the two-tone claxon sound. We had put up new smoke detectors, and I knew from a previous outage that the detector, when triggered would say “evacuate, evacuate”. Perhaps one of the others had a different warning sound, I reasoned. As I walked around the downstairs checking rooms, I realized it really was just as strong in the main house as the back wing. It was then it dawned on me that my pacemaker/defibrillator can make sounds when something is wrong. It beeps exactly like a smoke detector if I am near a magnet, so maybe this new warning sound was coming from my chest. I would like to blame my senior moment on taking a long time to thaw out, so I was slow. In truth I have had a warning sign before (do not get your Disney band too close to the pacemaker or you get a warning beep that it will go off). This two-toned claxon was different.

I called the office of my cardiologist who is located in Scarborough 80 miles south of home. When I described the problem, I was immediately referred to the device department and it was determined that something, either the pacemaker or defibrillator had a issue. Since it was late afternoon, I went to the ER in Augusta and a technician from Scarborough drove up to meet me. It was determined that the defibrillator had a faulty lead, even though mine really was not that old. Immediately we set up some pre-op appointments and I was given a list of things to do prior to having it replaced. Once I had a telehealth appointment with the cardiac surgeon, it took a bit for the surgeon and the electrophysiologist/cardiologist to synchronize their schedules, settling for the last week of February. A insurance issue popped up which required the professionals (cardiologists) and the insurance gate keepers to have a meeting to have the insurance approve not only the lasar removal and the insertion of new one, but also a new generator which is part of the lead- you can’t put have of one in there and expect it to work. At the last minute, my surgeon got notice from his Naval Reserve unit that he was being deployed to Korea for a time. Fortunately, he was able to get an opening a couple days earlier and the fix was set.

It is amazing how they can manage to get into the chest through a fairly small incision and retrieve the fractured lead, which thankfully decided to come out easily, and then the other cardiologist inserted the new one, the generator and I think new batteries. I had to stay for an overnight and be monitored to make sure all was pacing properly. It is not really pretty looking- unless you like black and blue and yellow at every intravenous port (3) and the chest cut. In time it will return to its normal color, although I think it shows under my skin a little more this time. Think Appalachian trail rather than the Rocky Mountains. I will have a few more appointments, a new monitor in my house, and another echocardiogram with Definity to see how serious my gradient is., but nothing to get worked up about.

Now that that crisis is over, my “If I die first” notebook, needs updating so the kids can help Dave figure out how to run the house and pay the bills, along with needed usernames and passwords. One of the next big steps will be to make Josh our power of attorney for financial and medical should we need it. I am trying to get a catalog of some of the items we have collected over the years, some are family pieces, and the kids need to know that whether or not they are interested in them. I am providing a list of auctioneers we have found to be trustworthy. Still when it gets to that point, we will either be gone or unable to participate in the dissolution. We have made some significant steps by distributing/selling a few of our old cars. They need maintenance and neither of us are up to it anymore, plus we want to make sure every grandchild either gets a car or cash. It seems as the 70’s are flying by and we need to step into the next phase. Our plan is to stay in our house for as long as we are able, but sometimes it simply isn’t possible.

While many in our country are sounding the alarm about just how we follow the constitution and the laws of our land moderate and progressive Democrats, and moderate Republicans alike are sounding a claxon as we gear up for the November election. I hope we collectively join together and clearly state again, the values that we hold dear.

Last Times…..

I was intrigued by a question that was posted on a FB group chat for people who camp/travel in their 70’s. I joined because 1) I am over 70 and 2) my husband and I traded our camper and bought a larger one , so that we might have the opportunity to go on longer trip. The topics are often the kind of questions you might expect: what route might be better or not; what out-of-the way delight did you find that would recommend to others; and certainly, is the attraction really handicapped accessible? One might suppose that there is sufficient handicap accessibility only to find that they are not. My first time at Disney I had no trouble but then again I was 30 something years old. A few years ago I went for a short week with my youngest grandchild, only to discover there were hardly any places to sit down and driving one of those little carts in that crowd with no experience was not an option. Add the extreme heat and humidity, there is simply not enough Tylenol or Advil make it even passably comfortable, even with adult beverages. When I began a travel journal there will be a “last” column and Disney World will be #1.

