Life comes with pressure. Most we can look in the mirror.
Take much of the blame from ourselves. Let’s face it. Level with me. We just pack too heavy. Adding to the extra baggage of life. Both the trip bag weight, piece count. Forgetting what’s important. Like too many trips to the beat the buffet line. (Burp) Excuse me. That steals the buzz. Maine Is Real, Fresh, Original.
That’s not the way we roll in Maine. If you were lucky enough to to be raised here, or live here now you know. Catch my drift? We are already on the same wavelength. But down country, in urban centers that seduce, woo, beckon.
Where values are different. Have to be for a new age kind of survival. Riddles not answered by opening up the Mother Earth News copy tucked under your arm. Got my vibe? In Maine a stranger is not that way long. In a city, keep to yourself, eyes down. Chasing the almighty dollar.
Step on it to try to keep up. Things move too fast. Lots of added layers, circles. The wrong bells, whistles priorities in the shift from Maine simple, real, warm, all natural, spacious. To artificial, cold, plastic, store bought, crowded.
That race for more toys, reaching to scale more rungs on the status ladder, whatever the rabbit trail or wild goose chase to fill the void.
What seems missing. All distract, distort. Make a good person go off course. Forget where North is on the internal compass. Hear that rumble strip sound? How about the air raid sirens? Something rotten smells. You don’t pick up that scent, worry?
When what is good, healthy, natural is messed with in life, that’s where the wobble starts.
Dose levels match the stress levels. Simple math. Go hand in hand. Look around you. You do see the red flags, missed cues piling up right? Natural, Outdoors, Clean, Colorful, Fresh. Maine.
Shake the trees, look under the rocks. Come up for air. Stop holding your breath and surface.
You’re needed, you step up, your talents and skills get stirred into the pot. Take a victory lap. Light ’em up. Smoke those tires.
These Maine images show you more outdoors, less people. More wildlife, less commercial. Look up, see that night sky filled with wall to wall twinkling stars? And you thought they only existed, that just happened in story books. Discover self reliance. Unlock, solve your own inner mysteries. Feel a tugging at your heart strings? Sense a longing to get in your car and travel to the 4th lowest crime state of Maine? We’re done here. For now. (To be continued)…
If you have followed a few Me In Maine blog posts, you would know this guy that hunts, pecks the recycled electrons likes music.
Especially new music. That’s his bacon. Today with technology screaming ahead cutting edge advancements. So much exposure to new tuneage. That’s exploding all around us. Just tap tap into the signal. Sit back, relax, enjoy. Not just to local, stuff close to home for artists, music bands. Oink. Wee Wee Wee .. Squeal It Out Loud And Clear.
The world is your oyster across the board. To sample the eye candy, musical note arrangements. Handcuffed in barbed wire to the sound. In a shot gun marriage. Infectious music rifts, beats, rhythms, minor chord harmonies, visuals, lighting. Not only limited to what’s within a sow’s pink silk lined earshot either.
Thanks to what you can pick up from the thin air signals of You Tube, XM/Sirius, the talk show circuit interview programming.
What’s shoved, crammed, packed into the other end of the wire. The one you and I are all connected to for more of everywhere we turn in our busy life. For pleasure, purchases, education on anything new and different that just might enhance our lives. Oink. Just Google it.
Today’s favorite spotlight music artist Paolo Nutini highlighted.
Three versions that are all same song with the edgy, catchy lyrics, wordsmith combination. Gets in your head. Goes with you into the shower. Trots out into your sunshine, blue sky day after that second morning coffee shot of caffeine jolts. Takes holt. But the visuals, the setting, edits create a different take away. To partner, tandem with the song words.
Like life, it all depends on the light shining on the topic. Your approach to the what’s put on the table. What is happening in your little world. As you shake and bake. Move and groove. Twist and shout with the pretty back up singers. Hit it ladies… 5,6,7,8.
Background singers, this guy is great with or without them.
Music is life, part of the buzz. Maine is the place to enjoy it more, To enhance what is happening all around you in the place with all this space, friendly people, unspoiled surroundings. Don’t stay away so long Bub. So you can know what you are missing when you just don’t show up Sport. Unless you live in Maine full time and hey. Then well now. I’m done here. Just preaching to the choir ’cause you already know, are smiling, nodding, already on board. I’m Maine REALTOR Andrew Mooers, ME Broker
207.532.6573 info@mooersrealty.com
Yet Maine is blessed with 108 small communities. That have such public servants at the helm. Leading the way. Tending the affairs of what happens out in the open, behind the scenes too day to day. Nightly meetings with selectmen, councilors can go smoothly, be harmonious, productive.
