Well, another good moment for Maine Democrats yesterday. Graham Platner won the Democrat Maine State Primary. He will face off against Susan Collins, the useless GOP hack who is always"concerned", but stills votes with her party 96 % of the time. Susan is a Party First Gal like most of the Republican lawmakers.
The National GOP leaders have poured millions of dollars into the Senate campaign here trying to defeat Graham Platner. They are nervous. Graham is a different kind of candidate. Even with the specious rumors and claims of salacious behavior on his part, The state Democrats threw their support behind Graham.
Graham Platner is a 4 Tour Army Vet turned Oyster Farmer who won yesterday's primary with a resounding 74% of the vote. Our term limited governor, Jamet Mills was 2nd with around 19%.
Maine voters showed they will not be swayed by Right Wing assholes from away who think they know us. From my experience as a long time citizen of Maine, Mainers treasure real, in your face dialogs, not bullshit or lies. Graham is one of those Mainers. He is blunt. in your face; yet willing to admit his mistakes in his past.
This morning Graham was interviewed on MS-Now's, "Morning Joe". Yes, Morning Joe tends to favor anyone but the Trump and the GOP, but they do operate with an eye to being fair. The interview was not like the sickening boot licking interviews of the Right's incompetent leadership on Fox Spews or OAN. Joe and Mika did not step around the baggage from Graham's past. Platner was frank and open I thought. He is carrying on without shame. ......... He continues to be forthright and open as any of us would be when baring our inner selves. I took from the interview, that Graham held his own and answered their questions candidly and did not do the tap dance of denials or shifting blame. Here is the complete interview :
Graham has refused to allow anyone to take him out with Bullshit. He is not a political machine robot. I like that. .......... I just took a moment and tossed $100 bucks into Graham Platner's campaign.
Gotta run .........................................
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Just because I have to go, I picked a song I have thought about recently. It's a favorite. Here is "Mr Funnyface", by Sprung Monkey. Enjoy.
So it's the last day of April, 2026. Shit happened this month; mostly forgettable shit. Pretty much the same shit as March, only warmer.There were some moments when some really good shit went down. But then many more when bad shit unfolded. It was mostly the same ole shit we have been dealing with since Trumplestiltskin took over the town.
I expect May to be another month of the same ole shit, but you never know. That's what is geat about the future; never knowing what is possible. Not like the past when you rerun it, it is usually the same old shit; only you were younger when it happened.
What happened in April that rocked our world? Or was the world also stuck with the same old shit? The 3 week war / not war with Iran has now stretched into months and is quickly becoming the same old shit. That the WIngers continue their quest to fuck America has certainly become the same old shit. The Wingers will continue to excuse their fuck ups as mistakes created by the Democrats. And that certainly qualifies as really tired same ole shit.
I entered another year of life. Now into my 75th year, I hope to make it to 76. Neither of my parents made 76. Not sure why I want to live longer than my mom and dad, but there it is, any reason to keep the Grim Reaper at bay is a good one I guess.
The same ole shit is not much inspiration for a post to close April out. Maybe some odd, possibly newsworthy people, events, crimes might liven up this same ole shit I get lost in.
Gertie, a chicken residing in Portland, Maine was officially named by Guiness, the "Oldest chicken in the World". The average chicken lives three to four years. Gertie is 15 years old. In recognition of her importance in chicken lore, she has been moved into the house and now resides in a crate in the living room. According to Frank, her owner, she is partial to Jazz, Charlie Parker in particular.
Maine Turnpike Authority is placing speed detection cameras on the Maine Turnpike. If someone is speeding, a picture is snapped; a nearby Smoky is notified and they go after the speeder.
Geez, other than a few April Fools jokes, April in Maine was pretty much the same ole shit.
Keep it 'tween the ditches .............................
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Just because I like this tune. No other reason; it's as simple as that. Just because. Here is The Big Push, with their cover of "Englishman in New York". Sting made the song famous in an album from the 1980s. Enjoy.
I love living in Maine. I knew I wanted to live here from that first visit to Aunt Helle and Uncle Herb's "Half Way Up" farm in Acton. It was 1960 I think; uh, maybe 1959. ....... Anyway the wonders my 7 or 8 year old eyes witnessed were life altering.
I was raised in various suburban and city locations to that point in my short life. Over the 5 or 6 weeks I was at "Half Way Up", I hiked in the woods with my uncle; fished and swam in the local lakes and ponds. We saw beavers, otters, deer, a couple of moose frolicking in the swampy end of Horn Pond and I picked up my first Snapping turtle. It was a small one, but hey, I was small then too.
On top of Abbott Mountain in Shapleigh, the next town over, I marveled at what I imagined looked like unbroken wilderness as far as my eyes could see. The landscape has changed some since 1960. Now the woodlands are less unbroken, but the view is still awesome.
Unconnected events in my life conspired to make sure I ended up in Maine. My Uncle Herb developed liver cancer and died in late summer of 1965. My father went to Maine to help his sister deal with the last days and straighten out any affairs after his passing. He decided he liked Maine.
"Hey, it's been at least two years since we moved the last time....... We're moving to Maine now."
I was still in High School in Maryland. Suddenly, I was basically on my own from that point forward. I stayed in Maryland, graduated 3 years later and started college at Towson State, just north of Baltimore. From there, I began working and living in the Baltimore area.
Late summer of 1980, my father died laughing in the kitchen of the house I live in now. His passing set off the final set of events that would usher me out of the selfish and often childish lifestyle I was living and into the adult mode I would live with from then on.
