Media Ogres

I would never advocate suppressing the rights of the press. No, they have rights just like I do. But I would advocate that we consumers of the news stop paying attention to them. I firmly believe the mass media industry on this planet and in particular this country create more problems following a news worthy event than they help by "keeping us informed". And I think they do it on purpose. News has become all about money. By feeding the emotional fires of an event after the fact, they stir the potnot with facts, but with what ifs, what mights, and keep us uneasy with 24/7 assaults by paid talking heads who are hired to put forth a specific view point. There is no objectivity anymore now that greed has completely poisoned the industry.

The media companies have become so huge and entwined with industries outside reporting the news, anything they report should be viewed with suspicion. Even the staid and often boring BBC seems to have an agenda that is not so veiled anymore. One "news" outlet does not even try to live up to reporting factually while at the same time claiming they are being "fair and balanced".

By the time a story makes it the press, the tube, or the air waves, it has been manipulated, collated, twisted, and generally compacted to tell a story based on facts, but not really factual. This happens so much, I have given up believing anything I see on TV.

I used to try to give many news sources their chance to fill in me on issues, events, the madness inside the Beltway in DC. The problem is not one of them seems to want to just report. They load up the facts in such a way as to not allow the consumer to form an opinion. By the end of the piece, that opinion is formed to fit neatly into a specific political, religious, or economic mindset. We are then supposed to agree or disagree. Successful hate and discontent follows.

While different news outfits play to specific political or religious views, I do not think it is being done out of some altruistic higher calling like reporting objectively. Nor do I think they even really care one way or the other about an issue. News has become nothing but a vehicle by which to carry more cash into their bank accounts. By over sensationalizing, by over stating facts not even in evidence and drawing the worst case conclusions as inevitable outcomes, they keep us glued to their show, their paper, their radio station. By keeping us stirred up, they keep us coming back. Their sponsors are then happier, and the Media Ogres get more green for their coffers.

Rachel Maddow, the other night, made an interesting point regarding this slanted news thing. Her comment was based on the political minded and their tendency to only watch channels that put forth twists that fell in with their mindset. Something about folks living in a bubble of slanted truth that when forced to actually debate an opposing view, these people were lost because they had no experience with opposing views. To effectively debate she went on, one should at least know the views of their opponent so they can raise an effective counterpoint.

Kudos to her for making this observation. But she does the same thing. She plays to an audience who is guilty as much as the other side of swallowing her twist without any question. In the scheme of things however, these hired guns who represent the public face of the Media Industry are only there to feed the coffers of the monopolized Mass Media network that circles the planet. It does not matter whether it's Right, Left, or Praise the Lord and pass the Ammunition, all the Media bosses care about is picking pockets.

Instead of attempting to bring us together as stewards who wield awesome power should, the media instead strives to keep us divided and on edge. They play to our fears, our doubts, and our insecurities. They could care less about helping. They are only interested in numbers, ratings, percentages or audience pull, and how much money they can suck out of the sponsors pockets. They have become whores of the highest order who will do anything with the truth to stay on top.

WR Hearst must be somewhere in Hell laughing his ass off...............
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To see just how deep their tentacles reach, go to thhis link.

Finding Some Patriotic Heartstrings

I suppose I should write a rousing and uplifting 4th of July post. Relate how special I feel on this day, this day of Independence. Airman Mom, who has offspring serving our country reminds me to think of our soldiers. After all, it may have been politicians who came up with the idea of Independence, it was grunt soldiers who won it for us. Marching in the cold, bivouacked in canvas tents with mud floors if they were lucky. Maybe one meal a day or two if they could steal some chickens or slaughter some poor bastard's cow.

So Yeah, I always consider our soldiers on this day. My father was one for 31 years. My uncles were soldiers. Have a brother who served. Everywhere I look in my family there are relatives who served. And no matter what we may think one way or the other about our troops involvement overseas, we should all take a moment today to consider our Armed Forces and say thank you.

But Independence Day is not just about soldiers, war, and defending borders. It is about all of us. The whiners, the criers, the doers, and the lazy slobs sitting on stoops sucking beer out of bottles in paper bags. July 4th is a day when every American is a patriot whether they want to be or not.

So celebrate this day anyway you want. Park your butt in the back yard next to that 40 quart cooler chock full of ice cold Papst Blue Ribbon beer. Burn some meat on the grill, ogle girls in bikinis, swim out to the middle of the lake. This day is about whatever you want it to be.