That leads me into a topic another member posed. He wanted to know if, as an older group of folks, did we think about different lasts in our lives? It was fascinating to see how people responded. The author simply said he was discovering in his 70’s that each year there are some life challenges that will affect what we do, and where we will go in our travel adventures? Are there activities that we have relegated to the past, some perhaps we are not willing to give up, are some we have easily retired and some that we were forced to by circumstance and how would we know when was the right time? And an even bigger question is what to do if it is time for you to stop whatever and your spouse/partner is not at that place yet?

The answers were surprising. First, was the individual who thought just asking the philosophical question and invite discussion meant the author and all of us who were intrigued by this post were ready to sell all our units and retire to the porch of an old folk’s home. I think he was expecting something different, and he had no intention of giving up anything. If I posted the question and got that response, I would have encouraged him to scroll on or find/start a group that was more to his liking.

I am surprised at all the people in this category who are full time travelers. They criss cross the country, stop and see children/grandchildren and old friends, travel up north in the summer and south in the winter. They have sold the house and gotten rid of their “stuff” and are permanently mobile. Some are widows and widowers, and sometimes for us all are questions about safety. The little lock on the inside of our camper is not at all sufficient for any reasonable expectation of safety. Some conceal carry, and there are sites where gun registry/laws are spelled out for travelers. And we all avoid places that are sketchy. It is amazing that after going through the loss of one’s spouse, there are people who have decided to learn how to drive a 35′ unit and how to back one up. so that they can continue this pursuit. So clearly for some, death of a loved one is not a reason to say it is time to quit.

Other people chimed in to say that some of the questions they ask are because they are buying their last RV and they want opinions from others about their purchase or intended purchase. Dave and I have a pick-up truck that pulls our travel trailer and for us, this is the last one we will buy. The price of this truck exceeded the price of our first and second house together, so I can state that, with some confidence that neither one of us wants to buy another truck no matter how much we love this one.

The reason we decided at our age to move up to a larger and yes, more expensive camper is because I need something that I can manage given some mobility issues. The knees do not work as well as they used to and when your knees cause problems your hips and back follow along. ” The knee bone is connected to the thigh bone….”

I can say that we have discussed what we would do should one or both of us I have a have a major health problem. Dave is our driver and while if I had to, in order to get home I could drive the unit, I would be on pins and needles till I turned into our driveway. Driving 35 feet of truck and camper is not for the spatially challenged. When we were younger, I drove a 25-foot class A, but that was then and this is now, besides Class A are easier to back up if need be. We decided should that happen, we would find a lovely campground near buy and become spring, summer, fall residents. Should our health problems become so bad that camping is not an option anymore then we sell it for whatever we get for it.

The one “last” I cannot wrap my head around is not having a home to return to after gadding about the country. I love where we live, Maine captured our hearts 55 years ago and we, feel blessed that we have this wonderful place to live. We have worked to get it refurbished to our level of contentment, remain safe to live in for a number of years yet. I am certain the person who owns this house next will probably not like my redesigned kitchen, with its soapstone counters and farmhouse sink that are set for a woman who is 5’9″. A friend asked us about installing the walk-in showers with handicap bars. She thought that the next people buying the house might have small children. Babies can use the farmhouse sink (grin) and frankly they can and will want to remodel it to suit their own taste or they won’t buy it. What no longer works for us is a tub that neither of us can fit into and get out of comfortably and safely.

I am certain that as the years go by Dave and I will find more “lasts”. I am certain that in our travels we will find places we visit that we will not really want to revisit, and they will go into our camping journal as a “last “. Still, it is important to go to new places and meet new people, those friends we have not met yet. We love to see how others in this magnificent country live. In the meantime, we will keep asking directions, keep as mobile as possible, enjoy our months of planning trips and the journey as much as the arrival.

Anchors Aweigh

For the last 14 months, Dave and I have shared our home with our two oldest grandchildren. They lived with us temporarily when they were very small, and their mom was doing an internship at mid-coast hospital. It is very different to share your home with “almost adult” grandchildren. Last year, we flew to Sierra Vista, AZ to see our first grandson graduate from high school. Our daughter and son-in-law moved to AZ just before Thanksgiving in his junior year. He was not able to say goodbye to classmates, teachers or anyone else (even his grandparents) for fear he would bring covid home and expose us. We felt that we were in our 70’s and could make a decision about who we wanted to see, but our daughter did not view it as we did. finished the junior year of high school remotely. Ethan finally was able to meet his fellow graduates in his senior year.