I married my girlfriend, we re-settled in this house and proceeded to live the life we have enjoyed these past 44 years. And I am so very grateful. I cannot imagine what our lives would have been like had we stayed in Maryland. Moving to the state whose unofficial motto is "Life in the Slow Lane" was the second smartest thing I ever did. The smartest was asking my old girlfriend and current spouse to share her life with me. 44 years of wedded, well, calling it bliss might be too strong a word. We have made it this far despite my loose dog ways from time to time testing the bonds we had built.
Ya''ll take care now ...........................
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The image of the "Wiggly Bridge" at the top of the post is an image I poached from a short reel I found on Facebook. I manipulated it into what you see there. Eric Storm, the originator, has posted quite a few reels and images. I only just noticed his fine work recently.
The Wiggly Bridge was constructed in the 1930's and supposedly named by a Girl Scout troop. It crosses tidal mud flats found in abundance on the seashore in and around York.
Some claim it is the smallest suspension bridge in the world at only 75 feet long. Regardless, it is one of the thousands and thousands of beautiful spots in Maine.
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Since this post is all Maine from beginning to end, I figured I should highlight the "Rustic Overtones", a band that has been entertaining Mainers for going on 32 years now. I first saw them in the late 1990s with my wife and daughter. Since then, I have seen them at least 8 or 9 times. I even had the pleasure of catching their concert that included the PortlandSymphony Orchestra. Talented musicians who play music for the love of it.
Here is "Gas on Skin" - maybe my favorite song of theirs. Enjoy.
When I decided I wanted to trip again, I was only considering the fun I had when I ate LSD as a teen and young man. I did remember the deep insights and awesome conclusions I made about Life. But those deeper thoughts always ran second behind the trails, breathing walls, words that appeared on sidewalks, and body rushes that often were better than sex.
Psychedelics were an all sensory experience that for a time, removed me from the reality I was trying to escape. More often than not, when I came down from a trip, the world did make a little more sense, I credit my use of hallucinogens for turning me from an angry kid into a kid who was more centered; not prefect, but better able to handle the inevitable disappointment that came with living a life. Hallucinogens taught me how to chill.
My renewed interest is not so much for the physical experience but for the spiritual experience. I want an experience that will once again help me find some footing in a world I am positive is losing control of itself.
I don't know if circling back to the world of psychedelics will bring me some peace. I do know Religion won't do it. That avenue closed for me over 50 years ago. But what really has gotten me fired up is the whole culture that has grown up around Fungi and its relationship to the Human experience.
The 4th Annual Maine Fungi Fest is happening at the end of this month. It is only an hour away. I figured I would go and check it out. It is a 3 day event. I assume Saturday will be the big day. I am not going so I can get high. I want information and connections to help me learn more about fungi, the trippin kind and the other kinds, edible and medicinal. What I have learned so far is nothing but a tease. I want some real interactions with folks who have some expertise, not just loose dog experiences like I have had so far.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ....................................
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I am breaking one of my own hard line rules here. The song, "Journey to the Center of the Mind" was a 1968 song that rocked every teen club from coast to coast. The Amboy Dukes were only around for a brief time. It is understandable then I had no clue who was in it or what one of them might turn into 50 years later. Seems Ted Nugent was their lead guitarist. I vowed many years ago before Ted became the Winger Asshole he is today, that I would never own or play any of his music.
Contrary to popular belief about rock and roll stars of the 1970's, most of them did not actively go after underage girls. Sure it happened, but no where to the degree the myth has created. When I was driving rock and roll bands around though, Ted Nugent had very bad rep for bedding underage girls. When he released, "Jail Bait", in 1981 though, that was when I was done with him. He was a mediocre talent with the reputation for being a class A asshole.
Anyway, rules are meant to be broken I guess. Offering up this tune is proof.
When I sold my bike shop and retired 7 years ago, I didn't fuck around. No half ass effort laced with regret and angst. I retired and have not looked back since. Of course my decision was made easier given the health issues that began to rear their ugly heads back then. They didn't cripple me I guess. They did however, fuck with my mind; never mind the Hell that broke loose in my body. .......
But this is not a "Woe is Me" post. No it isn't. It's a celebration of sorts.
When I retired I decided I was pretty much done traveling. The current events of the planet these last 5 years just reinforced that feeling. The world beyond my local yokel borders was off its rocker, gone berserk; was now just a wasteland of hate and discontent.
I looked inward. I looked in my pockets. I gazed over the lakes and a few times to the horizon at the far end of the visible ocean but a short drive from my home. Why the Fuck would I want to go anywhere?
I used to go everywhere. Been there and done that. Don't need it now. Definitely don't need to see how deep a hole my country has dug for itself. These are my "Golden Years". There's plenty of Gold right here for me to discover. Yesterday, I discovered some of that gold I just knew was hanging out nearby or just down the road.
Because retirement freed up space in my brain to fill back up again, I filled it with moments remembering the misdeeds and the fewer better deeds from my past. My psychedelic years were definitely go-to moments for me to attempt to remember. I tripped so much back in the day, specific memories come back as snippets and glances of those times; often combining the highlights of several trips into one memory. One trip ran into the next one which continued into the next one, etc, etc, etcetera. Yeah, Snake's and my purchase of 500 hits of Purple Micro-Dot acid turned into many lost moments that summer; that summer of 1970.
Dredging up ancient LSD trips got me to thinking. Caused me to consider again, how much I would love to trip again. I always liked it, even when the circumstances were not ideal.