Independence is not something we are given. It is something we take, make, create with grand notions and dedicated follow through. Soldiers alone cannot keep us independent. Only we, the collective we, can do that.

In keeping with tradition going back some years, I will, in a few hours, go on a bike ride. Today we go to Blue Job, a small state park with a great 300 degree view of my neck of the woods. If I am lucky, the 3 1/2 mile climb from where we park will reward me with an unlimited line of sight to the Atlantic Ocean 30 miles away. To the north, Mt Washington might just be visible. What better way to celebrate this day than to gaze out on some of the beauty we take for granted most days of the year.

What a grand land we have responsibility for. I only hope we can live up to that responsibility. Happy 4th....................................

Another Manic Moment

Don't come round here no more. Hey!

2:10 AM, Friday night, or rather real, real, real, early Saturday morning - Just got home from the Bike shop. I was home earlier - actually early evening yesterday. Left the shop at 7:00 PM, went home, feasted on my wife's signature fish dish, fresh asparagus, fresh corn, and to top it off, some fresh blueberry concoction pleasured my tongue with Maine grown sweetness. No sugar added, just the blueberries. Wow.

Instead of settling back and putting my feet up, I headed back to the bike shop. Folks heading out tomorrow for some serious July 4th recreating needed their rides. Overhauled a shock, finished re-spoking a wheel, and tuned up two used bikes I sold earlier.

And now it's 2:10 AM. I am just beginning to regret that 22 oz. ice coffee I fixed up before I headed back to the bike shop. Eyes open. Brain spinning. Seems I am hard into another manic moment.

And supposedly I am to show up back at the bike shop for an 8:00 AM bike ride. Made the plan before this hyper active over-reactive slice of Time came by. As bright as my candle is burning right now, it's even odds I will be comatose come time to saddle up.

Biting off more than one can chew may be cause for embarrassment at times. And though overfilling one's plate with more moments than one can consume, we often cannot help ourselves when faced with so much of Life to pick from. Making promises feels good. Following through feels better.

Where's my shot glass................

Your President

The other day the owner of the restaurant that shares the same, call it alley space as my bike shop pulled up in his SUV and got out. He was on his way to open up for the lunch crowd. Usually we just exchange how ya doin's and get on with our own business. This day he walked over and leaned on the work table I have out back.

"Well Mike, "your President" sure has gotten us into a mess."

I have been trying very hard lately to stifle my political urges. And I have been for the most part fairly successful. But his use of the term "your President" pushed just the right buttons.

I stopped soaping up the filthy bike I was in the middle of cleaning and looked at this huge ex-body builder for a moment before responding. I have never been intimidated by his size, but I did not want to strain the uneasy truce we had established over the past couple of years he had been owner of the old Luigi's. Getting along with the neighbors and all that.

Finally I looked at him and said, "Unless you're a furriner, he's "your President" too. You ain't a furriner are you?"

His eyes opened wider and he said, "I didn't vote for him. He ain't my president."

I proceeded to lay into him about the stupidity of the partisan crap his denial represented. I managed to do it a nice way and he did not crush my head between his huge hands. He went about his business. I went back to washing the bike.

One of the reasons I have been trying hard to not get sucked into political debate in recent months is frankly I am fed up with this national tendency to try and force all of us to pick sides. I have never felt comfortable standing on the Right nor standing on the Left. I am a fence sitter and not ashamed to admit it. I have become used to being denigrated by both sides for my lack of backbone in this regard. I often leave people scratching their heads when I come from the Right on an issue and baffle some on the Right when I jump all over their tendency to drink kool aid before asking what the flavor is. Both sides have their pluses. Both sides have their negatives. And right now I have a negative view of both. I share my disdain for both sides equally.

But when someone claims to be a supporter of the idea of the democratic process and then denies the result because it did not go their way, it really pisses me off. When Bush was president, even though I did not vote for him either time, I did not try to use some cop out excuse like "He is not my President, I did not vote for him."

He was my president. I did not like it, but I sucked it up and dealt with the reality. Because no matter how much I may disagree with one side or the other, when we elect someone to represent us, I have to hope that representative is more concerned with the general welfare of all their constituency. Unfortunately in recent years, this has not been the case. Both the Right and the Left have decided to field candidates who seem to think of party first and the nation, state, or local burg second. Recent events nationally and in my small town have proven this out.

Our political atmosphere in this country has become poisoned. Toxic rhetoric from the extremes of both sides have found their way into the national platforms and our nation is now gasping for air. We have lost our direction and now fill our time with senseless infighting that only slows down and cripples our efforts to grow as a nation.

The Setback - 250 words

Will Kenney pulled into the parking lot of Jack Gannon's future gas station. Wendel, dozing in the passenger seat since they left the job, rubbed his eyes and wiped the drool off his chin.

"What's up Will? Why you stopping here?"

"Got some planning board business to take care of. Want to make sure Gannon's meeting the setbacks for the fuel tanks."

"No you aren't”, Wendel said. "You been bustin each other’s chops since grade school. Jeezus man, it was a tough day. Take me home first. You can play with Jack later."

"Only be a moment." Will climbed out of the truck. “Could use some help with the tape.”

From the cab of the excavator, Jack shouted, “You get back in your pickup Will. I don’t want you or your loser friend on my property.”

“Easy Jack, just checking the setback on the tanks. Look’s like they may be too close to the wetland marker there in the back. Town Business.”

To Wendel he said, “Run this end of the tape down to the marker there.”

Wendel grabbed the tape and began walking. The excavator began to move. Neither he nor Will paid much attention. Just as Wendel reached the flag and turned around, he shouted, “Hey Will”.

Will turned to watch the bucket of the excavator swivel around and drop hard onto the cab of his pickup.

Will grinned. “Thanks Jack. Now I guess you won’t be getting that liquor license. And I’ll be getting a new truck.”

~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A note about this story. It was inspired by an actual event that never got this out of hand. The two parties involved in the original incident are two of my favorite local characters. One of whom I call a friend and the other well, let's just say I respect his unique-ness.

Corrections

It was not until moments ago I realized I made a fairly serious mistake in the previous post, "The Young Professional". The Macrum side of the family I know very little about. It was my Grandfather's wife who came from the milling family in Pennsylvania. Her maiden name was Roberts. The top image above is a photograph taken in 1948 of the pen and ink drawing a 17 year old relative drew in 1892. The flag at the top indicates the mill was built in 1683. So I guess I can trace at least some of my heritage in this country back to Colonial times.

Below are my great-great grandparents Elisabeth Taylor Roberts and Spenser Roberts.





















Surrounded these past 30 years by all this family history, I have taken little notice of it. Yeah Life has had a way of keeping my focus narrowed to the here and now. But you would think that in 30 years, I would have shown more interest than the occasional glance at the serious faces who watched me everyday as I stumbled my way through my days.

The Young Professional

This is one of the photos passed down to me from my Aunt Helen. One of these fellows is my grandfather. I will leave it up to you to figure out which one.

I know his name was Robert Shuter Macrum. I know he came from an old guard Pennsylvania family who made their mark as millers dating back to the 1700s at least. I have an etching of their grist mill that hangs in the foyer. I know he was a doctor in the Pittsburgh area. I know he had at least 2 brothers. And I know he died in 1912 of a blocked colon. Or maybe it was something else. Aunt Helen and my father were less than forthcoming when the subject came up. They were both small children when he passed. And being from good Anglican stock, family linen was not aired in public. Anything else about him comes from my imagination as I gaze at the handful of Kodak moments I have stashed in the bottom drawer of the Korean cabinet.

I like this photo for several reasons. These young men just exude confidence. They seem impatient to get on with what assuredly will be successful decades in their future. They have not yet been beaten down by Life. They pose as men who will grab Life by the short hairs and bend it to their will.

Obviously in the case of my grandfather, Life won. And it won early.

Old photographs fascinate me. The scenery, the clothing, the rigid poses tell me more about the cultural mindset than often do words written during that period. And here staged in what is obviously a perfect backdrop of the times they were setting off to conquer, these 4 young men seem to barely be able to sit still long enough to have a keepsake photograph snapped of themselves for their moms and future generations to look at in wonder.

Old photos begin thier historical or is it hysterical timeline as new photos. While they speak to current trends when they are taken, more often than not when gazed upon 100 years later, they often become the source of much laughter and derision. So, for your viewing pleasure, a relatively current image of a future grandfather........................

Later...............