Or go another direction. Tedious, contentious and plain down right ugly. Very counter productive if public opinion goes sour. Because of apathy, disconnect or plain lack of a clear consensus of what everyone’s role is to help the process. That can seem fuzzy, elusive, overwhelming. Change from old ways of doing things mean positive steps with concrete results happen too slow for the populace.Shiretown Houlton Maine.
Like a sports team with a quality bench but a poor coach or the other way around.
There is a challenge to make it work, all communicate, become educated, to step into the same set of realistic expectations. For the options in the highly important decision making.
With what you have for people skill sets, numbers, talents, positives and the negative realities in the Maine community. The burg, village, community you are blessed to be a part of, involved with as a local taxpayer, parent, and employee or employer. Or a snowbird retired and watching with perspective from other areas that struggled, was victorious with their own set of municipal ups and downs.
When is time for the delicate adjustment and where in town government with who and why?
New chemistry to make the local Maine town government come together is sometimes needed. But focus on the real problems, solutions, not personalities or ancient history, personal agendas wins the day for the greater good for all.
Frustration, folks getting bloodied, silenced, ignored or beat up in the news, over coffee, social media circles often happens with just plain lack of information. Or the wrong set of facts to stay objective. Jumping to conclusions to over simplify more complex issues happens all the time.
A tumble weed of replacement, finger pointing, badgering, who gets the blame rolls, blows up and down Main street. It roams freely when bigger tasks, business decisions need tending. Before someone hollers last guy or gal out of the small Maine town, turn off the lights.
“Next… you’re outta here” hollered too often. As yanked, starting over and delay in the retraining to get up to speed becomes a time and money wasting standard operating ritual. In the revolving door search for the right town manager that can become a vicious cycle. If you don’t recognize what the problems are to match make for the right cowboy or cowgirl for the rodeo to straighten out what’s ailing.
What does the small Maine town need for a leader? Not the right fit means no longevity happens. A lot.
There are other elements that help or hurt the process of town survival beyond the fearless leader, the economic condition strain when financial revenue sharing streams from the state, Uncle Sam get turned off, dry up.
The other local small town realities to meet mandates, keep up and stay legal all create their own natural added weight. No matter who the current slate of leadership is nor how well intentioned all are to hammer out a partnership that tailor fits the unique small Maine town jewel local philosophy.
Discouragement is a snake bite, a venomous curse.
So is the recoil and rattler sound of recalling history with a recalcitrant narrow view. That creates a gravity that can keep a town lamenting past mistakes. Lashing itself like self mutilation with the cat o nines tails. Instead of focusing on what is up ahead for a path to take to have victories. To keep moving, not lose momentum. To zero in on today, not being dragged back into yesterday that is long gone.
Have a funeral and bury those mantras about “they” who are long dead, did the best they could, had success that is stripped away and instead only perceived mistakes are served. Get the spotlight. That led to this fine kettle of fish we find ourselves in are all courtesy of long ago blunders of “they”. Well “they” are dead, buried and should be allowed to rest in peace. I think that works best.
Often the part of the problem is weak leadership or just not unified but strong sub-elements who run their own show under the big top are not questioned.
Undermine to feather their own nest and build walls around an untouchable regime not to be questioned.Look For The Sunshine. Unplug, Recharge In Maine. Not always transparent and allowed to operate pretty much freely from public scrutiny because they always have. Their power is shifted with a strong town manager that tactfully aligns his department heads, council or selectmen if he or she realizes a clock is ticking. Results, to keep the RPM’s strong, flywheel turning and the town moving is critical or public opinion wanes quickly. And marching orders can result.
From those power centers who feel threatened combined with a portion of the public not keen, well versed on the vagaries of tifs, bonds, economic development, litigation, mediation, public education, the bid process to keep it local. For good old common sense that can get forgotten when overspending becomes a habit with money that just is not there. The cases of a few want it, push for it. With the galloping gimmees drunken sailor approach to spending replacing the “but do we really need it” in the long run review that is not happening.
What is the expression about the mouth writing checks that the butt can’t cash?
That is not frugal Maine where saving money is an art form. Has to be because less coin to manage makes you have way better impulse control. Get value, wait for it or keep shopping, doing your homework until you can.
The smart negotiating of salaries, embracing automation, getting along with unions, school departments and going easy on town attorney billable hours to avoid lawsuits. Lessons in public relations and not to open your mouth before thinking of the repercussions, the litigation.