I wondered though. Had I acquired too much caution as I became an old man to take the chance again? ...... uhm, NAH... Any concern I might have entertained was lost as soon as it crossed my mind.
I determined that some way, some how, I would score some psychedelics; LSD, Peyote, Shrooms; didn't matter. I wanted to see trails again. I wanted to see the ground ripple, walls breath, watch my face melt in any nearby mirror, but most of all, find the words in my mind scrawled on sidewalks and church doors. Being retired seemed the perfect time to revisit this long past part of my life before I became too careful.
Instead of trying to chase down a local connect for what I wanted, I began to intermittently look into growing mushrooms in the basement or wherever it was that mushrooms would grow. Online, there are too many choices for information, grow kits, spore connections and guides on how to find it in the wild. Like everything online, the results of a google search can boggle the mind.
Based on the writings of a world renowned Psilocybe expert, Alan Rockefeller, I began to closely inspect the mushrooms I came upon in the local woods and in my own yard. Two years ago, we had our septic tank and leach field replaced. The fill used to cover it was less than I expected. There were noticeable chunks of asphalt, gravel, and wood chips mixed together, passing for the finish layer. Two years later, the grass seeds the septic guy tossed around are still trying to take hold.
Last year while I was out with Maggie, I noticed some mushrooms growing out of that shitty top layer he called topsoil. The mushrooms looked familiar. I had seen them before. Were they Psilocybin mushrooms? Or were they trouble if they found their way into my gulliwots? I thought about it overnight. In the morning I was determined to try one or two. When I went to the spot, some critter had beaten me to it. I was pissed, but I thought maybe that critter saved me a trip to the local clinic........
Yesterday. intermittent showers and 40 degree temps made outside an unpleasant experience. But I went out anyway because I had remembered those mushrooms from last year. .... and now I had images to compare with.
At the same spot, there was a new batch popping up through the chips/ gravel mix. They looked like they were trippin Shrooms for sure. They did not look fully grown yet, their caps hadn't spread open into a proper mushroom look yet.
From the information I had gathered, I also had some good clues on whether this mushroom was not just a Psilocybin mushroom, but most important, was it safe to eat.
If it smells earthy like fresh mushrooms at the store smell, well, that's a good sign.
If the gills are white - not necessarily a good sign.
Then there was the taste test, a very scientific way created on Tik Tok I think. The idea was to let your mouth decide whether a mushroom was okay to ingest. I am sure other more knowledgeable Mycologists than some clown on Tik Tok might shake the heads, but since I can be clownish on occasion, the taste test method seemed logical as long as the tester understood the possibility of consequences they might not like.
If you got sick within the first 2 hours, that was better than getting sick after 6 hours.
Okay. Now I was armed with all the information to make a half assed and sketchy decision. Did I concern myself with the odds? No. Did I worry about not waking up tomorrow. No. I picked 2 small Shrooms, ate them fresh and waited.
I figured 2 small Shrooms would not kill me ; maybe make me sick. Regardless, I instantly relied on the old rule of dropping acid Snake and I came up with. Never regret eating Hallucinogens. If it's in your belly, it's too late to regret. Go with the flow, chill, enjoy the ride wherever it might take you. This philosophy certainly helped me to handle jail, several ER visits, being chased by rednecks through the woods, and an afternoon "sitting up" at a funeral home with Snake's very dead Great Grandmother. She talked to me the whole time. Snake asked me who I was talking to. When I told him his Great Grandmother, he busted up laughing, then I busted up laughing...we become so unruly and loud, we were escorted outside to calm down. To be fair we were originally told we would not have Dead G Grandma duty, but things changed when the scheduled sitter blew off the assignment
Staying on topic now .......
I definitely felt the effects of the small dose. I felt music more than I heard it. The letters on the keyboard squirmed some and when I felt my face, it felt awesome. No headaches, no cramps, just a couple of hours of a low dosing Psilocybin.
My primary concern after I came down was will I wake up in the morning? Or even go to sleep tonight. Nothing like taking a foolish risk to find out how important living is. I can't say I was feeling fearful, anxious or uptight. Sometimes in order to feel alive, one has to threaten one's existence, even if it ends up an empty threat.
It appears I came through in decent condition. And now I have a small crop of Psilocybin mushrooms to collect, dry and hold onto for that moment I feel I need to "Trip the Light Fantastic".
Keep it 'tween the Ditches .........................
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One of my favorite tunes to listen to while tripping back in my younger days was "The End", by the Doors. If I was getting hyper or antsy, this song always calmed me down.
Just what I needed; another political group page inviting my participation in their Trump hate-fest. I actually considered not joining as preaching to a choir of Trump haters is not necessarily a good thing when I am trying to scale back my blood pressure and angst over the absolute cluster fuck that America has become under the wings of Trump and the Right. ................
Well, I have to be who I am. I am a political junkie. I was was raised in a dyed in the wool Black Republican family who insisted that not paying attention to the government was almost treasonous. And even though I turned my back on the Right many, many years ago, I can't help thinking my family was right about paying attention to government. After all, not paying attention by too many dumasses has created what we have today; a totally dysfunctional government being run by a madman and and a gutless stupid group of sycophants.
This new Face Book group, "My political Voice" is a Libtard haven where the choir seems only interested in venting their anger and disappointment over where the country is today. I am not faulting them as , I am also still in full shock mode and not even close to a complete venting. I assume I will only stop when either Trump and the GOP implode completely or I become ashes to be scattered over Blue Job Preserve at some date yet to be determined.
