Saturday was a busy day full of errands around town—to the library, to Paris Farmers Union, and, most important, to the transfer station. As we were putting some metal in the huge outside recycling bin, we both saw a bike leaning against the bin. The bike was red, an L.L. Bean bike, with a bit of rust on the handle bars but otherwise in seemingly good condition.
Clif and I looked at each, and “Shannon?” I asked. Our daughter does not have a bike, and where she lives in South Portland, there are biking opportunities galore.
“Maybe so,” Clif answered in his Yankee way.
As we looked at the bike, one of the workers stopped as he was driving by in a truck. “You want that bike?” he asked.
“I think we do,” Clif answered.
“Just stop by on the way out and pay $5.”
Five dollars? How could we go wrong? Clif took off the front wheel, and we loaded the bike in the car.
After going to the Transfer Station, we delivered returnable bottles to our friend Steve Knight, who is collecting them for his Heifer Ark Project. (His goal is to collect $6,000 in returnables.) I’ve written about Steven before, but in brief—Steve is a scrounge extraordinaire who makes it his mission to recycle and find usable “trash,” not only for himself but also for friends. Recently, he has scrounged paint for friends and wood for a chicken coop that he is certain his daughter will want to build one day. (I’m sure she will!)
Was Steve impressed with our find? You bet he was, and he slyly implied that if we weren’t vigilant, then that bike would disappear from our car while we talked with his wife, Margy.
On a more serious note, Steve also told us that when he retires in a couple of years, he wants to devote a good deal of his time to scrounging and recycling. (Right now Steve is a chemistry teacher at the high school.)
Clif and I smiled and admitted that when it came to scrounging and recycling, Steve was our mentor. I said, “We frequently ask ourselves, what would Steve do?” And I wasn’t entirely joking.
On the way home, we discussed the bike. Clif has been a biking enthusiast since he was a teenager, and repairing this bike does not daunt him at all. Our goal is to put no more than $50 into it, and if we achieve that goal, then Shannon will have a pretty good bike at a more than decent price.
Sunday was a snowy, blowy day. Outside, Clif and Little Green cleaned the driveway, and although we didn’t measure, I would guess there were 9 or 10 inches of snow. Nothing to get excited about in central Maine, especially when the snow is as light as it was on Sunday.
Inside, I made a double batch of gingersnaps. They will be going to various “elves” as well as a special friend who hasn’t been well. There will be more gingersnaps to come, for a party at the library and for a party where Clif works. ‘Tis the season. I estimated it took me an hour and half—from beginning to clean-up—to make a double batch of gingersnaps, which gives me 60 cookies.
When I think about my Christmas cooking, I would have to admit that none of it is what you would call fancy. Gingersnaps, thumb-print cookies, sugar cookies, peanut butter balls. But they are special to our family, mainly because we don’t have them on a regular basis. (The same is true for apple pie or crisp or gingerbread.) Since we don’t have them very often, these sweets and desserts are a real treat for the holidays.
Cookies to go
After making cookies, I headed outside to finish the clean-up, using a shovel to get to places to where Little Green couldn’t go. Naturally, I took a few pictures.
The backyardSnow dog
The little house in the big woods is nestled in the snow, tucked into winter, waiting for the full moon and for the winter solstice.
The Christmas countdown continues, and we’ve had our first cancellation due to an impending storm. On Saturday, we were supposed to go to Shannon and Mike’s for a holiday meal, and our friend Diane was invited, too. But a storm is blowing up from the South, and 12 or so inches of snow are predicted. It is disappointing to stay home, but as Shannon noted, that’s how it is in Maine from November through April. You never know when weather is going to interfere with your plans. Well, there is always plenty to do around the house, and even more this time of year. There are cookies to make and presents to wrap. And we’ll also sneak in a movie or two. Maybe I’ll even pickup some eggnog. If it’s going to storm, then we might as well enjoy eggnog with a splash of cognac, a drink so rich that one is plenty.
From NPR’s the salt: The second instalment of The Hobbit will soon be at a cinema near you, and what better way to celebrate than with a Lord of the Rings marathon complete with food based on Middle-Earth delicacies?
From the Portland Press Herald: Meredith Goad gives mouth-watering recommendations for “local gift ideas for the foodie on your list.” I’ve already tried one of the olive oils—the Meyer lemon—from Fiore, and it was terrific. And I must admit that Harbor Candy Shop in Ogunquit is calling my name.
