Author: Andrew Mooers

Common Sense, Used To Be All We Had To Guide Each Day To Day.

Do You Use Common Sense In Living Your Life? Inquiring Minds Want To Know.

Living by your own wits, developing life survival skills.

Sink or swim. Do or die, life or death reality means common sense embraced, to guide your actions, steps. Even thoughts. The logic of the way things roll, the reality of what is happening, could happen differently with a seasoning of good old common sense.

Around you, on the news, in conversations, have you noticed common sense is drowning? Suffocated by rhetoric, spin, hidden agenda campaigns or sheer apathy. If there was more shared common sense applied to everything from child rearing to personal happiness, wouldn’t the world be a better place?

Obituary printed in the London Times recently to ponder.

Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as:

– Knowing when to come in out of the rain;
– Why the early bird gets the worm;
– Life isn’t always fair;
– And maybe it was my fault.

Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don’t spend more than you can earn) and reliable strategies (adults, not children, are in charge).

His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a 6-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.

Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly children.

It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer sun lotion or an aspirin to a student; but could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.

Common Sense lost the will to live as the churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims.

Common Sense took a beating when you couldn’t defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar could sue you for assault.

Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.

Common Sense was preceded in death,
-by his parents, Truth and Trust,
-by his wife, Discretion,
-by his daughter, Responsibility,
-and by his son, Reason.

He is survived by his 5 stepbrothers;
– I Know My Rights
– I Want It Now
– Someone Else Is To Blame
– I’m A Victim
– Pay me for Doing Nothing

Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone.

If you still remember him, pass this on. If not, join the majority and do nothing.

Maine, big state, hopefully more day to day use of common sense applied to our decision, policy making. Common sense still applies on all levels from our kitchen table discussions, household family raising and business life activities.

I’m Maine REALTOR Andrew Mooers, ME Broker
207.532.6573
info@mooersrealty.com

January 28, 2013
The Crunch Of New Maine Snow Follows Your Footsteps On The Way To The Barn.

Making Sure Farm Fences Are Secure, The Animals Are Fed. Crops Planted, Cultivated, Harvested While Building Repairs Are Done In “Spare” Time.

Up early on the Maine farm. Knowing animals inside the barn are waiting.

Part of your daily routine to hay, grain, water and clean out. When the weather agrees, turning the horses, cows outside to run is in the cards. But if freezing rain, northwest winds pick up, shelter is needed for the furry four legged farm friends.

As the barn door black wrought iron slide latch is lifted, the push forwards causes a familiar greeting creak.

And body heat from the animals inside the box and standing stalls hits you as warmer. Than the air temperature trudging through the new snow to do morning Maine farm chores was.

The ponies Sugar Daddy, Thunder and Frito closest to the door. Watching as you enter from the bright light of outdoors. Fiddling, groping in the dark for the overhead light switch. That when twisted, illuminates the long line of horse, cow and small animal stations. The big brown and black pair of eye animals are glad you are here. What kept you they wonder? Not like a dog jumping up and down glad. Not like a cat winding round and round your legs hoping for a can opener sound or a new bowl full of dry food. But humbly glad just the same because it’s meal time.

The animals in the Maine farm barn one by one get a few flakes of hay.

Stored in bales overhead the barn loft. Where you climb a wooded ladder to access the hay mow. And open a trap door, drop down the correct number of bales you will need to feed all the hay burning critters below.

The haying and graining done first. Before watering so the meal sticks to the animal’s insides. And does not just wash through their system. The frostless water valve for filling the bucket hanging in each standing or boxed stall does not work this cold morning. Frozen, because the red mercury as you rubbed your eyes this morning sunk to a new low. Recalling where in the glass thermometer it registered. When scanned, glanced at out the farm house kitchen window. While sampling the first fresh black coffee cup of the day. As you dress warmly, layered for farm barn chores.

No frustration sets in, watering just has to be done the hard way.

So get out the green long hose sections. Wade back to the Maine farm house some distance away from the barn. Whip off the hand knit mittens someone at church made you. Screw on, attach the first section of hose. Before bee lining through the white fluffy snow to the barn. Uncoiling several installments. To one by one water, fill up each pail to the brim.

As you do the morning chores, you are watched, studied.