The Accidental Business Tycoon Vents

The stress of trying to pay Paul with the money I robbed from Peter has tripped the blow off valve in my mind. Last week as I gazed dejectedly at the $2500 worth of bike shop bills almost over due sitting next to my homespun ledger that told me I had taken in a paltry $1800 that week to pay them, frustration and anger boiled over. I picked up my revolving shop stool and tossed it across the room. Thankfully it is one rugged stool. It laughed at me. Later that night I sucked down 3 beers and 4 shots and passed out still angry and frustrated.

I took care of the bills okay. But it meant I had to dip into the hard won stash of cash I began scraping together back in March for just this type of temporary cash crunch. But my temperament has not really improved. I have turned into a grumpy ole fart who would love to have a dog I hate so I can kick it.

Hmm......................

Seems this bad attitude has come earlier these past few seasons. My only solace I guess is I am not alone. Many, if not most of the small retailers in my small slice of the planet are struggling also. It is just a matter of degrees. Enough business to keep the doors open, but not enough to make more than a small dent in the backed up shit pile politely referred to by more competent business folks than me as "my debt load".

I considered whether I should write a post that was full of whining woe is me dribble. No one likes to listen to a whiner. But I forged ahead anyway. I mean this blog to be a true representation of my mindset when I decide to spew forth with what's fermenting inside the cranial void. And maybe some relief....some small putrid puff of the foul fuming mood that is poisoning my summer will vacate the premises.

Hmm.............................

It sure would be nice........It would sure make me feel less guilt..........If I could place some blame somewhere besides at my own feet. Certainly situations outside my control have in recent years made the struggle tougher. Ultimately though it is up to me to suck it up and deal with it. Or lock the fcuking doors and give it up.

Hmm...........................

But Mike that would mean chasing a job at age 58 and working for someone else. And with a body worn down by 45 years of manual labor and a mind corrupted early by massive doses of substances that felt good but left me with a face full of deep scars..................

Hmm.........................

Okay. I've bared some soul. Opened a few wounds to the light of day. As I pursue some bliss or even just a hint of it's scent, I realize this too will pass. But like a kidney stone, it's passing is agonizing and seems to take forever to finally give up some relief.

Hmm.............

These tag along photos did the trick. I can't read this post without chuckling.

You know what? None of this shit matters. As cathartic as self pity can be, this post was not. But posing for these ham-fisted self portraits was.

Now I sit rocking out to "Blood, Sugar, Sex, Magik". A tough day awaits me tomorrow. Just another tough day in a mind numbing series of tough days to come. But tonight, I found some peace.

Keep it 'tween the ditches..........................
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PS - Once again the magic of digital technology developed by some geek with sweat stains in the pits of his polyester button down plaid shirt has rewarded this dimwit with another excellent, albeit accidental, visual snippet of the beautiful world just beyond my dooryard. The flowers are about the size of a nickel. Thousands grow under the white pine canopy across the road in Mary's Woods.

Like I said, none of the crap I build up in my mind matters. Especially when I see these floral volunteers working so hard to keep the World from becoming too ugly. If they can show up for work year after year, I guess I can too.

Enjoy...

Father's Day

My father has been dead now coming up on 30 years. He is still my father whether he graces us with his presence or now just with his memory. His legacy saturates the home I live in. It was the last house he lived in. It was the house he died in. Fell dead on the kitchen floor in the Fall of 1980 while laughing at some funny remark made by my mom over their morning coffee.

I am typing this in the den turned office he used during his last years on this planet. I sit in the same chair at the same desk he used probably the morning of day he died. Many of his tools I still use. Yes, his memory fills every corner of this house. Books he read. Pictures he took. Furniture he built.

And yet, as the years stretch to decades since he passed, I find myself remembering him less and less. Hence this post. A small reminder to me that what I have, what I have become, and where I am headed are in no small part due to his participation in my life.

Happy Father's Day!

News Travels Slow

The other day someone at the shop asked me what I thought about Dennis Hopper's death.

"Huh? Dennis Hopper is dead?"

They looked at me, their eyes showing surprise over this lack of awareness on my part.

"When was the last time you watched the news?"

"Uh, I dunno......maybe day two of the Gulf oil catastrophe.......Uh no, I watched the weather this morning. Does that count?"

They smiled.