Carrying a large roll of duct tape.
What you let loose out in the press, media with your soundbites, quotes. Part of a response for a question gets air, ink that shocks and is taken out of context. The juicy part of an answer kept, the disclaimer shucked. Missing a solid front at the top can keep the special interest groups of a small town operating quite nicely in the confusion too. Just the way they like it in King making, in the hoisting up one to their liking in the foray, perpetuation of petty small town politics.
Making sense of laws passed many miles, counties away on the federal and state level.
In their own county and local community. Raising money from property and sale taxes, service, permit, licensing fees. To administer the paying the bills for everything from public safety to keeping Maine local roads free of snow, potholes. Fixing, Getting Under The Hood, Under The Engine Of Small Maine Town Economies.
The bridges solid and continuing to span waterways. Educating our youth does not stop. Making the area a safe, family oriented locality.
With a modern infrastructure, health care providers, industry, commercial activity to create a source of income. The pride of an income to know the joy of home ownership.
Planning the future to assure the town remains more than a name on a map. With more than history as it blazes the way, survives, prospers, grows. What makes a small Maine town great?
Why do some Maine towns do a better tinkering, the job of making the most of what they have to work with all the locals on board? Seemingly focused on most of the same goals?
It takes more than a Maine town manager and starting with assessment of what the area strengths are. What’s the focus for the present, that supports the dosey doe onto the long term goals on the list. Clear sound planning for the how to accomplish those goals. And the town manager of Maine out there in the community not hiding in his or her office out of touch. Beating the drum for all he or she is worth beyond the 40 hour a weeks. To make sure it all comes together as the community’s biggest cheerleader, the CEO of a small Maine town.
If you were marooned on an island that does not even show up on the nautical maps.
No radio. But no stations if you did to tune, pull in signals. Plenty of fresh tropical fruit, cold shaded spring drinking water, warm sea breeze temperatures though. No worries about being unarmed. With no snow shovel, windshield ice scraper either. Nor an extensive wardrobe like being in Maine four seasons creates the need. To cover all the bases, bare skin spaces, places. To protect from the outdoor elements, scrapes, bruises, bumps. Surrounded By Island Water, Meet Your Neighbors.As you explore, focus on survival but making the most of the surroundings of blue green water, loaded with exotic wildlife. Scant for inhabitants with human DNA.
Rocks formed, shaped on the beach asking politely but loudly for overhead “HELP”.
Drift wood, dried stalks, blow downs in the forested section of your little island latched onto, hauled, dragged to the smooth open sand. Arranged for a bonfire. To torch, touch off, light up quickly.
Should jet or turboprop engines perform a fly by. To activate to flash point with a precious lighter if a boat is spotted plying the horizon. Should just happen to be spotted meandering, bobbing by.
Knowing you are no where near sea shipping lanes. Rats. Not going to see barges stacked high with containers of bananas in your field of vision.
To do jumping tack hand waves to be noticed in spy glasses. It’s like living on a dead end street in the Bermuda Triangle neighborhood of “no one’s home” Omega Man. Ever. The quiet is deafening, takes getting used to like being in the Maine country. After shell shocked too long. With city noises that never sleep. So it takes months, years to lose the ringing in your ears urban exposure damage causes if you ever do.
But you have music through it all on your little island.
Solar powered, limited hard drive size portable device you treat like porcelain. Maine Is Outdoors, Friendly People, Less Crowds, More Beauty. Like the question posed, pondered with friends by your own bonfire at a summer gathering, what three musical artists if limited to that low number would you pick to survive? Need to keep your marbles intact, operational. Your wits about you to get off this rock speck and back into civilization someday.
Warner Brothers used to have a loss leader album set they would issue to the public. For only two dollars to cover cost of production. And a puny shipping, handling for peanuts fee tacked on to get the thin flat tall package to your house from Burbank California. Have a bunch. Sent in the box tops. Big back in the late 1970’s, early 1980’s where you received in the mail ten to twelve tracts to nibble on, tickle your ears.
Music of brand new, unknown, fresh, green musical artists.
No memories attached. Fresh slate. Where bands, singers who did not show up on radar, virtual unknowns, not burdened with any fame or fortune. Zip for success but talent, promise, potential to soar and connect. Over the radio airwaves. Back when people saved up, debated, bought one album at a time. Studied the jacket art work, memorized the lyric sheet and added the album cherished to a wall shelf meager collection.