You squeeze by each animal in a standing stall. Talk to them as you fill the manger. Give them a pat. Scratch behind the ear. To let them know “Good Morning”. Some like people kick, bite, require you to beware. Be careful. Draining the hose for watering when done. Coiling it, hanging it back up. Storing it for the next session if the heat tape you just plugged in does not thaw the frozen water line for more barn refreshment rounds that evening. For the another agriculture Maine farm adventure before bedtime. Early morning arrives before most people are up with this many head and just you playing the unplugged center farm stage solo.

The wheelbarrow from out behind the barn at the bottom of the ramp of planks. Used to climb the manure pile at high ramp speed. Getting a run for it when loaded and don’t veer off the stairway to Heaven. Two handed bouncing on the single front ribbed tire. Pushed back empty on the barn return flight. Through the back door to the stable. And parked, filled with a pitch fork at a time process to clean out the gutter trough behind each standing stall. Then wheeled into the box stalls to tidy up, perform “housekeeping”. Just without the plastic room card key tapping, foreign barely knows English voice like on a cruise ship door too early in the morning. The manure cleaned out replaced with new, fresh litter cedar shavings or golden straw bedding. The pile behind the barn you create rich, the finest kind natural fertilizer for the spring pasture and field dressing spread ritual.

All the time working thinking more and more often of the style of eggs you will have today.

Big orange yellow double yolk farm fresh ones plucked from under your own laying hens. Pondering the preserves you want today on your home made toast. Mentally preparing for cutting green peppers, onions, mushrooms to mix into your skillet home fries. Hearing the bacon or sausages sizzling. Getting ready in concert to fill the hole in your stomach from the morning farm chores heave ho, off to the barn you go exertion. The fresh Maine air on your farm work out where you know what you are eating. Where it comes from, how it was raised.

Maine, big state with the simple living, the space to enjoy a natural, wholesome uncomplicated lifestyle.

I’m Maine REALTOR Andrew Mooers, ME Broker
207.532.6573
info@mooersrealty.com

January 26, 2013
Simple Living Taught, Shown To Young Maine Grasshoppers.

Finding Simple Living Serves Best, Mainers Are Happy, Content, Industrious And Work Harder To Preserve The Things, The Basics That Matter Most.

Being content, at peace starts with knowing you have more than enough. Everything you need for survival and happiness is within us all.

But somehow along the way the simple living, easy does it moderation can go to heck in a hand basket. Getting caught up in marketing, and overspending happens when we are convinced we can not be so happy without this or that toy, merchandise, service. Told, lectured living happily ever after without something means order before midnight today. With three easy, one last not so much fun payments.

The simple approach to life is the template for Maine living for a couple reasons. First, not a state flush with extra cash to splash. We don’t show off, need to be the center of attention or keep up with the Jones’s. The Jones’s with all the glitz move away. Because all the trinkets and monetary rewards from success don’t play well in simple, down to Earth help your neighbor Maine.

Second, simple living in Maine means less exasperation or chomping at the bit anxious feelings to crank it up several hundred RPM. You miss the small joys, the splendor, the fun of being lucky enough to live in Maine. If possessed with that NASCAR pit stop life approach wind up day in and out. Like a marathon where you bust a gut in the beginning leg. Then peter out from sheer exhaustion because you did not pace yourself.

True Mainers born and bred into simple living are happy with what they have.

Grateful for what they possess and not lamenting what they don’t. What they earn and respect, take care of because the money comes hard. The weather is a little more of a challenge. And a nest egg for a severe dip, twist in the road of life means live a tad below your means. It is not square, not hokey, not suffering, just sensible. Disciplined to not be a burden on anyone else.To row your own boat, pitch in for the greater good and to be productive. With a positive purpose providing value filling our many small, scattered Maine family rich communities.

Early medicine growing up the same simple approach. Not racing to the hospital with the sign of a sniffle. And Mom relying on old tried and tested favorites in a much smaller family medicine cabinet. Cod liver fish oil, a teaspoon of that will cure what ails you. Heated up and rubbed on your chest when you are achy, have a cold. Gargling with just warm water and salt when the pipes of the gullet get sore. Flat coke syrup and ginger ale, a few crackers when nothing wants to stay down at the other end of the stomach.

But along with the simple medicine approach, wisdom of the older generation with sage advice about get your sleep.