A fine, clear, cold day in the neighborhood. After I bundled up—heavy sweater, leggings under my pants, a hat, which I hate wearing—the dog and I headed to the Narrows. The sky was a deep blue, and a crow followed us, sometimes calling in a high pitched voice, sometimes clicking and clacking. The dog barked, and I smiled. Neither of us understands crow, and not for the first time, I wished I “could talk to the animals.”
Taking pictures at the Narrows, especially on a cold day, requires a bit of juggling. Off come the gloves, to go on the ground beside me. As there is hardly any shoulder by the Narrows, I must shorten the dog’s retractable leash—he does like to leap at cars—and grip it between my knees. Where is the sun? How is the picture framed? With freezing fingers and a dog to worry about, I hardly have time to ask myself these questions. Never mind. Today the light was so good and the Narrows so bright and beautiful that it almost didn’t matter. Any shot would come out well.
After I took pictures, we walked farther on before turning around, when the wind hit us squarely. My face stung, and my eyes watered. The wind parted the dog’s hair, and we pressed forward.
When I got home, time for a cup of tea. How good it tasted, and despite the cold, how good it felt to get out and go for a walk.
With such beauty around me and the time to enjoy it, I sometimes feel as though I must be one of the luckiest women in Winthrop.
Today I decided to take a walk by the stream in back of the house. Almost within sight of my backyard, the stream has been beckoning to me as it winds through the dark woods on its way to the Narrows Pond. It has been a long time since I walked along the stream. Today, the snow was not deep in the woods. Today, it was not too cold. So after I made raspberry squares for the library meeting tonight, I found my winter boots and my camera, gathered the dog, and headed out back.
In my imaginings, the dog and I would walk quite a while by the stream. Maybe not down to the Narrows, but at least far enough to leave our house and yard behind. Alas, reality and imaginings don’t always coincide. I hadn’t counted on the snow-covered leaves being so slippery. I hadn’t remembered the banks of the stream being so steep. As I inched my way along, with the dog trotting lightly ahead of me, I looked for a stick to help steady myself. I found one, and as I crossed a hilly ledge that went from one side of the stream to the other, I idly reflected on how much it would cramp Christmas if I fell and broke either an arm or a leg.
This vision of handicap trumped the vision of walking by the stream, and I decided it was time to turn around. Before I did, I stopped for a bit, listening to the sound of water rushing under a skim of ice. Not far from where I stood, I saw animal tracks—deer and squirrels and who knows what else. Beyond the animal tracks was a great tree that had fallen, reminding me of the bleached skeleton of a whale.
Slowly, slowly, I made my way back to the house, where I found a package—a Daedalus order—waiting for me. I hadn’t gone very far, but I had heard the stream and had felt the presence of the forest. I was chilly enough for a cup of tea and ready for a sample of the raspberry bars.
The dog was ready, too, and after sharing a bar with me, he took a nap in his spot by my desk while I wrote this piece.
Next time the dog and I walk in the woods, we will stick to the trails. My knees are simply too stiff to deal with slippery banks. Still, it was a fine thing to stand by the stream and listen to the water and to feel the forest all around me.
Yesterday, we had a little snow storm. We got several inches of light, fluffy snow, enough to make the roads slippery and enough to make the woods and the yard pretty. Soon the dog and I will head outside so that I can finish with the clean-up. (Clif got up early and used Little Green to clean most of the drive way.) If this were March, I wouldn’t bother with so little snow. But this is December, and much more snow is likely to come, which means keeping up with the snow is very important.
The countdown to Christmas has begun. We are 10 days away, and I have devised a cooking schedule for myself. Some things, like squash bread and the chocolate ice-cream pie made with homemade ice cream can be made ahead of time and frozen. The same is true for wheat bread, and I always like to have a few loaves stashed in the small chest freezer in the cellar. French toast is ever so much better with homemade bread, and the same is true for grilled cheese sandwiches.
Other things—cookies, peanut butter balls, and hand-dipped chocolate covered pretzels are best fresh. From Sunday, December 22 to Tuesday, December 24, we will be cooking fools at the little house in the big woods. Fortunately, Clif will be able to help me this year. Last Christmas, he had broken his arm, and all he could do was roll peanut butter balls. This year, he’s not only going to roll peanut butter balls, but he’s going to dip the suckers as well.