A question meme popped up with a picture of some of the big dogs of the Democratic party. The question pasted at the top of the group photo was "Who's our best hope for 2028?"
My knee jerk reaction was, "What the ...?" This is too soon. The Licking Wounds phase is not over yet. But after some consideration, maybe five months of wringing our hands and our own versions of the "woe is me" performances is long enough; maybe too long.
This meme was not whining over what was already done, but a meme that is looking forward. Looking forward is what we need to do. Making plans to undermine the testicular vice grip the GOP has on our country's balls is more important than pissing and moaning about how unfair, stupid and evil the mean people on the Right are. Accept that they are evil and have no interest other than power. Funnel our anger into defeating them. This meme is a start.
Instead of picking one of the choices, my comment on which pol would be my choice went:
"Depends on whether the Democrats want to win or just make a statement like they did this last election. Certainly any of the above choices would be better than anyone the Right puts up. But who really has a chance to be elected when morons are making the call? Hope doesn't win elections, but fear and loathing seems to work like a charm."
But if I had to pick a potential candidate for President, I would pick my governor, Janet Mills. She is as hard nosed a pol as has ever come down the pike. She has already crossed swords with the Orange Shit Gibbon. She still stands tall and won't back down. Plain spoken and smart, our country would be in good hands with her at the helm.
As much as I would love to see her in the White House, sadly, she is 77 years old. It is time for a younger candidate. It is time for a candidate who can play the game the same as the Right. No holds barred and in their face. Winning the White House means winning over the idiots, as it seems they are in control now.
So, if I had to choose one of the above pols to run, I would have to by-pass my favorites, Pete, Corey, Kamala, and Beto and go with the blandest looking white man on the page, probably Gov. Newsom. But no matter who the Left picks, you can bank on my support. Anyone but a Republican. And that is so sad. I didn't used to think that way.
Later ...................................
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I wish I had discovered this tune before the election. I didn't, so better late than not at all will have to do. This is, I assume, a homegrown video using the music of Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody". The lyrics, they came up with themselves. Everyone can carry a tune. That is not so in my family.
Please retroactively enjoy, "Bohemian Trumpsody", by the Marsh Family.
For me to write the best I can, I have to treat writing like exercise. More writing usually brings with it better writing fitness. The longer I go without writing, the more barco-lounger lazy I become. Then when the mood finally reappears, it is often like pulling teeth to get back into any groove at all. So this post is more for the exercise than any particular point I might have had in mind when I sat down. A point may happen, but it will be an accident.
The one rule I have for this post is "No Politics". ............. Yeah right. That might be an impossible dream.
Speaking of some dreams being impossible. How about that Kamala? ........... I knew I shouldn't have set any rules, especially regarding politics. I decided I might as well break the stupid rule early and be done with it.
Now that that is out of the way, I can get on with the exercise.
Went to an excellent restaurant today with my wife, daughter and her man, Mr. Man. The Village Tavern in West Kennebunk is located in the old Cummings Market which has since moved to a new location 200 yards away into a modern day set up more suited to Suburbia, anywhere else other than West Kennebunk, Maine. But the Cummings folks are happy as pigs in shit. Besides the great operation they had as just a mom and pop store, now they have more than few gas pumps and they sit just a wheel turn off the Kennebunk exit on the Maine Turnpike. They are printing more money than ever now.
We were warned to get in line at the Village Tavern early before they opened at 4:00 PM. We were there by quarter to four and lined up maybe 20 diners back from the front of the line. Because we we were early enough, we scored the much desired seating on the long front porch outside. The day was beautiful and the breeze made it perfect.
I always have fun when I spend time with my wife, my kid and her man. They are hands down my favorite people in my life at the moment. Smart, funny, and a liberal sense of humor. We always have a good laugh at least once every time we hook up. I don't even mind when it is at my expense, which it often is.
The menu was not huge. It was not small. It had something for most everyone, even the kids. The prices were not cheap, but we expected that. I have no problem paying the freight at a good restaurant. And let's just say, the Village Tavern turned out to be better than the hype. Just their sides were awesome, never mind the Entrees. A gastronomical pleasure I have not had in a long time. All of us were more than impressed. The service was excellent and even though there was a line outside, we never felt pressure to get up and leave.
A great feed with great company. Life was as good as it gets at the Village Tavern today.
Sunday
Well, it's closing in on noon this beautiful Sunday. 75' F and only 55% humidity. In other words, I need to get outside and do shit. Too nice a day to spend indoors.
I have a hard cover for my pick up bed. It has been taking serious room in my already over stuffed garage for over 6 months now. It is time I stopped walking around it and install the damn thing. Besides, two days ago, I spent an hour scrubbing down the inside of the bed with installing the hard cover in mind. In the meantime, please enjoy the two Yip-Yips of Sesame fame. My daughter found time to crochet them for me and my wife. Their story is they are from Mars and they hate computers and generally tech of any kind. They might be onto to something.
Wherever you are this gorgeous Sunday, please enjoy yourself .....................
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As nice as it is today means only one tune will do. Here is "Day dream" by the Lovin Spoonful from back before the dinosaurs in 1966. Enjoy. I advise a loud setting, but you may do as you like, I guess.
While I was sipping coffee the other morning, a hawk landed on the telephone lines in front of my house. It was a sizable bird which made me think it might have been a Cooper's Hawk, a very common bird of prey hereabouts. I tried to take a picture of it with my smart phone. As I was fumbling with the phone to position it for the snap shot, the hawk cocked its head sideways and looked straight down into the bushes lining Sam Page Road.