My three older brothers and I reminded to get your rest. That things don’t look so good the next day when you don’t. That a body not cared for gets worn down, sick. Bundle up when you go out. Count your blessings to reassure, remind you how lucky we all truly are in so many ways. Your mental, physical, spiritual outlook all up to you to maintain, preserve, protect. Taught to hang loose, don’t get shook up. Be patient. Tomorrow is a new day.

Our work, labor, profession defines us too.

Do your best, work hard to become better and to provide a warm, loving house for your children. Keep it looking respectable with maintenance that is cheaper if not neglected in the long run. Contribute to your local community. Explore Maine’s nooks and crannies with your family. Get them educated and prepared for when the parents are gone. And they move up a generational notch in the simple game, process of life.

If is harder for some out of state Maine real estate buyers I see to warm up to the notion of simple living. Who find it hard to give up the crutches being a little more affluent can create. But those crutches, the neediness for stuff you can live without clutter your life. Interfere with the basics of living in a simple but drop dead gorgeous natural Maine setting. Starting fresh, without a mountain of debt and this, that stripped away. That you thought you can not live without that all come with a price.

Replaced as you settle down from the hurry scurry.

With new found appreciation for a Maine sunrise. The promise of a day to not waste. Filled with wholesome, basic events you make yourself. And reflection at sunset that you accomplished much. Not just on the outside but your inside. Contentment, peace, inner joy makes the world around you, the people in it more enjoyable. Get to Maine, settle down and find what’s been missing.

Other Maine blog articles….

Maine Birds, Give Them A Winter Snack.

Maine Neat Older Homes Admired, Respected, Cared For.

I’m Maine REALTOR Andrew Mooers, ME Broker
207.532.6573
info@mooersrealty.com

January 25, 2013
Not Into Maine Hunting, Fishing, Snow Sledding, So Now What?

Outdoors, No Office Desks, No Deadlines. Your Outdoor Therapy.

You don’t look good in blaze orange, get tangled up casting a fishing line.

And snow sledding, down hill or cross country skiing is not your cup of tea. But hope others love all the above in Maine. What to do for other sources of fun? Glad you asked.

The State Of Maine Tourism people suggestions should help break the ice on other activities to consider. Maine is lots more than hunting, fishing, snow sledding trips. And lighthouse tours of Maine’s many are a life long collection. To revisit and take away something different each time. Under your own power, hiking picnicing in Maine is one low cost family fun option too.

See a puffin, explore the many Maine islands, the north woods, Allagash Wilderness Waterway.

Or 101 other Maine things to do. I am home based in Northern Maine, Discover Aroostook County. Or white water rafting, carriage rides part of Maine’s excitement too.

Being handy to Baxter Park, biking the trails of Acadia Park are two favorites.

But to each their own right? The point is not to waste a place with the space called Vacationland. So much to do in our own backyard, in state. So so lucky to be living, to have raised kids in Maine full time. Not having to settle for just a weekend, a stretch of days once a year to jam it all in. Would not do the place justice.

The photostream of Maine might offer suggestions of what looks like fun to you. So could Maine local community videos. Toggle them, sit back and listen and see what generates inside. For help in the kick in the pants to enjoy all Maine has to offer. To get started because life is too short. Find out what made in Maine means.

Maine, she’s waiting.

Never been here? You are in for one big surprise. Hang on, come for a day. End up staying a lifetime. Come learn all the stuff the Maine tourist information brochure leaves out. Had to edit that just would not fit. She’s that extra special.

I’m Maine REALTOR Andrew Mooers, ME Broker
207.532.6573
info@mooersrealty.com

January 24, 2013
The Lawn In Houlton Maine Mowed Like, Kept Like The One At The White House.

Marjorie Black, Ralph’s Wife Worked At Cary Library in Houlton Maine.

The Maine family stories you pass on that may or may not be so accurate.

Because you were little. Just not paying, giving all your limited, young undivided attention to the chain of events.

Missing some of the faded historical facts. With mental filters sifting, sorting from only a kid’s pair of eyes, a relatively new set of ears.

Not taking notes on a tall binder ring top reporters pad.

Not thinking about referring back, blogging about observations someday.
And now knowing entertainment has crept, permeated into the five “w”‘s in news gathering. Beefed up, high tech story telling, yarn spinning which is part of the day to day survival in rural Maine. Exchange of the news, the history but with a little polish. I did not say spin for some hidden agenda. Just the hand rubbed, home made twist to the chain of events that we all experience in a more connected, smaller Maine home town experience.