Next week, I’ll be making lots of gingersnaps from a recipe of my mother’s, and these cookies are good keepers. They can be made several days ahead of time, very helpful this time of year. I plan to give colorful bags filled with gingersnaps to various “elves” who make this town a better place.
This morning, I read a blog where the writer made a case for not celebrating Christmas or buying a presents. He is not a Christian, and he is put off by the commercialization of the holiday. The writer has a point. Christmas has become commercialized, and with all the cooking and cleaning and getting ready, it is also a lot of bother.
But I don’t care. I love Christmas anyway. I love the bother and the presents and the decorating and the cooking. I love celebrations in general—birthdays, baby showers, anniversaries, whatever—and it seems to me that this country could use more celebrations and less nose to the grindstone. It feels as though there is too much drudgery and not enough fun in the United States. Work, work, work for too little pay. No maternity leave. Very little vacation. You actually want a day off? Bah, humbug!
As always, explanations are in order. I come from an ethnic group—Franco-Americans—that places a high, high value on hard work and cleanliness. In the past, Franco-Americans were all too often accused of being stupid, but nobody ever accused them of being lazy or dirty. Whether it was in the factory or at home, Francos were (and still are!) organized and energetic.
But, boy did Francos know how to have a good time. (And still do!) On Christmas Eve, my mother’s family would go to midnight mass, come home, have tourtière pie, unwrap presents, and party until dawn. Now that’s what I call celebrating.
So give me Christmas and birthdays and all the other celebrations that give sparkle to life. There are plenty of days left to work hard.
Correction: My daughter Shannon quite rightly pointed out that there are 15 days until Christmas. What a good thing it would be if I could count correctly 😉
Yesterday, with a merry heart, I drove to Portland to meet my friends Joan and Susan at Petite Jacqueline, where we celebrated Joan’s birthday. (Yes, I know. I’m involved in a lot of birthday celebrations. And I just love it.) The food is oh so tasty at Petite Jacqueline, and the servers let us talk long after the restaurant had closed for the afternoon. I also must admit that I have a soft spot for any restaurant that has a “Bonjour” sign at its entrance. The sign seems like a sweet little nod to the Franco-American population of the state, a population that at 30 percent is so large that it’s almost not a minority.
We talked about many things—my writing projects; Susan’s various performances—she’s a very talented actor; and Joan’s renovation of the family farm, a huge endeavor that Joan is approaching with pluck and energy. But one of the most interesting parts of the conversation was Susan’s description of getting insurance coverage through the Affordable Care Act, also sometimes known as Obamacare. (Sorry, Joan! I know how you hate that term.)
A bit of a backstory: Susan Poulin and her husband, Gordon Carlisle, are one of Maine’s power art couples. She is an actor, he is an artist, and they are able to support themselves through their work. This is a testament not only to their prodigious talent but also to their hard work and organizational skills. To say I admire them is quite an understatement.
Because they are self-employed, Susan and Gordon have had to buy their own health insurance, and for years they went with Dirigo Health, a state-sponsored plan. As with most freelancers, Susan and Gordon’s income varies, and sometimes they had to pay $500 per month for insurance while other years they had to pay as much as $900 per month, a hefty price for an actor and an artist. Quite a burden, in fact.
Now that the Affordable Care Act is in effect, Dirigo is ending, and Susan and Gordon had to change health-care plans. With the help of a certified “navigator,” Susan and Gordon successfully enrolled in the silver plan offered by the Affordable Care Act. Their new cost? $188 a month, with benefits as good as their old $500 to $900 plan.
“When I heard the price, I had tears in my eyes,” Susan admitted. “We can easily afford $188 a month.”
Her advice for people who have affordable health insurance through their work or through Medicare yet like to gripe about the Affordable Care Act? “Shut the ‘bleep’ up. You have no idea how expensive it is to buy health insurance on your own.”
Naturally, I was thrilled to hear that because of the Affordable Care Act, Susan and Gordon soon would have affordable health insurance that provided great coverage. It’s not only good for them, but it’s also good for other people who want to work for themselves. They now have the freedom to do so without worrying about the cost of health care, and it is my guess the Affordable Care Act is going to be a huge boon for artists and entrepreneurs and, in turn, for this country. Without affordable health care, there can be no freedom, no security, and this stifles creativity.