The hawk did not move. It kept staring straight down into the bushes.
If I had turned away or blinked I might have missed it. The hawk dropped into the bushes and all Hell broke loose. Branches moved every which way. A bird I decided was a Catbird, appeared from across the road and disappeared into the bush. More chaos and even more frantic branch movement.
The Catbird reappeared and flew one way. The Cooper's hawk reappeared and flew another. The hawk had something dark with feathers in its beak. I assumed it was the Catbird's mate, as it seemed too large to be a chick.
Ten - fifteen seconds of chaos and suddenly Sam Page Road returned to the tranquility of a perfect summer morning in Maine. I went back to sipping my coffee.
As I finished my coffee, I realized something odd about the violent encounter in my dooryard. Over the years, I have seen more than a few birds of prey flying with their prey. I once saw a Red Tailed hawk with a wriggling snake in its talons fly not ten feet over me when I was on a bike ride in Arundel. I have never seen a hawk, eagle, Fish hawk (Osprey) or falcon carry any prey in their mouth. I thought it was odd. When I sat down to write about it, I looked it up and although rare, they sometimes do carry prey, especially smaller prey in their beaks.
This planet we live on is still a wondrous and mysterious place. And though we are doing our best to pave, build, and terraform it into a dead planet, Nature continues to do what it does unabated with the creatures and plants that are still struggling to survive.
Keep it 'tween the ditches .................................
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I only considered one song. It's a Pop tune from my teen years in the mid nineteen sixties. I was more into Blues and Bluegrass back then. This song was one of the few Pop tunes I really liked. How could anyone not get a spirit lift listening to this on a beautiful morning? Here are The Rascals with their 1968 hit, "Beautiful Morning".
On our walk over to Mary's Woods yesterday, Maggie took me out at the knees. I am sure she meant no harm. Just playing. Problem is, it hurt like Hell. She hit me at full speed on my right knee and drove it backwards. As I went down I remembered thinking this was going to take awhile to heal.
It is now the next day and I was right. The knee is stiff and swollen and complains with every step. I try to limit the discomfort of being 72 by first, not falling down and second, not taking any kind of hit on my knees, ankles or hips. Yesterday's tumble it seems has created unhappiness in all three joints.
Just fuckin great.
This morning I was determined to not cave to the aches and pains I woke up with. Maggie and I headed across the road and I gimped and limped my way through a 45 minute walk. I didn't cover much ground in those 45 minutes, but Maggie sure did. She came home happy. I came home.
While we were traipsing around Mary's Preserve, I decided to check on the small cluster of Rattlesnake orchids that have existed 70 feet off the trail for over 50 years. I was concerned as the last snowstorm turned southern Maine into a FEMA site. Acton specifically, was close to, if not right on top of Ground Zero. Lots of branches down. Lots of trees uprooted. The deadfalls were everywhere.
Because these little orchids are hard to find, especially in the Spring and early summer, it took me a few minutes to locate them. Their site had been spared any major disturbance and I was happy to see the Rattlesnake patch doing well. There may even have been some expansion.
There are several kinds of Rattlesnake Orchids. The patches I find in the woods around here are specifically named "Downy rattlesnake-plantain". They exist in odd spaces and blend in so well, they seem to be invisible; that is, until the end of summer when they might produce flowers. I have only seen this patch produce flowers a few times. Another bunch further into the pucker on private property is larger and I always find flowers there when I check in August.
Downy rattlesnake-plantains are found throughout the USA and southern Canada. Maine recommends leaving them alone as they are not common and very rarely are they successfully transplanted. Their nutritional needs are specific and don't exist many places.
So there you have it; another successful post by MRMacrum that does not mention the orange shit gibbon or the total clusterfuck that makes up current events today. I hope to continue my boycott of all things MAGA. Each day I do, I can feel a little more sanity creeping back into my soul.
Later Gators .................................
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I definitely created a monster when I decided to add a musical number to each post. Some days it is easy; the post points to a tune or a tune points to a post and finding a song is the easiest part of of creating the post. Other days like today, I am floundering hard. ........ What song works here?
It took awhile before I had an epiphany. A song I have always liked came to mind. Not only did it fit my mindset, It gave me the title for the post. Please enjoy "Wildflowers" by Tom Petty.
This morning while I walked with Maggie across the road in Mary's Woods, another Rite of Spring slammed me hard as I approached the lower section of the preserve. I walked right into my first seasonal cloud of black flies. And yes, this years crew is as numb as all the others who have passed in my lifetime. It only took a second or two for three of the dumb little bastids to get caught behind my glasses. Frantic and with no where to go they beat themselves silly before I was able to remove my glasses and set them free.
Spring has finally set up shop as it always does. I don't know why the cycle surprises me each year. I always seem a little taken aback when confronted with the first onslaught of Black Flies.
Unlike mosquitoes, I cannot ignore black flies. Their stupidity and anarchist ways make them the ultimate pest. I might be able and do ignore their bites, I cannot escape their stupidity. Flying into my ears, mouth, nose, and becoming trapped behind my glasses drive me crazy. Thankfully their season is brief.
I look forward to all of Nature's annual traditions, including black flies. They are an irritating comfort to me even as I cuss and fume when they find their ways into parts of my body usually left undisturbed. They remind me that the Cycle of Life will always carry on with or without my permission.
Can't wait now for Deer Fly season.
Keep it tween the Ditches .........................................