It was no surprise that Ethan wanted to return to Maine to his native Maine. We saw our job as moving him down the road of adulting, hoping to avoid serious pitfalls yet let him make his own mistakes so he could learn from them. We discovered this boy loves cars of all types and all conditions. I think in 14 months he bought, traded or other obtained 5 cars and one motorcycle. He had to relearn the art of driving on snow and black ice. It was not easy, and he had one car, and we have one pick up that were sacrificed to that learning curve. The important thing was that cars can be fixed, but there are consequences, most importantly he survived. He explored going to school for automotive training. He also hoped that he and some friends would get together and rent an apartment. Apartment living since covid has changed dramatically. Most apartments cost more to rent than a regular mortgage payment., and even if you can afford it, landlords are not anxious to rent to four teenage boys, with questionable credit and pets. Quite a few of his friends realized this given that most of his friends still lived with their parents.

Ethan got a job at a supermarket, but full-time jobs are not available- supermarkets hire kids that will work 35 hours a week, and that provided Ethan with some walking around cash, some car buying cash and the flexibility of staying up half the night playing games on his PlayStation with his friends (some in Maine and some in Arizona). This was not setting well with us, as he was supposed to pay a little something to rent and there was always a car problem that needed cash. We had several discussions about finding full time work (there was a wealth of opportunities), and so he would talk about going to school and doing just enough to pacify us. He also paid a visit to a recruiter!

When he was in AZ he told me he could not join because he had seriously flat feet (and he is not kidding!) However, he met with a Navy recruiter who sent to an orthopedist, who passed him and felt the flatness of his feet were not sufficient to prevent service. He had a couple other issues to straighten out and after doing all of his required medical appointments, Ethan followed in the footsteps of his great-grandfathers, his grandfather, his mother, his father, and his uncles and who served honorably during WW2, Vietnam, and Operation Enduring Freedom.

So one fall afternoon he showed up ready to go to Great Lakes Training Center for basic training and most likely his AIT, his mother got one call to say he was there and give her his address. We all knew the drill and did not expect to hear from him for a while. The third day of his training, Ethan was sent to sick bay or whatever it is called in the Navy. They sent him on and the next doctor did blood work and had him pee in a cup. His bloodwork made the nurse or corpsman look askance at Ethan, told him to sit in a chair and not to do anything while they waited for an ambulance to take him to James Lovell Hospital, where he was diagnosed with rhabdomyolysis. Apparently doing PT used up all the sugar in his blood, and all the fat (of which he had 1% body fat) and then it started to break down the muscles to keep his body functioning. He kidneys were compromised as one might expect when one’s urine sample is brownish black. Turns out that when the muscles tear apart, (which explained his pain) heightened serum creatine kinase levels are present in the blood. When reading about this we saw all kinds of warning signs regarding the seriousness of this medical condition. A level of 5,000 is standard for hospitalization. Ethan’s SCK level was 42,000. While hospitalized he was visited by a Senior Chief, he was asked if he wanted to remain in the Navy. Ethan said yes. He has been discharged and was recycled to the group behind him. We are hoping that the hospital discharged him with recommendations of both diet, hydration and safe exercise levels.

We are holding our breath hoping he does not get a medical discharge. We know that the structure with do him a world of good and his head seems to be in a good place. Now if he could just put on a little weight, it would allow his family to breathe again.

Meanwhile we keep writing letters and I often find myself humming the tune of Eternal Father, Strong to Save. while we wait to see how it is going.

Famous Last Words

Often when Dave and I are sitting watching the news and weather, whenever there are weather headlines- rarely is it about Maine. We joke that Maine is usually behind the weatherperson’s head, when they are talking about east coast weather. And that often, when the headlines say there will be an impact on New England, they often only mean New York and Boston. Until this year, when wildfires were mentioned, it was always California and Arizona, and aided by high temperatures and the Santa Ana winds. This year, though the East coast has had a smoky tinge to the sky we have been affected by the wildfires from our Canadian neighbors in Quebec and the Eastern Townships.