I was also thrilled for Clif and me. Clif is 6 years older than I am, and in 4 years he will be able to retire with decent if modest benefits as well as Medicare. However, I will only be 60, and I most definitely have a preexisting condition—I was diagnosed with breast cancer 3 years ago. I hated the thought of Clif having to work until he was 72 so that I could have affordable health insurance, and now he won’t have to do so.
Susan gave me permission to use her story because she wanted readers to know the good news about the Affordable Care Act. It is true that the beginning has had a rough start. Nevertheless, the good that will come from the Affordable Care Act far outweighs the bumpy start.
It is my guess that in the future, Obama (BHO?) will attain the same status as FDR and LBJ when it comes to progressive legislation that has done so much good for so many people.
Despite rough beginnings, sometimes this country does move forward.
Hot off the press! Here are some pictures taken at the Winthrop Holiday Parade. Naturally, the library float was the focus of the photographer—none other than Clif Graves. The weather was clear, cold, and beautiful. I trotted down the hill on Main Street as fast as my stiff knees would allow, and gave candy to the kids watching the parade. Everybody was smiling as the kids scrambled for candy, and I was smiling, too. Somehow, those stiff knees didn’t bother me at all until after the parade was over.
A rainy day in the neighborhood, and outside it looks like dreary March rather than crisp December. Never mind! At least there aren’t power outages and freezing rain, and for that I am grateful. At Chickadee Place—my new “old” name for this house—it is no fun when the power goes out. We have a well, which means no water when there is no power, and we have to use buckets of water to flush the toilets. Since our house nestles in the woods—so cool and pleasant in the summer—we don’t get much natural light, and without power, the house is dark. And, we have an electric stove. So although I always am prepared for power outages—big buckets of water in our cellar, a gas camp stove, oil for lamps, a wood furnace—I never look forward to them.
A busy weekend coming up. On Saturday, there will be the town’s Christmas parade, and the library is actually going to have a float this year. The theme of the float will be books, of course, and I am looking forward to seeing it. After the parade, a bunch of us are gathering at Margy and Steve Knight’s house, where we will come together for one of their fabulous potlucks. Margy and Steve have such a warm, welcoming home, and it’s always such a pleasure to go to one of their potlucks. I will be making a ginger-carrot soup, and I’m also going to try to slide in some homemade bread. No sleeping late tomorrow.
On Sunday, I’m meeting my friends Susan and Joan for brunch in Portland at Petite Jacqueline. We’ll be celebrating not only the holidays and our friendship but also Joan’s birthday. After that, I’ll meet my daughter Shannon for tea and then we’ll meander to the Portland Flea Market. Somewhere amidst all the fun will be a trip to Trader Joe’s to stock up on supplies for the holiday.
Despite all the folderol and frivolity of the season, I have been thinking about more serious matters. Striking fast-food workers have been much in the news lately, and even though I seldom go to fast-food places, my sympathies are squarely with the workers. (No surprise there. I come from a long line of blue-collar Democrats. Where else would my sympathies be?) Working people deserve decent wages, and nowadays, it is impossible to live on $8 (or even less) an hour without government subsidies. Through our taxes, we citizens are helping these workers, and, in effect, subsidizing the fast-food restaurants. As a progressive, I am all for helping workers and society, but do those fast-food restaurants, which make billions of dollars in profits each year, really need my tax-dollar assistance for their workers? I don’t think so.
The same is true for most retail jobs. Wal-Mart is the symbol for all that is big and greedy, and they deserve it. However, they are not alone in their Scrooge-like behavior, and it is the rare job in retail that pays a decent wage. (Even $11 or $12 an hour is not really enough to live comfortably.) Unfortunately, this is also the case for small businesses as well, even when they are making a good profit. (I know this from personal experience.)
Therefore, as we move into this season of Peace on Earth and Goodwill to All, my thoughts are with all the exploited people, not only in this country but also in the world—people who work too hard for too little; people who make it possible for us to buy cheap stuff and to eat cheap food; people who deserve better than what they get but are under the thumb of such an oppressive economic system that their prospects are bleak.
There are glimmers of change. Workers in this country are starting to protest, as well they should. And we should be in solidarity with them.
These glimmers of change give me hope. After all, a great man who just died spent 27 years of his life in prison. He lived in a wicked, wicked regime. Finally he was released and eventually went on to become president of his country.
If Nelson Mandela could achieve the nearly impossible, then our country should be able to come up with a fair and decent economic system for its workers. All of them. Not just those at the top.
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Yesterday, the itinerary went as followed:
