Faces

Who are you? Do you really know? Are you who you hope you are? I hear that you really never see yourself the way others do. Mirrors? Photographs? They are all about glass and reflections. I used to dislike my name, because it was too short and didn't lend itself to a nickname like all my other pals. I'm over that now. As for my face, gosh, I hated my freckles. I looked in the mirror and I just saw this funny-looking, freckled faced, little waif staring back at me. I complained to Mom. I asked her how to get rid of them. I even shared my frustration with my Aunt Mimi. She related to me some round-a-bout story, with a bottom line that freckles were where I had been kissed by angels. Sheesh! By the look at that 12 year old face, I wasn't kissed, I was made passionate love to! Oh well, I'm over that now too. These days, quite a few of the old 'dots' have dissolved. I guess the angels took 'em back! Hahaha!

As Popeye says, "I yam who I yam!"

Funnies

The funnies often get me in trouble. My funnies NOT theirs, if you get my drift. The Boy Scouts did not appreciate my 'creative knot tying' demonstration at the St. Joseph's Hall. I thought it was hilarious! I was asked not to return. Sister Joanne did not see the humor in my ring-leading the early morning 'attack' on the sanctity of her sixth grade classroom... after school for a week copying the dictionary. Whew! I told Mrs. Lyons that I had already ventured into puberty and the voice change, but she didn't believe me. My solo of "There Was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly" will live in infamy in Lincoln Junior's Room 310. I had to prove to Father Graham that I had had just about enough of his falsetto-voiced tales of exorcism. I thought my impersonation was a 'comedy-connection' riot. Needless to say he didn't see it the same way. A few of my collegiate capers were classics. Firecrackers in cigarettes, radios flying out windows, and the night I commandeered the PA system after midnight in the girls' dormitory(@Nazareth College) in a vain attempt to get a date. Don't believe me? Ask SG... he was there. Like I've always said trouble seems to follow me. I like the funnies. Do you?

Picture This

Last night I was watching "It's a Wonderful Life" on TV and began thinking about all those holiday movies and shows that reflected a simpler time. Back then, we gathered around the set, sitting on the floor, for specials like: " A Charlie Brown's Christmas", "An Andy Williams Christmas", "Babes in Toyland", and "A Christmas Carol" among others. Our lives take twists and turns. Sometimes our futures are directed by major, life changing events, but most of us seem molded by subtle, minute nuances of our youth. How did moms and dads know this would make all the difference. This becomes the recipe for who we are this morning. Take it or leave it; the die has been cast. Enjoy the buffet!

Boo!

Happy All-Hallows-Even (“evening”)!

Halloween was an exciting time growing up. It was always, simply amazing to me that dressed in my devil costume, I could walk up to any house, to peoples’ houses I had never met, never seen, say “trick or treat” and get loads of candy piled into my bag. Often, we had to stop home and get a second bag we ‘hit’ so many places. Yes, that lil’ red devil did pretty well for himself each October 31, much to Dr. Richards’ (my dentist) delight.

It's Family

Elenka is all about family. She was born in Newark and raised in Parsippany, NJ. She has many cousins and their families still residing in the state. Although her Mom and Dad have moved on to the Sunshine State, her ties are still strong there. It was kind of strange though when she passed the milestone of having lived more years in the Pine Tree state then in her home state. How did she come to find her way to me? She worked the summer, after her college graduation, at a summer camp in New Hampshire and on their days off some of her counselor friends traveled to Naples and the Long Lake area in Maine just to get away. She must have liked it, because she applied and was hired over the phone to teach art in Maine. And the rest, as they say is history. This story will continue at another time, but for now I'm just so amazed and happy that she made the decision to 'head' North. As my Dad said, (Birdman), she's the best thing that ever happened to you!" I can't disagree there.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY Elenka... yes, you are the BEST!

Natural Gas

This is a scene outback of the Metro garage for our fleet of city buses. Not only have cars changed but the look of a city bus has too. There used to be an abandoned 50's style one in a field I passed on my way home. It was there for about 25 years. Each trip past it, brought back adventures. I took the bus everyday to school from kindergarten to third grade. Kindergarten? I'm still amazed at that. I had to buy a weekly bus ticket, have it punched twice a day and not lose it. Later when I lived on Deering Street, I took the bus to work in the summer. Along the way, it picked up my 70-something buddy, Fillinger, and he would commence to regale me with anecdotes of his adventures in WWII and growing up in the city. He was what you would call a 'character'. We worked all day together and the stories came non-stop. One particular thing about him was that he gave everyone nicknames based on one's looks or deeds. He even gave Elenka one: "Doris", because he thought she looked like Doris Day. I was 'christened' Rocker, because I reminded him of some rock star gone bad. I was never called by my real name, just Rocker. His stories were tinged with bawdy humor and language and revealed a much simpler day. I enjoyed them , because the city and its history was always the backdrop. I miss the old guy. He was a fine teller of tales. He had gas to go all day!

Da Blues?

This post is anything but da blues for me today. It's connected with such a fond memory. But as SC often states about my photos and stories... 'Birdman, how the heck did you ever end up there from that picture, I want to know'. Last week, when I took this shot that spans the color spectrum, I thought for sure I had captured the sign hanging in front of the Irish pub Bull Feeney's, but later was disappointed to find it missing. That was a 'downer'. Now the 'upper'! Three years ago this coming December, Elenka and I had a fabulous 2 1/2 hours getting to know our new friends Kitty and Mr. BC. In life it's not the destination that's all important, but the journey and those you are lucky enough to meet along the way. Her photoblog is the first place I stop each day for my 'daily devotion' of verse.