In the past we have had some hurricanes that have caused some loss of life and destruction of homes and businesses. In 1635, long before hurricanes were named or recorded for posterity, a doozy came up the coast of Maine. The reason I know about it is that there is a book about the event and a ship called the Angel Gabriel II. Another reason this particular hurricane is important, at least to me, is the fact that on August 17th, the Angel Gabriel II landed in Pemaquid, which was a small settlement of English and Native Americans on what we call the midcoast of Maine. Pemaquid was then part of the Northern District under the prevue of Massachusetts, since Maine would not become a state until 1820. The other reason I know a little bit about this is because my 9th great grandfather came to New England on the Angel Gabriel II and was one of the people who refused to get back on the ship to ride out the storm. I can only imagine that after months on the ship they wanted to be on firm soil, and they remained in the settlement with some kind folks who took them in. Those who remained on board the ship perished as the ship was sunk somewhere off the coast, and the debris field went for a mile or two, be report. My g-grandfather William Furber was an immigrant with little to his name (since most of his limited possessions were indeed spread out over the rocky coast. And it was a good thing for our family that the folks in the settlement took them in and most likely supported them through the winter, since they arrived in late August, and few had the ability or the funds to move elsewhere as fall rapidly approached. Another bit of trivia, another ship mate George Cogswell was with William that night. His toolbox is the museum at the site of the Pemaquid settlement. He is the 9th great grandfather of my sister-in-law, Gail. When I asked my mom, who was an accomplished genealogist, what were the chances that our family would have two relatives who were smart enough to get off that fated ship? She answered that if you happen to have family who settled in New England so long ago, the chances are much higher than you think. Apparently, given the relatively low numbers of immigrants living in MA and its northern district, now Maine, the marriage pool was somewhat limited.

For most Mainers the hurricanes that stay in people memories were in the twentieth century. 1938 brought an unnamed hurricane which spread its destruction from Connecticut to Maine and beyond. The first church I served in Maine was a lovely old building with a short square steeple thanks to 1938 hurricane. It originally had a tall spire with a clock in it and a bell of course. Facing the Kennebec River, it was noted that many ships looked for that steeple to mark their progress up the river. The steeple was badly damaged and so the spire part was removed, and the square support remained. I can imagine that congregations thereafter would hope to restore the steeple but did not ever have the funds to do so. They did, however, keep the weathervane and the clock works until the early 2000’s. The weathervane went into someone’s barn for storage and was subsequently sold by the survivors of the estate. It is now in a private collection worth a million dollars or so. The clock was sold in 2002 and it is in a private collection now and while it is worth more than the church got for it ($500.00) it does not hold a candle to the weathervane for rarity and value.

There has been a steady progression for tropical storms which have reached us after they lost hurricane status. The very southern part of Maine is most vulnerable due to the number of homes built on beaches down there. It is amazing how they all lament at the damage but then rebuild in the exact same spot. Makes you want to shake your head at the logic of it all. Our rocky coast further north stands up to the hurricane forces which contribute to the damage and death toll. However, Hurricane Bill hit Acadia National Park’s Thunder Hole in 2009 and swept twelve people into the water. A seven-year-old girl did not survive. The National Park is more cautious these days and closes down the park and the park road to prevent another occurrence. Still, huge waves attract people who are awed by their power, and some continue to make some questionable decisions that put themselves at risk. Last month we were scheduled to camp at Schoodic point on the sight of a former naval base that was once the hub of naval intelligence training. We canceled for a reason that was not weather related, but it turned out that all of the campgrounds of Acadia were being evacuated anyway.

I suspect more unusual happenings weather-wise will be in order as the summers get hotter, and the winters resemble the wintery mix winters more common to Pennsylvania. For our first decade here, we became acquainted with a snowfall totals of 60 to 100 inches or more. It was not unusual for there to be three feet of snow remaining in our back yard when we left for our annual mud season camping trip to warmer states. Spring was fully in bloom in Virgina, Tennessee, Kentucky, Alabama, and the panhandle of Fl, and by the time we made it back to Maine, spring came with us.

I suspect as the global warming continues to happen; Maine will find itself more than the unnamed territory behind the head of the meteorologist. And as for the rest of us Mainers, we keep hoping for a real winter. We might even get mentioned in the national news report. One thing for certain, Maine people are tough and when given a challenge like the ’98 ice storm of the century, they take care of each other: delivering firewood and food by snowmobile; churches and fire stations open as warming centers; and bright orange or yellow extension cords decorate the snow drifts, to provide a little electricity to run the furnace or fridge, until power is restored. It restores your faith in humanity.