Pretty obscure samplers with a wide range of artist genres spotlighted. Using a low budget, shoe string promotional word of mouth approach touched on. Not like MoTown with one R & B Detroit sound theme. Varied big time. Maine Is More Outdoor Beauty, Less People Problems.But all had potential and hitching a ride on a vinyl 33 & 1/3rd poo poo platter to spin to win. All hoped and prayed. I would want one of my island alone channels to be this loss leader stream. And for my second wish Genie, throw in some Credence, CCR. Or it’s a toss up between Jim Morrison with the Doors or the Stones to keep me balanced. Vote number three, U2 or Coldplay would be the musical pick from the cutting the cards selection. This is not easy.
If I was stuck in a solitaire spot as just me, myself, I in the wolf pack.
An army of one, killing time in a different venue to make the most of it, I would reach for different musical groups to enhance, tranquilize, tenderize the location or conditions. The new musical stream of performers from the loss leader channel of up and coming Warner Brother artists. Would be the keep me going seasoning. New stuff for the heart, soul, grey matter. To be in the background of new experiences, relationships, seasons of life.
Because life without music would be like losing the ability to see, feel, get lost in color. In a prison of just black, white, shades of gray darkness. Luckily all the grown kids now have the same love of music, need for tunes to expand, maintain their life.
Music, gives you something to believe in.
Keeps your head above water. Up or down your feet from touching the ground. Lets you soar, detach, not ever backed in a corner. Feel like you are outdoors in Maine where rich life happens, is now showing. And we have box seats saved for you, no charge. Except get here. Soon. Don’t stay away so long. Maine… she’s calling your name, tugging on your heart strings. Hear the Maine loons, fog horns, rain on the camp roof, the crackling of a fire you cook on? That’s the Maine I know.
Plenty of snow in Maine, this past winter’s polar vortex brought lots to the party.
Maine, Outside, Another Season. Just Dressed Different. And as spring crocus, daffodils, hyacinths get the nod “you’re on, up and at ’em”, green red and other color canoes get dug out. Pulled from dusty garages. Or returned from whoever borrowed them after your kids went down a swollen Maine river last. It’s time to come home. Begin again with the rebirth of a Maine spring.
We are shoveling the large banks of Maine snow along hot black top driveways, parking lots to speed up the melting.
To splay the low quality snow banks. That are more like reject, low grade snow cone stock peppered with rocks. Over the warm pavement to hurry up the spring’s arrival in Maine. The transition not happening fast enough as the sun shines warmer, brighter high over head.
Mud season, drying out, firing up cellar sump pumps to give Maine spring thaw run off from winter snow water a better place to go. Then inside where nothing good comes out of the liquid visit. That can get high enough in unattended Maine homes to drown out the furnace.Pick Your Outdoor Pleasure. Maine Has Them All. Spread Over The Four Seasons.
Seeing your Maine neighbors out walking, talking, biking.
Taking cans, bottles from winter to the redemption center. Swamp out the family vehicle that looks battle weary from a long Maine winter.
Visits to the LP gas refilling center. For the cylinder swap of the empty tank for a full little piglet to fire up the outdoor BBQ.
Now you’re cooking with gas Bub. It’s all good.
Here.. (handing spatula, cook’s apron, the chef’s lid). To season, tenderize, sizzle whatever is on the menu good to eat tonight. Make mine rare enough to still moo, twitch please. Pink, cold center, juices oozing. Flash seared, blackened, sealed on the top, bottom, sides. Sure, you can make yours over done, shoe leather. Knock yourself out.
Grab your paddle, before it is time to latch on to the garden rake to rearrange the rocks from the Maine winter sand plow truck handiwork.
Celebrate spring in Maine. Hitting the garden and trade shows around the Pine Tree State.
The Maine kids planning for Easter egg hunts, church papeants. Getting bikes upgraded, fixed. Pan cake flat tires blown up. With your help Dad or Mom remove the training wheels. Or later for the it’s time for the really large step. To sure, look both ways. But you are big enough now, responsible. Can leave the yard. Ride with your friends to the corner store up the street for a treat. To the dairy bar for a soft serve twist of today’s favors. To feel like king of the small Maine town tooling around the downtown. Hoping you see someone you know to wave at and grin ear to ear. Or to beeline to the skate park with the board bungie corded to the handlebars. To shake off winter cabin fever on the slide, leaps and revolutions.
Wanting, needing to be fashionably correct. Taking the time to make sure everything is pressed, accessorized just so with his clothing.