For starters small Maine towns are less people but all working pretty much in unison for the greater good of the sparse population. Keenly aware, delicately wired with some common leads. Salt and peppered with the same common sense strand of DNA to survive, be happy and content with less. Which creates more lasting value in a person’s life spent pretty much outdoors all four season in Maine. Basking in the natural beauty. Gleaning what matters most in quiet, reflective times alone in the Pine Tree state one of a kind settings.

Ralph Black was my God father.

No no, not the kind where someone ends up startled with a dead horse in a bed. He and Marjorie had no kids but were very much involved in a good way with their nieces, nephews from their home country of Canada. The border crossed after World War I to the US, to Maine where they raised their right hand together. Recited in unison with the rest in the room the proper words in the correct places to step back. And blend in with the new citizenry.

Ralph had a perpetual cough, rasp.

Clearing his throat in a hardly audible way if you and I were around him and engaged, distracted in an activity, conversation. But done enough to notice when you were caught up in your business, industry. I inherited the lawn mowing job from my brother Brian. For their small two bedroom ranch home built next to where our family lived on Franklin Avenue in Houlton Maine.

Ralph was a quiet, gentle man. Marje was the color, the conversation. While Ralph smiled. Listened, coughed softly like the miss of an engine long past due for a valve job. Or carb adjustment. Or new electrical points that might come with a cracked distributor with moisture raising havoc with the engine purr.

My parents loaded up the pick up and ferried several round trips from the intown home to the Maine farm my great Uncle Finley left to my Dad and Mom when the orignal owner of my middle name woke up dead one morning.

His widow, a Florence Nightingale WWI nurse of sorts with a slew of stories traded places with our family. In a move from the country two miles to an in town spot. Aunt Hettie was a wealth of stories, wisdom, interactions of her own. Other Aunt Hettie blog post fodder for another day.

Ralph Black was a loyal worker of the Almon H Fogg Company. The place sold hardware, sporting goods, everything but food, spirits, smokes pretty much. Tight as the proverbial bark on a tree. But practicing frugality as a perfect, unwavering science. A two legged model of a well run business. Thats ways spilled over into his real home life that I was part of along with a cast of other average Joes, Janes.

His tan Chevy Corvair that Ralph Nadar was gunning for, had in the cross hairs was spotless.

So was his tan 1966 Pontiac Tempest six cylinder bought new car that could have been an excellent GTO clone candidate. With a new 389 triple carb or 400 cubic inch power plant lowered into the front engine compartment. For weekend timed runs at Winterport Drag Way. The thoughts that meander through a young boy’s mind while trimming grass, mowing the lawn I inherited from my brother Brian.

The lawn kept current, short to exacting standards that I rode my banana bike to town to mow each week in warmers months. Kept clipped, golf course manicured. With exact trimming with oiled, frequently sharpened clippers, a push “silent” yellow hand mower. And the heavy artillery, a turquoise dual wheel self propelled Ex-Cello reel mower. The two mowers I helped Ralph load into the car trunk each fall. To take to be serviced for the coming spring maneuvers on the steep side hill Maine home lawn. For the huge rear patch, front lawn of grass that was always weed free.

Ralph and Marje were card carrying members of the lawn police.

High standards, don’t miss a blade. Not really Gestapo like but close in expectations for their lawn. For everything around them at the Maine home they built. That was not filled with kids of their own. But my comfort while wrestling with the lawn equipment in knowing there is a cold soda, my new favorite kind. And a snack at each completion in the weekly “how did it go” kitchen table lawn debriefing.

Happy To Be A Kid In Houlton Maine

Marje worked at the Cary Library, sang in the choir at the Episcopal Church.

Ralph ate dry purple seaweed from Nova Scotia called dulse. I know, right up there with Moxie that always struck me as a kin to liquid tree roots and bark pulverized and mixed with old motor oil.

Pink Canadian peppermints also a treat he had a sweet tooth for munched on wearing his Marine spec crew cut. The kind of severe hairdo that needed the small round push tube of deodorant smelling goop to keep it at attention, straight up. All day.

Ralph’s small cough from lung shrapnel or trench foot soldier warfare mustard gas.

Or neither of the above from the Canadian theatre of the first War. That is one of those questions that parents gone does not allow to be asked, answered today.