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I found a black fly song by Randy Spencer. It has a catchy title, "Black Flies" and was written while Randy was in Grand Lake Stream, Maine back in 1980.
"I will never believe Donald Trump even if his tongue is notarized"
That was one of the responses from a potential juror during questioning in the Donald's latest court fiasco in New York City.
I did not really appreciate just how much pain and suffering sitting through hours of people denigrating him to his face would be. Here's a man who, for most of his life, if not all of it, has surrounded himself with fawning lickspittles and paid flunkies. For him to have to endure many hours per day for many weeks without being able to even open his mouth in protest is maybe the sweetest and most perfect punishment for an arrogant narcist like Trump. Seems like any result, guilty or not guilty, may not really matter. The damage to his ego will have been profound and fitting. Sitting through a six week trial without any, not even the slightest control of anything that goes on in the courtroom, well, for the orange shit gibbon, it will be like six weeks in a Guantanamo cell in Cuba.
I freakin love it. Knowing that Trump is already being punished thrills me to no end.
BTW here.
I wrote this because it is how I feel; not kinda feel, but down deep, truly feel about traitor, Donald Trump. And in case I somehow am picked to be on a jury in one of his trials, to ensure they won't have to ask me any questions, I'll put a link to this post on the questionnaire.
It's finally Mud Season here in the beautiful State of Maine. Celebrate!
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I did not think I could be surprised by what I could find on the World Wide Web. I was sure there were no songs about "Mud Season in Maine". Not only was there a video, there were more than a few and even a musical or two. Mainers love Mud Season.
Here is "Mud Season", by Flooded Cellar. A truly local effort that tickled my funny bone. Enjoy!
So Maine is once again in the national spotlight; not for anything the residents, bureaucrats, or politicians did. Maine happens to be one of 13 states to have the best vantage points to witness the planet's most recent solar eclipse.
The sweet spot here is up country around Presque Isle, Lincoln and Greenville. Motels and hotels have been booked solid for months up that way. The Maine Turnpike is all fucked up because so many folks from away want to witness something that happens all the time. Well not all the time in People time, but it sure is a regular occurrence in the Universe.
I considered driving up to Ground Zero to take a peak. Hmm..........
Do I really want to drive 3 1/2 hours to see something that lasts a few minutes? I took another toke and decided to stream the event later in the comfort of my own living room. Dealing with traffic and obnoxious tourist types just so I can burn out the retinas of my eyes on a Monday doesn't seem like much fun.
Other than temporarily boosting the economies in a narrow ribbon of America, all I can hope for is that this may finally be the day of the Rapture. Evangelical Christians have been hoping and counting on proving that yeah, they were really right and they are willing to die to prove you heathens have your collective heads up your collective asses. We'll show ya. You can have the planet. We have another place to fuck up now.
If we are lucky we might even catch a glimpse of them ascending into the heavens. At least there will be a glut of new used homes available to put a dent in the recent Housing crunch. Used car prices and the price of Bibles will plummet. But best of all, I won't have to listen to them flap their pious lips anymore.
When I sat down at dark thirty this morning, I did not intend to rain on anyone's parade. Apparently I was a tad cranky from my sleepless night. I brought the rain with me and before I had finished my first sentence, any parade I was talking about would be a rain out.
Hope the eclipse is everything the fans expected. ........ Enjoy.
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For my musical selection for this post, I had not considered the album, "Dark Side of the Moon",recorded in 1973 by Pink Floyd. But them clever Google grunts pointed me to a 1994 Youtube video titled, "Brain Damage / Eclipse". The video is dated. It reflects the political scene of the mid 1990's and back. The points have not changed. Still relevant today; only the lunatics have been replaced by newer Lunatics.
The Lunatics are still in the grass. And now there are more of them.
BTW - The image at the top I created from screen shots I took while the video played. Came out nicely I think.
I was 17 years old at the Acton Fair. I was determined to gain access to the Hoochie Coochie tent. Last year, the hawker out front laughed and sent me packing.
How could I get in? Security was tight. Without an ID, it seemed destined to be a failed effort. It was no longer about ogling naked women. It was now me against the rules.
As I walked away, it came to me out of the blue.
I would come back in my military school uniform. They might let me in then.
It worked.
Oddly, I left totally unimpressed.
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True story. I compacted it into 99 words so I could enter it in the weekly Carrot Ranch Flash Challenge. It has been awhile since I tried any Flash Fiction. I really enjoy Flash challenges. They force me to focus on the essence of the story, without all the trimmings that so often are just that, trimmings.
I have a much longer piece about this incident from my teen age years. It has languished now for at least a decade.
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I had a song picked out for this story before I even wrote it. I heard the song for the first time in college, several years after I sneaked into that Hoochie Coochie tent. Please enjoy "Sharon", by David Bromberg.
My Uncle Herb and Aunt Helen migrated north to Maine from Moorestown, New Jersey around 1957 or '58. They were not really of retirement age. Both of them had good jobs. Uncle Herb was a Postman. Aunt Helen was head dietician at a fancy girl's school outside of Philly. Why they left the quiet shaded neighborhood in Moorestown was never revealed to me, but over the years I put some pieces together to come up with something I think was close to the truth.
Uncle Herb never recuperated from the PTSD he picked up as an island hopping Marine in WW ll. Neither my aunt nor Uncle Herb would talk about his time in the Pacific. Neither would my parents discuss it; at least not much. Over the years I did get my aunt to open up some, my parents to open up some.