So Dennis Hopper and now I understand Gary Coleman are dead. One, an icon of the Silver Screen and the other an icon of the Small Screen. One was older than I and the other was younger. Neither died in spectacular or shady ways. Natural Causes, the guilty culprit.

I am not sure what to think. I will miss Dennis, but Gary was never on my radar. The sitcom he starred in held no interest for me. What gets me is the over the top attention after their deaths. Even though they are dead and buried, their star status carries them into our living rooms and computers as the sordid details of their private lives are laid open for all to see. Why anyone would be interested in the details of someones last days as they struggled against cancer is beyond me. Many if not most of us have lived that nightmare as we watched a loved one or friend live out their last days.

Bottom line is both were actors. Maybe a better way to honor both would be to watch their body of work and appreciate the legacy they left us. Digging into the dark side of their private lives now is low rent and wrong.
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Back in March I made the conscious choice to change my lifestyle. Staying tuned into what was going on outside my small corner of Maine was not helping my frame of mind. So I made the decision to not stay tuned in. It was not turning me on and all I had was a feeling of total impotency regarding my ability to sway events beyond my own world. Take care of me and mine and the rest will work out. Or it won't. Either way, I needed to stop worrying about the NASDAQ, the banks, the oil spill, the illegals in Arizona.

Certainly events outside my area were affecting me. The economic meltdown for sure had cut through our area with a vengeance. The nationwide political animosity had recently exhibited itself in the acrimonious and hateful turn of events leading up to a local town election. All of a sudden I heard terms like "Us & Them", "elitist", etc. come from the mouths of good ole boys who never speak openly about politics. And though the election on June 8th resolved some of the controversy, it did not smooth out the hard feelings on either side. People all over have decided that everything is personal now. This is not a good sign.

Winger's With Woodies - Part ll

Leave this blog for a few weeks and what happens? I open up my dashboard and there's 35 or so comments on older posts I have to accept or reject. Most were the usual anonymous spam type comments trying to entice me to visit a certain site or sites to be amazed by the products or services offered.

One comment however caught my attention. The unnamed commenter took exception to my post, "Wingers with Woodies". A soft blow criticism of Ms. Perino's(Bush ll's Press Secretary -2nd term) comment that no act of terrorism had happened during Bush's "reign".

I did not post the comment because the commenter was not man/woman enough to sign their name. Essentially it said the photo was a fake. The commenter was positive Ms Perino obviously meant no attacks had occurred the second term (although in the initial interview on Fox, she made no mention of this). And with a final flourish, the commenter ended with, "You are a douche bag."

Of course I chuckled. Tell me something I don't know ferchrisakes. Douche-baggery has been a go to mentality of mine for as long as I can remember. Thanks for pointing out the obvious.

Of course one man's douche bag is another man's hero. Or in this case, their heroine.

Instead of letting my mind wander back into the dark places where I stashed my political will, I considered the words and intent of "You are a Douche Bag." The derogatory term has been around for at least the 58 years I have been around. And for at least 50 of those years I have had no clue as to what exactly it means other than it's a kinder way of calling one an Asshole.

Which then begs the question of just what is a Douche Bag? Apparently it is someone we probably have no interest in getting to know better.

Jerk Wad, Asshole, Douche Bag, Dip Shit, Loser - the list is endless. Words that drop their literal meaning when used to convey our opinion of someone else's opinion or actions. We flounder to find just the right word to convey our low opinion of a person and what comes out? "You are a Douche Bag."

Yes. Yes I am. And so is Ms Perino. Next question.

Later....................................

Guardian of the Peony

Some things we seem able to blow off for periods of time and when we come back to them after a lengthy layoff, we pick up right where we left off. No stumbling, no hesitation - it was as if we were never gone. Other things, well, like this blog seem strange and new again now that I have been off the Internets for a few weeks.

Shifting gears from the insistent mundaniety of my real life to the exciting world of Blogdom is like changing buses. Same shit, different audience. But never let it be said I am one to ignore the chance to be boorish with folks I have never met.

For the last week or so as I toiled at the shop, struggled to keep the jungle here at home at bay, or was driving or riding my way from there to here and back again, I anguished over the fact that I have been gone from my blog for an unacceptable period of time. So today instead of using the computer for business purposes, I am posting a new post just to get my feet wet again. I miss sharing my thoughts, rants, and observations. I miss the interaction.