Often on his knees in his private spiritual, vegetable garden while I labored mowing. Ralph loved his garden dearly. Tended it with the same degree of lawn standards exactness. In his element in that big garden behind the stick built ranch house. The one with the once thought, best thing since sliced bread light green asbestos siding on Franklin Avenue home in Houlton Maine.

I’m Maine REALTOR Andrew Mooers, ME Broker
207.532.6573
info@mooersrealty.com

January 22, 2013
A Lot Of Respect, A Little Fear And A Better Educational Experience.

Beliefs, Family Values, Raising Youngsters With Consistency, Love, Respect For Authority Makes Everyone Happy. In The Long Run.

Teaching in public and private schools has become more than wrestling with just the three “R”‘s.

The education of children starts in the home as a necessary partnership with educators. And children learn early on about authority, respect, discipline, healthy routines to keep a lid on the drama, emotional levels in the home. And vice versa, classes in school.

If there is a stable, happy home with consistent, thought out day to day activities, chores, conversations so everyone feels part of the family. An integral part of the family where each knows they would each be missed if gone. That each has a role, contribution in the growing up, family raising in the home. And that fairness, consistency is dished out in conflict resolutions.

If what happens early on before school and during the education of the child is missing consistency to avoid confusion, episodes of disrespect, unhappiness and chaos, the squeaky faucet, spigot opens.

Spewing of toxins can happen. And over time cause disharmony in the household. That spills into the classroom. Interfering with the educational process. And making for one unhappy child. Because the parent does not practice tough love, take the most important job he and she will ever have serious enough. Or is just ill equipped, blind folded in seeing the red flags, missed cues. Maybe a result of their childhood contributes to the family spiral.

The child too young to fix it him, herself.

Not knowing what is wrong and their role in gains and setbacks. Confused when everyone tries to make it better but can cause it to be worse with poor timing. Residential quick sand. Causing the child to try anything when leadership, authority in the home is missing. To take charge of a situation that can spiral out of control. Make life crazy for anyone around the unhappy child. That thinks others are responsible. They are. Someone has to be the full time parent. Not the child.

Teaching is not just shaping the child, preparing them for the big wild blue yonder. And yes, sometimes the cruel, not so fair world out there. But to be resourceful, to be creative and taught how to be happy. To make the most of any situation. That as Annie sings, reminds “the sun will come out tomorrow”. Bet your bottom dollar. To learn early on that there is a reason for the hub bub.

And like a sports team losing a game, that as the individual player, keep hustling harder, dig deeper. As you can still win. To not lose sight of the goal. To follow the dream. And know you and I are not the only one in it. Gain a lesson from the loss or setback. Take ownership, responsibility. Learn from it.

Hats off to parents, grandparents, neighbors, educators, coaches, high school business employers who have one of the most important jobs in a child’s life.

And knowing the education does not stop. Continues with all of us the longer we draw breath, live. And interact with a new crop of kids. The entire village in a small Maine town raises, shapes, guides its most precious resource. Their kids… the leaders, parents, educators of tomorrow passing on beliefs, values, lessons.

I remember teachers growing up like Mr Elwood Scott.

During listing a property on Drews Lake to sell, he told me to call him Woody. I told him I could not, and he will always be Mr. Scott. For life. Not just as a kid roaming the high school halls getting an education. Out of respect, and because I always will remember how he ran the high school. With authority, a little humor and a lot of fairness. He had to and it was kept simple. And I did not want to disappoint him. Don’t want detention, have to stay after school. Did not want to disappoint my parents who would back him up if I left some key points out of the story I spun. When I explained why I missed the bus, had to stay after school. And busy them had to please come get me. My Shenanigans, tomfoolery had made other lives harder.

Mr Scott had the support of the community. I am not so sure every community backs up the administration for fear of law suits today. Because little Jimmy or Suzie that runs things at school, has parents bamboozled at home too. Spoiled, not happy but very capable at getting what they want. At someone else’s expense.

But Mr Scott was consistent, would not tolerate disrespect and none of us questioned his authority. Neither would our parents, his educational partners. Just like the bus driver who made the call if you were acting out, distracting him on the school run that morning. Who had 55 other noisy, boisterous kids bouncing along the back roads around rural Maine on the way to school. Who had a job to make the morning pick up, afternoon drop off driving the bus in any weather that can suddenly happen living in Maine.

I’m Maine REALTOR Andrew Mooers, ME Broker
207.532.6573
info@mooersrealty.com

January 20, 2013