My father explained it this way:
A naive young man goes into the Marines; is trained to kill; then he kills for several years and the man who comes home will never be the same man who went in. Some men recover, others don't. It's the way of war. Regardless, none of them come home unchanged. Uncle Herb never fully recovered.
Moving to Maine may have been an attempt to help him cope with Life again. Whatever the reasons were, I will always be grateful they did move to Maine. I might not have settled here to raise a family if they hadn't.
My visits to Maine as a child embedded a deep love for this part of the country. I was captivated by all the Nature that surrounded me. My hikes with my uncle still stand out as some of the most memorable moments of my young life. My interest in birds started then.
The bird above was the first animal I could identify that my dad could not. I first saw one on a Christmas visit to Maine at age ten I guess. A few years later, one landed on the feeder at our home in Oxon Hill, Maryland. My dad did not recognize it and just as he reached for the dog eared copy of "Birds of America", I blurted out, "Tufted Titmouse", and then proceeded to dance in celebration because I knew something Dad didn't. I later impressed Aunt Helen when I was tending her feeder some 25 years later, mentioning there were two Tufted Titimice on a branch patiently waiting for me to finish refillingl the feeder.
Bottom line, whenever I see a Tufted Titmouse, my past comes back to pleasantly haunt me.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ............................
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I did not hesitate. I did not lose myself trying to pick a song for today's post. Only one tune would do. Here is 1977's Weather Report number, "Birdland". An excellent tune.
A quick follow up to the quality snow storm we received yesterday.
Seems Acton once again failed to win the snowfall total contest for the state. We often come close, but usually one of the loser towns around us ekes out another couple of inches than we do. But we did make the podium.
Seems Hollis, Maine recorded 18 inches as of last night. Acton was a close second with 15 inches. ....... Always the Bridesmaid, never the bride.
Oh well.
I will say the storm was a perfect storm. Light, fluffy and dry: My snow blower laughed and giggled as it tossed that snow 30-35 feet. Maggie had a blast and didn't bother squatting to pee in the deep snow. She just peed standing up.
So, for a day, all is right with my world. Removing snow is what I was put on this planet to do it seems. And now I can actually get back to my life's work..
Bonus time. Looks like it will be one of those sunny Maine winter days that causes pain if you don't wear sunglasses.
Gotta run, the door yard is only half done. See Ya ..................................
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Today I am sharing music my parents listened to. According to family lore, at 3 years old, I would dance around whenever Dad played his Count Basie tape.
Please enjoy this version of "Jumpin at the Woodside" as played by both Count Basie and Oscar Peterson, two jazz greats from the early days of swing and jazz. It's a battle of pianos. Just excellent.
For a few moments anyway, our climate here on Sam Page Road is in a seasonally normal status. The second snow storm of the 2023/24 season may not be a blizzard, but it's trying hard to be one. The general consensus among the deadbeat meteorologists settled on 6 to 12 inches for our neck of the woods.
This storm gets us into double digits for snow this season. At the moment we are at around 14 inches for the total. Usually we are at least in the 50 inch or higher range by this point.
It began snowing last night around 11:30PM. By 7:00 AM there was over 6 inches out there and the plows are working hard to stay ahead of the snow that is still falling. Temps are around 20' F, so it doesn't look like we will have to deal with wet snow this storm.
I have been without my snow blower for 3 years. We used commercial plow folk to clean up our drive during that time. I used to plow my drive back 25 years ago. But the driveway is not plow friendly. It curves and drops with banks on both sides. I cannot say how many plows have gotten stuck in my drive. But I know I got myself stuck many times, never mind the pay to plow guys. My drive likes a snow blower, either on a tractor or a walk behind. Does a better job.
Back in October, I took my snow blower attachment to a fellow over to Sanford or was it Alfred? One side of the town line or the other anyway. I knew I had picked the right guy. His dooryard was full of power equipment in various stages of disrepair. Tractors, lawn mowers, snow blowers, and several rusty equipment trailers took up space next to his repair barn. He told me to drop it anywhere and he'd call when it was fixed.
There were multiple issues with the 30 year old snow blower. Cracks that need welding. Bearings that need changing. Impeller shaft needed to be re-welded to the auger differential. It needed a new edge and the drive chain coming off the PTO needed replacing.
I was pleasantly surprised when he was done, the bill was only $390. At the local John Deere store, I bet it would have been at least double that, maybe even triple. And now that I have finally had a real snow to test it with, it has not worked this well since I have owned it. Throws snow many, many feet and doesn't shake the tractor like its going to self destruct at any moment.
Nothing runs like a Deere when its maintained.
Yeah, it felt good to take on a snowstorm again. I wonder how many more I will have before we start seeing people planting palm trees.
Later ...........................
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A snowed out Sunday with a football game to watch around 1:00 PM is an invitation to imbibe in mood altering substances. I sit here at quarter to Nine AM. I contemplate if I should spark up a doob now or wait until kick off.............. Um. ....Yeah, now works. A different outlook might make picking a tune easier..... Yeah, sure it will.
A few tokes did not help. I had been in a quandary before I sparked up. Now, besides the quandary, I am dazed and confused to boot and really don't care what tune I pick. I'm too busy watching the snow come down and enjoying one of my older playlists turned up to WOW. Each tune I listen to, I tell myself:
"Yeah Mike, this one rocks.... Use it for the post."
Then the next tune starts and I am not sure the one I picked would be right, this new one is even better. ......... And so it goes; the trials and tribulations of an aging Stoner.
Here is "Hooch", recorded by Everything 25 years ago. Nice tune.