Yup. My older by ten years eldest brother Stephen is a clotheshorse. The fashion bug, the being “in”. Leading the trends in what to wear started back in the halls of a Maine high school.
As a little shaver wearing red PF Flyers, Jumping Jacks sneakers or whatever brand the Boston Shoe Store peddled, I remember my brother Stephen getting ready. I Shoulda, Did Buy It When I Saw It At Mardens.Running an ironing board for the next day what to wear. Mom did a fine job with the four boys on all scores. Keeping the clothing department in our rooms clean, mended, ironed and tidy. But Stephen had above and beyond exacting standards to meet. To keep and make sure those creases and pleats were razor sharp perfectly pressed.
The loafers spit polished as if a large surly drill sargeant with a chip on his shoulder was stationed in our Maine farm house just outside of town.
That was battle ready to pounce. Going to shout drop for fifty soldier if “I can’t see my pretty self in the reflection of your highly polished shoes private”.
The hair on the top of his head always combed, arranged just so. Ready for action. Looking his best as if coiffed by an on location full time trained stylist. Ready, willing, waiting in the dressing set trailer. Who’s only job was to maintain “the look” for the “action, quiet on the set people”. The crack of the electronic scene clapper time recorder. “Roll ’em. Now throw yourself into the parts, the characters with feeling. We have sound”.
Girls in high school were the sport for a healthy Maine teenage boy.
He liked to be the target, in the cross hair scope of their affections, attention, flirtations. Knowing Monday if he had the family car for a date this weekend was priority one to establish early on. And if the answer was not the affirmative, tension in the house happened. He needed to know what to plan for, schedule at the end of the week. The parental tone of “it depends on what kind of week you have Stephen” car key dangling tease did not pacify. Did zip to help calm or appease the situation. As I ate my meat and potato, chop suey, whatever farm supper with three brothers. Observed, heard, felt the back and forth conversation that could get over heated and cause ear steam pretty quickly.
The enjoyment from looking dapper has not dropped away, ebbed in my oldest brother’s life today. Working in a Bangor Maine office setting in a management capacity. He sports an impressive, deep arsenal of clothing horsepower. Still the clotheshorse but not outdated with what just what worked a few decades back either. That qualified as today’s look for the time.First Handheld Cub Reporter’s Recorder. Cell Phone? Or Is That A Graham Cracker?
When I spend the night, am watching a movie in the guest room before the Sandman arrives, I notice a closet with not a handful of dress shirts.
I share the room with racks and stacks of clothes. We are talking every color, all neatly pressed and hung at attention. Waiting to be put into service. The extra racks like stores use with rows to hold more dress clothes selection.
Ties, I guess there are ties. For every conceivable color and patterned combination. All the holidays to compliment the rest of what he girds himself with to hit the day running. Looking spiffy neat and pressed and “with it” like a fashion plate.
Conservatively thirty men could outfit themselves handsomely with a divide the spoils approach to the stock pile of clothing inventory. To the wardrobe “Uncle Stephen” to my kids has amassed. It’s that deep and expansive. If clothes were a heart’s card game, you could say he took, had all the tricks in succession. Shot the moon and back several times.
Walk-in closets would love my brother Stephen.
They would feel like one of the most useful areas of his home. Very necessary and ten hut ready to be put into action. An integral part of the Maine household.
Today the ironing board is stilled used a lot, preparations the night before are exercised to be boy scout prepared. Mom would be proud of the clotheshorse that still practices the craft in the Queen City. Who has more blazers, slacks, sweaters, cowboy boats, dress shoes, tires, shirts than most mortal men. He played in several local Maine music bands over the years too. So the wardrobe is not just for the office boardroom meetings. In Maine We Dress Warm First, Stylish Second. But is way way broader than that. With an upscale country western twang flair showing. That allow the snake skin boat collection to mosey into the day to day in the cross fire of what to wear back and forth applications.
I like clothes too. But not quite bitten as deeply, to the bone by the needle and fabric thread bug. Recently cruising through the local Marden’s found a real bargain (Pronounced with a Downeast drawl “BAR-ginnn”) that was under 8 bucks.
Wool blend, extremely well tailor made with all the extra pockets, silk stitched lining. A matching dress suit of brown fine herring bone that fits like a glove. Mainers like a good trade to put a spring in their step. To free up hard earned money for other things in their life. To have left over for savings for those rainy days, fun activities, luxuries like groceries, kid’s braces and prom dresses.