The picture at the top is one I took a couple of days ago. My father planted the Peonies 43 years ago along the old stone wall in the dooryard. 20 years ago I transplanted a bunch to a sunnier location along the same wall. The explosion of color the next year was just awesome. Apparently the peony loves the sun. And apparently a certain brand of spider loves the Peony. That little lady with the bee firmly clamped in her jaws has been showing up every year since I moved the plants.

Yeah, I am sure it is not the same spider, but I would guess this years Guardian of the Peony is of the same royal blood as the first one who took up residence in these beautiful flowers.

This image of Death amidst overwhelming Beauty conjures up all sorts of notions, considerations, and conclusions. And as I sat and drank my coffee, more than a few passed through my mind. Allegories, Analogies, and even some Fables popped up while I sat and stared at this image. What really stood out however is Beauty is wonderful to behold. Just do not get caught admiring it for too long.



See Ya..............................

Ethics

We still get "US News & World Report". The magazine has been coming to Sam Page Road since the mid 1960s. It is but a shadow of what it once was. Over the years it's twice a month publication has dwindled first to once a month to now I guess maybe 4 or 5 times a year. I have always liked it because the articles were brief and to the point in words that made complex issues easy for my simple mind to understand. The magazine has morphed from a general overview of the World and what's happening to single topic publications that dig deep into one or two topics.

A recent issue was dedicated to Graduate school. Who's good, who's not so good. What jobs are hot, what jobs are not. What kind of pay to expect....blah, blah, blah.

One article caught my eye. It was about ethics. Specifically the notion of ethics as taught or not taught in the various MBA programs at the top universities. The set up was that for years, American MBA programs were focused on maximizing profit in the shortest time or way possible. A nice way of saying I guess, we taught our grad students the "quick buck" approach to business. Any notion of ethics and business being given the high hat and laughed at.

Anyone who has even paid the slightest bit of attention over the years knows this is definitely true. The article points out that the recent financial crisis is directly related to the mentality our business leaders carried out of school when they hit the bricks looking for work.

Okay fine. The article points out the obvious. What I found interesting was the opinion or is it wisdom of one old guard business professor who disagrees that the lack of any ethical base in the teaching model had anything to do with creating the greed mindset that permeates the top tiers of American business.

His argument was based on the misguided notion that if something is legal, it is also ethical. In my opinion, his defense or denial of his role in molding our future business leaders points up one of the major weaknesses of the American business model. Legality is not often ethical. The two can co-exist, but when laws are business related, ethics sit in the back of the bus. Business laws, or laws in general, are about control. Ethics, more often than not, have little to do with it.

This professor's mindset is unfortunately a very common one found throughout the collective outlook of America. We have become so reliant on the government telling us what is right or wrong through the legislative process, we can't even see the unethical aspects of what some laws do to our lives or other's lives. No better example exists than the professor's comment regarding the business world of this nation.

We figure if there is no law against it, whatever it is must be okay. We also base our condemnation of certain actions or activities solely on the legal status of that action or activity. Happy as if we have brains, we assume ethical reasons exist for the specific law or lack of law. And in the meantime the ethically challenged leadership of our nation snicker and roll their eyes over what morons we are.

Later.............................

My Manly Image

Jim of Jim-Jim told me to keep it down the other day when I asked him if he wanted some of the Hydrangea I was yanking out of the yard behind my house. The small clump of 20 years ago had become an unruly mob. Undisciplined and out of freakin control.

"Shh Mike. We have to think about our Man images. Talk of flowers, transplanting and such nonsense might just give folks the wrong idea about which side of the plate we bat from."

You're left handed Jim, you should be okay with it. Me, well being a rightie, I probably ought to question what I have lurking in my closet." We both smiled. Just more of the usual male banter that exists between friends and colleagues.

This small conversation deriding any male affinity for plants of the flowering type bounced around my mind over the past few days as I busily worked on the many plants in my yard that actually produce flowers most of us would find pleasant to look at.

I like flowers. I have always liked them. Of course, growing up in a house with a crazed amateur horticulturist did not give me many other options. My father was constantly messing with plants. He grew corn in Hawaii when everyone on base told him it was impossible. He managed to create wonderful beds of color everywhere we lived.

When I was young, his flower beds, his yard, his little slice of this planet was more a land of Hell for me. He was the brains. I was the labor. Weed there, mow that, trim this. Yard work sucked when everyone else was playing ball down at the local school yard. I did my best to deny I actually enjoyed it, but apparently some of his passion rubbed off.