Till then we will enjoy being a place where the weather is pretty benign.

Be safe, be well.

Becoming the crazy cat lady

Last year when my old lab Zane’s legs failed at age 12, it was clear that it was the time to decide if his quality of life was ok. It clearly was not, and it was the time to ease his suffering. Zane started life in Texas with four legs. Sometime around three months or so he was struck by a car and had his leg broken. Apparently, his owner was either not around or did not want or could not afford the expense of veterinary bills. He was rescued and a wonderful organization called Labs4Rescue decided to help him by getting him the medical care he needed. His story was told on Houston Humane Society show on the Animal Planet. His leg was broken and twisted backwards. The doctors tried to reset it, but apparently there was either nerve damage or perhaps an infection occurred which resulted in the amputation of his rear leg at the hip. By the time he came to live with us, he had been rehabilitated and was a healthy and affectionate one year old Lab. He was “my best boy” something I have whispered in the ear of all my male dogs, of course the females were my “best girls”. It was a regular routine nearly every night, I would take fifteen minutes to pat, scratch and gaze into their eyes and tell them they were THE BEST. He was my sidekick on many a ride- although he was not big on rides, he was big on going to a drive-up window which meant he would get a treat. He would hang his big head out the window with his tongue hanging out and none of the bank tellers or Dunkin Donut clerks could resist his handsome face. Zane’s remaining three legs eventually failed long before he lost his zest for living, and it was so hard to make the call to the vet’s office, even though I knew it was what a loving owner would do. On our last day together, we hit every bank drive-up where I had an account and every Dunkin Donut (if you live in New England, you know how many there are!) and Zane collected a bunch of bones and little donuts.

After Zane’s death I decided maybe I was done with having a dog in the house. My mobility has suffered in the last few years and keeping up with a young or middle-aged dog would be difficult, especially since all chores related to dogs are in my wheelhouse. I lasted about 6 months and then started looking for an old dog who needed a home. When I was an active pastor, I was aware of many of my elderly parishioners, who needed to go into an assisted living or nursing home, but their dogs were not included in the move. So, I wondered if I could offer a home for an elderly dog whose owner could not take him or her with them. I stumbled upon the non-profit Old Dogs New Digs. On their website was a boxer/terrier mix who had experience a difficult time in the shelter. Apparently, he was either not picked or returned to the shelter as he had severe allergies and frankly, he smelled: his name was Chevy.

Chevy would not win any beauty contests. It was clear he was a man’s dog as his little stub tail would wag ferociously every time a man drove into our yard or walked into our house. He also had a great love affair with white vehicles. I can only assume his first beloved owner, (a guy) drove a white car or truck because Chevy wanted to get in any vehicle that fit the description. It broke my heart to see how he would run to every white car looking for someone and howl as they pulled away. I was in charge of Chevy’s extended pill regimen. This did not endear me to him, and I feared he and I would never bond. I discovered that hand feeding a dog helps create and cement the bond. The way to this guy’s heart was through his stomach, although he loved me, he made it clear he was looking still for the man who drove the white car. We got Chevy just before Christmas- he had little hair and terrible skin, and he itched and itched, and he smelled of a yeast infection. Our vet set forth a plan of shots and pills and special medications for his ears and skin when they would get yeasty. We became frequent visitors to the vet’s office, and as long as no one touched his feet he would be pretty compliant. If the vet tried to trim his long nails he would literally scream as only a boxer can. The vet techs would calm the next patients in the waiting, that no one was killing him he just did not like his toes touched.