I never know if my dream posts will pan out. Oftentimes, as I begin to put words to the visual cues found in my sleep dimension ..... well, as soon as I begin to write, my mind goes blank. Or, I will only remember the reminder moment that has stuck with me until after morning rituals are satisfied.
Today, my reminder moment had me on my knees pulling some kind of fir or pine seedlings out of a specially designed back pack and shoving them into the ground. Nearby, across a barren acreage of cutover land, a full scale logging operation is in play. The latest in Forest Harvesters are tearing what's left of this stand of trees a new asshole. I assumed I was part of the state mandated reclamation part of the operation.
My cell phone rings. Its my boss. She asks if I am alright. I reply that I am.
"Then why the Hell aren't you hauling pulp logs to the paper mill in Rumford?"
The scene shifts, or I miss the transition, and now I'm back behind the wheel of an ancient Mack pulpwood truck carrying a 15 foot tall load of pulp wood.
I was also back to hating my life and all that was in it. I'm bouncing down a tote road, the truck is rocking side to side hard and I'm wondering if I am about to have another tip over. The last thing I remember is hoping this time I tip on the right side. It's easier to crawl out with the truck tipped over to the right.
Whatever else happened in the dream is lost now. I am happy though, because this dream I think I can explain.
A few months ago I watched a video on Facebook that highlighted the new gadgets the forestry industry was using. The machines in my dream were close facsimiles of what I saw in the video.
And while I never drove a pulp wood truck, I did pick up scrapped rolls of paper at several Maine paper mills in a beat Mack straight truck with a picking arm that leaked a gallon of hydraulic fluid every week. Hated that truck.
The planting trees thing is also based on a story I read about planting trees in the forests of North America. I read it many years ago. And whenever I was feeling down, I often thought of that job as the perfect get away from Reality job. Planting trees, smoking dope and living in a tent. I was sure nothing better on this planet existed.
In retrospect, I was probably right.
Keep those Titzup Buckaroos .............. See Ya
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Once again, my musical google prompt turned up too many choices in too few seconds. I decided I would not dawdle. I picked an old tune by the Byrds. "Drug Store, Truck Driving Man" is a song only connected to the post by the word "truck" in the title.
When I heard it after so many years I remembered that this tune is best listened to and even better, listened to being sung by four drunk and disorderly college football players like I first heard it back in my college years.
I had hopes I would never see a mass shooting here in Maine. My hopes were dashed the other day when a maniac shot up a bar and a bowling alley in a town up country from me in what we call L.A. (Lewiston - Auburn). As of today, 18 are dead and 7 or 8 are in various states of medical Hell at the local hospital.
Yeah, my hopes were dashed, but I wasn't surprised. We have become a country filled with a fear and loathing of our own making. We have allowed merchants of death and chaos to create an atmosphere where all of us have lost trust in each other, condemned each other for the differences we carry, and now live in fear of each other.
My good FB friend, Jackie Sue, posted a meme that asked, "When will it end?"
I thought about it. I am of a mind that I see no end in sight. We will just have to wear ourselves out purging all this pent up fear and rage we have allowed to poison our souls.
Sadly, I do not think the stupidity has peaked yet.
Later ..........................
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"Here Without You", by 3 Doors Down seems an appropriate tune at this time.
Above are some local photos by local folks that make me appreciate the beautiful town I live in.
These images are but a few of the many local moments of serenity that capture the awesome beauty surrounding me here in Acton, Maine. Our landscapes for the most part are understated rather than grand, in your face explosions of skies melting into mountains or waves crashing on rocky shores. Acton's beauty is often so subtle it is easy to miss. But it is indeed there.
Beauty exists everywhere if we take time to look for it.
Keep it 'tween the ditches .....................................
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Music for this post is a song by. Kacey Musgraves, "Oh What a World". She sings about the wonders of this planet and how we often miss them. I can relate.
If any recent action by the GOP proves they have no plan for the country other than Anti-Woke performative politics, their recent righteous indignation over changing the senate's dress code proves it. They are not interested in the flagrant illegalities of Trump or any other issue that truly affects this country. No ........... They are up in arms over Sen. Schumer changing the Senate dress code.
Our own useless Senator from Maine, Susan Collins, who has been keeping her head down in recent months, perked up and said yesterday (Monday):
"I plan to wear a bikini tomorrow to the Senate floor and [Sen.] Chris Coons [D-DE] is gonna wear shorts because there's no dress code anymore,"
Asked why the change bothered her, Collins fell back into her GOP lackey role and replied:
"Because I think there is a certain dignity that we should be maintaining in the Senate, and to do away with the dress code, to me, debases the institution."
Who is she kidding? Changing the dress code debases the Senate?
Sorry sweetheart, the debasement, as you put it, happened the moment you Republican clowns embraced Donald Trump as your hero. The Right has done nothing but debase everything good about America ever since. They are slime and I hope to live long enough to see their party go belly up and die as a political force in this country.
Go fuck yourself Susan.
Okay, I feel better. Nobody besides Trump gets me wound up as much as Susan Collins does. She is a sad excuse for a leader. It's no surprise she is a Republican.
Later ................................................
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"Only a Fool Would Say That", by Steely Dan, is a song that targets John Lennon. Reportedly, Donald Fagan was not impressed with John Lennon's 1971 album, "Imagine". As it turns out, neither was I. My disdain was ignored, but Fagan wrote "Only a Fool...." about his disdain. As usual with any Steely Dan tune, it is top notch music and better now than when it came out back in the day.
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