I will admit though, about the beginning of July, I grow weary of the maintenance factor. I begin to slack and by September, the yard looks like me just before my next haircut. I excuse this personal failing by insisting I am just allowing the yard to create a good winter coat to survive the upcoming months of ice and snow. Yeah, right. I enjoy slacking almost more than working. Some days, any excuse to slack is better than the alternative.

Captured On Film

This is called the Pink Lady's Slipper. Not sure why. After I downloaded the kodak moments I had earlier over to Mary's Woods across from my dooryard, I looked at this best ever effort of mine and decided they are not slippers, but complete women. Look at this image long enough and I swear I am looking at a female of some type. Arms are spread uncovering her small breasts which dangle under what would appear to be the latest and greatest of hat fashions. And those pink pants! Yeah this is no slipper.

These random moments of wild beauty are sprinkled liberally throughout the woods around here. On my walk, I counted 8 Lady's slippers. 10, if I count the 2 that had been eaten by some low rent local critter. Hope they got sick.

Apparently 4 types of Lady Slippers exist in Maine. This is the most common. I have never seen any of the other three.

Just wanted to share a picture I took this morning with Stub in the woods .....Later........Gotta get to work.

Just Like James Bond

Okay. I am again truly impressed with what some folks have created because of the Internets. Just when I thought the World Wild Web was turning into a multi media ho hummer destined to become just another mass communication device exploited by greedy people, I run into an example of why the Internet will most likely never become 100% commercial.

My recent reminder of how powerful this medium is started with my question of yesterday regarding the name of the two plants growing roadside in my front dooryard.

Not happy with just asking faceless strangers from across the globe, I also asked my landscaper neighbor. Immediately he knew what they were.

Korean Spice Viburnum ‘Aurora’ is apparently what they are. My landscaping neighbor was right, even if his spelling was off. It was close enough for Google to make assumptions and then ask, "Did you mean........"

Well I guess I did really mean that. The one picture in bright light without snow came from a site in Missouri. The top image is here after a Spring snow squall last month. And the one below I snapped a day or so ago as the flowers entered their last gasp for the season.

Okay, so I learned the name of a plant that has been growing out front on Sam Page Road for the last50 years or so. Certainly not anything of serious interest outside the confines of my own mind. But as I searched for the name and other juicy tidbits on it, I found a gardening forum. Dave's Garden has over 234,000 images of plants and other garden oriented images. And apparently there is a forum for any subject that may even somewhat pertain to planting stuff in the ground.

I guess it makes sense though. Anything people are passionate about has created millions and jillions of conversations and inquiries over these early years as the World becomes truly connected. It is only natural for the anal retentive and the organized among us to collate, segregate, aggregate, and assimilate the inquiries and conversations into convenient lump sums for like minded people to congregate around. Networks pertaining to minute and specific interests spread across the planet and suddenly there is more information on the thread pitch of a class 8 bolt than any one human could know on their own.

I am reminded of the first trip one Mainer took in 1986 with me as co-driver delivering Burger King Buns to NYC from the bakery in Lewiston-Auburn, Maine. This driver had learned the trucking trade hauling logs and chips. Never been South of Portland in his 25 years on the Planet. We hit the Industrial park areas outside of Hartford, Connecticut. Modern glass and steel buildings everywhere. My Co-driver bumpkin in the buddy seat looked at all the steel and glass whizzing by on I-84 and said, "Wow, this is just like James Bond."

Word.

An Apology & A Question

I only have a few moments this AM. Not being the super multi-tasker my wife is, I can only keep 3 or 4 balls in the air at a time. Invariably one gets dropped. Right now, the ball that gets dropped and not picked up right away is this blog. Call this post a general apology for my lack of posts and more importantly, my absence from many of the comment sections in the blogs I usually visit. I will be back as soon as I get things under control in the real world.

Hmm......... I have never had the real world under control. I do not see it happening now. So let's just say I will be back as soon as I am satisfied I have given it my best shot.

Anyway.

The pictures of flora you see are of a plant that has existed roadside in front of my house since my family moved in here in 1966. My father knew what kind of plant it is. The neighbor lady thinks she knows but cannot recollect the name. Said she know it if she heard it. Okay, so she doesn't know either. She's a nice lady and well, in the name of neighborly relations, I refrained from pointing this out.