Chevy showed slow and steady improvement and even grew back some of his tawny missing hair. His chest and neck suffered the worst of his allergies, and it was June before we saw the beginning tiny white hairs across his chest. We discovered he needed to be covered up with a sheet or a blanket in order to sleep soundly. He did not bark but was a great whiner- a boxer trait so I am told. He still got yeast infections and required timely shots to calm is overactive allergy response. If you have ever known a person with a severe case of psoriasis or eczema – Chev would be a kindred soul. He was also either a little deaf or stubborn or both so we had to guard against him running off when my back was turned. As the months passed, we celebrated every little gain for him, be it social or physical. Then, in July his immune system began its failure. The dreaded smell of a yeast infection returned with a vengeance, and his continued licking of his feet and any part of his body he could reach began the downward descent to being hairless again, with his skin covered with crusty lesions. He was a champion sleeper, all that itching and licking wore him out. One night he began to whine in his sleep at the foot of my bed. I thought “oh, no. I wanted him to stay with us longer.” He was due for shots and while it was a vet tech visit, the vet stopped in and told me he did not know what to do for him next. It was clear he was losing the battle with his immune system- he was on the maximum dosage for his weight. Then we talked about Chevy’s quality of life, and I told him about the soft whining in the dark. He hesitated to give me vaccinations because of his situation. Of course, I knew that the vet could not tell me to euthanize him, but he was telling that without really saying the words. We did vaccinate him and he went home with me. A few days later he stopped eating. I made the decision to call the vet first thing on Monday, and then tempted him with all the food he could not eat. He chowed down and looked at me as if to say, “where have you been hiding this stuff all this time!”

I called the vet and the next morning brought Chev to be put down. The vet tried to comfort me by telling me I gave him unconditional love for the last part of his life and that my decision to euthanize him was, he believed the right one in the face of Chev’s physical condition the severity of his discomfort would only get worse. As always it broke my heart to hold him, calm him if I could, and say goodbye. I am not very good at goodbyes.

I have had one dog or another (sometimes two or three) most of my life. It is time for me to become the crazy cat lady.

Brown Tailed Moth and other Adventures

We love living in Maine, as we celebrate being here 20 years, we find we have lost our desire to travel far from home, of course, age probably has something to do with that. No matter where we live, whether it an acre or ten acres, it is never complete unless Dave plants a few trees. He has planted several fir trees, a few maples, and a couple of oaks. One year I bought him a black walnut tree, but it did not survive its first winter, despite the fact it was supposedly hardened to ensure its survival. Many of the trees Dave planted are now between 20-35 feet tall. One of the trees was planted next to our car barn. This year Dave noticed the top of the tree was looking ragged, upon close inspection we found the culprit: a brown tail moth caterpillar. Where there is one, their are thousands as we discovered.

Last year was the first that Dave or I remember there being a warning about brown tailed moths. The moths lay their eggs in your tree and when they hatch in the spring, the little caterpillars eat the leaves off your lovely oak trees faster than you can shake a stick. It was evident that we had a significant infestation of BTM’s. It was serendipitous that our landscape company was coming to our house to reset our old granite steps to the dooryard entrance, in order to make them more stable, so the klutz in the family (me) would not fall. It takes heavy machinery to lift and position large pieces of granite. The young man operating the backhoe, I swear, could pick up an envelope with his scoop if he had to. While we watched, fascinated by his precision, we figured Nick, the owner, would be a good person to ask about pest control. He recommended Dave, the tree guy, and gave us his number. Shortly thereafter we were scampering up and down our granite steps, and marveling how it was so much easier to get into the house now that the last piece of granite was just a few inches from the threshold rather than the old 10″inch last step, which was so hard on the knees, especially when you are burdened down with groceries!

Just before they left, I called the tree guy Nick suggested and learned he was coming to Sidney to spray Nick’s yard for ticks and so he would stop and check out our tree. Turns out Dave the tree guy was affordable and quick. He looked at the tree one day and by 7:30 AM the next it was sprayed. We now had an oak free of BTM and about a thousand of dead ones on the ground and in the back of our pickup truck which was parked nearby. Note to self: move the truck the next time!

Most of the warnings we saw on TV were not about saving the trees, but about a gruesome rash that appears when you are near BTM’s, dead or alive. The little caterpillars have microscopic hairs which fly on the wind and are not visible to the eye, BUT, when they touch you skin you are covered with a very itchy, very nasty, very painful rash. Yup, you guessed it Dave got it first as he mows the lawn underneath the oak tree. So far I was untouched by the invisible hairs, but not for long. I got the bright idea to wash out the hundreds of moths in our truck bed with the hose- thinking that the water would prevent the offending hairs from being air borne. Well, I can tell you that that theory does not hold water. By the next day both arms and my back were just covered in bright red spots which itched like the devil. If I did not know better, I would have thought I had measles! Apparently, the rash can last for weeks on end. I have the remedy that is available online and at the VA: a mixture of witch hazel, cortisone cream, and a lidocaine creme (i.e Aspercreme ) mixed well and sprayed on the rash. Tea Tree oil apparently works for some people as well, the tea tree oil came in a roll-on form which was better in my opinion because you could target the bites specifically. I have tried them all and can tell you that they may help, sort of, but all it takes is some summer weather and perspiration and the rash is raging again! Little buggers.

The reason we spent so much time near the offending tree was because it is right next to our car barn (a 5-stall horse barn with the doors in each stall removed). It has been home to a number of antique cars during our 20 years living here in Maine. Trying to reduce the “stuff” we have we gifted two of these cars to grandsons.

Ethan who received the 50 Plymouth (think Doc in the movie “Cars”) decided to sell his. Ever since he moved back to Maine to live with us, Ethan lives and breathes cars. Cars on marketplace, cars on craig’s list, it matters not. He gets one and keeps for a few weeks and then he buys another. I have to give him credit – he works on them outside during some really cold weather months in Maine – like January, February and March. During the worst of it we tried to make space for him in the carriage house which is attached to our home- but it was a tight fit and being unheated was still darn cold. Despite his love of cars, new and old, the ’50 Plymouth was not his cup of tea, now that he is approaching 20. A Mitsubishi 3000GT is more to his liking. Now he has a space in the car barn all to himself.

AZ-2022 Senior year

Our other grandson, L.J. was gifted the ‘ 41 Plymouth, and he and his father were going to bring it down to PA where they currently lived. When we offered to bring it down, this spring, we heard the hesitancy in our son’s voice and knew that the plan to bring it down was creating a problem: most likely due to lack of storage, cash, and like Ethan, the interest to fix it up. We suggested that if that was the case we could sell it and gift some money to our grandson. Like the ’50 Plymouth the market is not as strong now as it was 8 years ago when we purchased them, so we knew we would have to sell it at a loss, but such is life. It rolled out of the yard last weekend, on a rollback, headed to its new home and we now have another space for a modern car. Come winter Grace and Ethan can get their cars in the shelter which is so very helpful. Grace is not forgotten in the great car adventure. She has long had her eye on the ’13 Buick which was once her great grandpa’s car. It is the first car she remembers riding in to go to car shows and even once, a very cold Easter morning ride to church. Just so no grandchild is left out Will is in line for the ’12 Buick, another one of his great grandfather’s cars. It has already gone to Josh’s home to be stored. We hope to get it repaired this summer or fall so we can take it out on a ice cream run!

Some people have a bucket list of places to go and things to do and I confess, I have my own, although it is not all that long. What is long is my other to-do list which involves cleaning out attics and rooms to have less stuff for our kids (primarily Josh) to deal with, when we are gone and less for me to clean around. My goal is to have the attics (yes plural) we have, cleaned out. For that to happen we need to not only get rid of furniture but also boxes of stuff we haven’t seen since we moved here. Since cleaning seems to be primarily my job and since I really, really, dislike it, I am more motivated to getting rid of stuff than Dave is.

I could sell stuff on Ebay or on Facebook marketplace, and I have had some success using those two opportunities to rehome some of our stuff, I really wish the practice of having an estate sale would come back into fashion. It would be the perfect way to get rid of all the stuff” we have accumulated and inherited over the years. In the meantime, I will take advantage of the 19- and 21-year-olds that are currently living with their grandparents and get some young legs to carry stuff down so I can get rid of it.

There is always something that needs to be done!

Winter’s Last Gasp

Every night on the news there is some story about wild weather, and the millions of people who might be in harm’s way due to tornadoes, wild fires, heavy rains/mud slides, hurricanes and now with winter: snow storms. Admittedly, in that long list, snowstorms usually do not rise to the level of the rest of mother nature’s wrath. Here in Maine we have not had too much snow in the last couple of years. Perhaps in the highest mountains and the “crown of Maine” but mid- Maine and below has been woefully short on snow in both 2020 and 2021. 2022 was also very light in snow- just a single storm not long before Christmas and even that was far lighter than it was predicted. It was not even as cold as it should be, evidenced by the number of people who drove cars, truck, and four wheelers out onto ice only to discover that it was not strong enough to bear the weight. Unfortunately, every year snowmobilers and four wheelers fall through the thin ice, sometimes resulting in the death of the riders.