My question is - does anyone know what this plant is? It blooms in early Spring and is the nicest smelling plant in the area. I have never seen it anywhere but in my front yard. Do any of you folks who might see this know what it is?


Gotta run - I hear a chain saw calling my name.

Mother's Day - 250 Words

I grabbed my coffee and headed to the cashier. Caleb scooted in front of me with two small containers of bait worms in his hands.

"Jeezum Caleb, take it easy. What's the hurry? You make me spill my coffee, I'll make you eat those worms."

Caleb turned towards me and grinned. Near impossible to get mad at a 12 year old boy holding worms and a fishing rod. I smiled too.

"What's this fishin thing dude? It’s Mother's Day. You should be home massaging your Mom's feet."

“Yes, Caleb should be home massaging my feet. But he can do that later.” Caleb’s mom stepped around me and dropped 2 singles and a quarter on the counter. “She looked at Marcy, the clerk and asked, “That enough? I gotta run or I’ll be late for work.” She headed for the door.

Marcy looked at Caleb and said, “No Michelle, it ain’t enough. We’ll straighten it out later.” Caleb’s face reddened and his grin disappeared. He grabbed his worms and followed his mom towards the door.

The $42 I had charged Caleb the day before for fixing his bike now seemed like gouging even after deeply discounting my efforts. Setting my coffee down, I said, “Marcy, whatever Caleb owes on the worms .....include that with my coffee.”

Marcy smiled. “You lookin to get me in trouble? Michelle finds out someone paid her way and she’ll kill both of us. She ain’t got much but Caleb and her pride. Thanks, but leave it alone.”

~*~*~*~**~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*

I am not sure why this became my Mother's Day Post. An encounter in a local 7-Eleven early this morning with a mom late for work on Mother's Day somehow got it's hooks in me. This was the result.

Sitting on a Cornflake

Yeah.

It's time for some good sour mash.

Or at the very least,

Time for some tolerable mash.

Ten, fifteen years of sobriety

More or less

Occasional reminders are nice

To relive that which is now lost.

Yeah.

Clean out the dust from the shot glass.

Pump up Spooky Tooth to WOW.

Pour a civilized shot.

Tip it back, taste the brown liquid heat.

Feel that heat down to my feet.

Suddenly it is 1976 again.

Karma

I am convinced now that we often end up getting what we deserve even if what we get seems to happen for no good reason.

Take for instance the picture of the expensive and almost new broken bike part. When it broke and left me without the means to finish the off road ride last Thursday, I went with the flow of it. Shit happens. Parts break.

A good friend who was riding with us bailed from the ride with me. I walked and he rode to his house which was nearby. He gave up his ride to give me a ride back to the bike shop. He also loaned me a spare wheel so that I could ride the following Sunday while my rear wheel waited for parts. That's what good friends do for each other.

From bad moments, good Karma has a way of smoothing out the rough spots. Being dense and stupid, I often do not realize or appreciate these good moments. This was one of them.

Saturday morning a few of us, my friend included, were going to do a quick road ride. Unfortunately, the pre-ride conversation turned into one of heated political debate. My friend took a stand. I took another. Ten minutes later I stepped off the edge and let my temper ruin the ride and strain the friendship. Instead of shutting up and riding, which is our basic rule, I chose to carry my chip hard. The ride only lasted 5 minutes. My friend went home pissed. I sat in the darkened bike shop and brooded.

I searched my mind for the reason I was so upset. Certainly this political argument was not the reason, but only the result. It finally dawned on me I have been wound so tightly of late, I needed to relieve some of the pressure. A struggling business can do that to a man.

Taking it out on a good friend is not the way to do it though. Why then have I consistently pulled this kind of crap over the years? It does not happen often, but I have a history of this going back as far back as I can remember. Unbridled and unreasonable anger followed by serious regret.

Okay, so I have established that I have it in me to be a total jerk. And what's my point?

Everything comes full circle.

My friend and I worked out our differences. I put the wheel he loaned me on my mountain bike. And what happens? The same part that broke on my wheel broke on his wheel while I was using it. Only this time we were miles from the bike shop in the middle of the biggest cloud of black flies in York County, Maine. As I slowly worked my way out of the woods and the black flies, all I could do was smile. There is always payback. I deserved this. This is what happens to jerks.

Later...................