The end of January of 2023 is determined to make up for the lack of snow this year, single handedly. In one week we had three storms, the first was a bit of a wintry mix, the bane of all real Mainers who detest the combination of rain/sleet and snow. We would prefer to leave that mess to our neighbors considerably south of us- like Pennsylvania. Yesterday was lovely, the weatherman predicted 8-10 inches of the white stuff and amazingly enough we got 14 inches! You could almost hear all the snowmobilers out revving up their machines to take advantage of nature’s bounty.

Dave and I watched our 19-year-old grandson who was bored and antsy all day, wanting to “go somewhere”. My suggestion that he wait till today when the roads were sufficiently, plowed to make travel reasonable , fell on deaf ears. He went out in sneakers and proceeded to try to shovel out one of his two cars, only to discover it was not going to work. Then I remembered being 18 and wanting to be anyplace other than where I was and going off in a snowstorm only to wreck my car (again) on a hidden culvert on the side of the road. I thought I was being safe, turning around to go home and instead, under the snow was a cement culvert barrier which did significant damage to my car. Tonight, we are scheduled to get another storm, and another 8-10 inches, hopefully my grandson will get something he needs for his car, and it will give him something to work on to keep busy during the snow. As winter releases its grasp, Ethan has experienced a couple of fender benders as he learns to drive in Maine after two winters in Arizona. One was his car and it was on ice which is very hard to judge at night, the other was our truck, (I had to remind myself to remember when I was 18), but no one was seriously injured and truck bumpers can be repaired and replaced, beloved grandsons and their friends, cannot.

February brought two other opportunities for snowy weeks with storms coming every other day. None of them were huge despite the predictions, most were less than 8 inches, but they were enough to cause some folks inconvenience and to spur us all to make sure we had enough essentials in our cupboards. Our plow guy, who has not had a lot of work prior to January is now looking forward to spring. This last storm he got his 3/4 ton truck stuck in our driveway and required a come-along attached to the trailer hitch on our truck to get him out of the snowbank. We have an old one-story horse barn that we opened on one side and removed the stall doors to use for our vehicles. It provides coverage on 3 sides which is a big help especially during storms and periods of very cold and windy weather. It has a metal roof on it, and within two days of the storm the accumulated snow on the roof slides off, leaving a pile of snow to either shovel out or drive over. If the storm is 8 inches or less, we are fine, but if it is a foot or two, it means calling the plow guy to come back and clear it away for us.

Meanwhile I keep the bird feeders full and watch the cardinals come in from the neighboring fields to feed. It is amazing how brilliant the cardinals appear on snowy days. One morning I had eight male cardinals either on the feeder or in the forsythia bush! Of course we have a full compliment of chickadees, tufted titmice, woodpeckers, finches, and mourning doves. Every afternoon we have four male turkeys who visit and scratch up the ground underneath the feeders, and one of the turkeys is tall enough to reach one of my open bowls of sunflower seeds if he stretches his neck as far as he can.

I have seen other exotic birds but not at my feeders. An hour away, a Stellers sea eagle has taken up residence for a couple of months for the second year in a row. Given that this eagle is native to coastal northeastern Asia (think Russia), he creates quite a stir in Maine. Of course, with all the bizarre conspiracy theories that abound in this country, I am sure someone thinks he is a spy eagle. He is quite a large eagle and attracts a lot of attention. He usually moves on in March or April, so I am sure he will be off on his adventure soon. It would be interesting to track his flights.

Steller Sea Eagle

As we watch the rest of the country deal with incredible snows in CA and Nevada, and floods and tornados, and ice storms in places where ice storms should not be, I am mindful that we, those of us that live in a very northern place, have not been given anything we can’t handle, nor has it cost lives and left people homeless. As I go out the door, late in the afternoon I can feel the sun’s warmth hitting our granite step and our entry door and know that before long spring will be here. Other signs of spring are everywhere. Yesterday, when the snow melted away from the base of the house, our daffodils and crocus are peaking out of the ground. Each day new life shows itself, even if covered with a thin coat of snow. Every year the Maine wardens warn us birders that we might need to bring in our feeder lest we attract bears – but so far the large black momma bears and their babies are staying in the woods. Porcupines, raccoons and skunks seem to be more visible this time of the year. The foxes and their kits play in the field and new life abounds.

Be well.