Da blues? No, da friends!

Writers Write

These three young ladies were among a small group of writers scattered along benches in Tommy's Park the other morning. This group looked to be recording their early morning observations of people on their way about their lives. Writing was always hard for me. When Mrs. Kibler and others slid a piece of lined paper across my desk on Fridays and just said write a story, I felt overwhelmed. There was no real help or direction just the intimidating words 'write'. Terms like brainstorming, pre-writing activities, and finding your voice were still pretty much ensconced in the future. The finished paper was due on her desk first thing Monday morning, and so this usually meant a long frustrating Sunday evening and the end of my weekend. I got to dread Sunday afternoons and evenings. Mom knew what I was up against and offered encouragement and ideas. Needless to say, I survived seventh grade. Given what I know now, I certainly would enjoy another crack at those Friday writing assignments. Alas, life moves on!

Lil' Gardener

Here I am in Westbrook. I guess this is a testament that I was always a gardener and have always loved to wear hats.

Happy 29th birthday to me! If Jack Benny can say he was 39 all his life, I say I'm doing him ten better! Ha!

In lots of ways, grandmothers are the wisest of people. As this story was told to me, not long after my birth, and I was brought home to Devon Street, my grandparents paid a visit. When my grandmother stared into the crib, and found her first grandchild nestled among the blankets, she exclaimed to all present, "He looks just like Prince Charles!" This incident traveled with me all my formative years with some embarrassment on my part I might add. Often at my parents' parties, Nana would pipe up, "Doesn't he look just like Prince Charles?" I just wanted to melt into the carpeting. Now here's where the story gets interesting. Elenka's Babka( Slovak for grandmother) lived in Hillside, NJ for a time, and she along with her sister and cousins would visit often. One of the times, the ouija board got brought out for some fun.

Elenka asked, "Who will I marry?"

After a short time and a few moves of the pointer towards letters, Babka looked at the board and exclaimed, "You are going to marry Prince Charles!"

Strange or what? That's my story, and I'm sticking to it!

My plans for the day? Doing very little. Perhaps little bit of painting, relaxing on the deck, and dinner and a nice glass of wine at On the Marsh.

Enjoy my day!

Beautiful Boy

Our day began around 2 AM, when Elenka's water broke. Heading to Maine Medical Center on that early July morning I had two things occupying my mind. Simply put--today would be the birthday of a child, and where was I going to get two chocolate, coconut donuts and a cup of coffee at that time of day. We had practiced the Lamaze method til it was real old, still had no idea if the baby would be a boy or a girl, had no real finalized list of names, and I had made myself two tunafish sandwiches to get me through the event. I was prepared, and I knew for sure Elenka was. We were ready! The day was long and, of course, eventful. It was filled with lots of walking the halls, cherry popsicles (for me), and when I ate those sandwiches I have no recollection (but I did). JMR was born at 8:17 PM. Along with marrying Elenka, the best two days of my life... no question about that. I found this poem on a blog somewhere. It fits today. Happy Birthday Boy!

What is a Boy?

Author: Unknown

He's an imp and an angel,

a dreamer, a tease

An explorer of meadows, and

a climber of trees.

A runner of errands, and

doer of chores.

Who tears his best trousers, and

tracks up your floors.

He's a solemn young man with

some mud on his feet,

And a daredevil riding his

bike down the street.

A bundle of questions, who

wants to know "why",

The world goes around and

the stars fill the sky.

But adventures, timid, excited

or quiet.

There's nothing so new that he,

won't care to try it.

And just when your temper and

patience wear thin,

He'll look up at you with an

innocent grin.

And your heart melts again with

your real pride and joy,

In that mischievous, wonderful

treasure--- your boy!

i

Reenactor

Each spring I attend a Civil War Reenactment nearby. There is dancing to various reels and mixers, some singing of patriotic songs and a band playing era music. My friend is a reenactor, and I caught up with him recently. Rick is a private in Company A, Third Regiment Maine Volunteer Infantry. He did a informative demonstration of camp life and a firing of his rifle. The day ended with a reenactment of the famous Pickett's Charge, a reading of the Gettysburg Address and the playing ot Taps. Day is done.

Company A, Third Maine Regiment Volunteer Infantry

Street Sign

Our Governor has gotten a lot of ink and face time since November, and much of it ain't pretty. Perhaps you saw him opening his mouth on your local cable outlets. His anti-labor and anti-art rampage that he went on shortly after taking the reins of power at the Statehouse was, well, very embarrassing to our great state. Kill All Art? Well, in seventh grade, I did my part. I had GB, a wonderful art teacher, but just didn't get it. His projects were neat, but I struggled to be mediocre. In a memorable activity, he read us a LIFE Magazine story about the hermit and his goats living on Manana Island, near Monhegan Island off the coast of Maine. After hearing the tale, we had to paint his portrait without seeing a picture of him. My picture wasn't too good, although I remember GB stopping by my table offering me advice with my coloring and shading, but I had fun on that project. I looked forward to art. I still do!

Morning Stroll

Portland certainly has a different look then back when I was growing up. Back then you'd have quite a hunt on your hands to find a non-white family living within the city. These days Portland is really what might be described as a melting pot of cultures and faces. I had an an interesting conversation Sunday morning with the woman on the left. She and her daughter were out looking for a place of worship. They were looking for a Catholic Church, but we were standing in front of the First Parish Church on Congress Street. The service was still a half hour away, but the front doors were welcomingly open and the lights were on already. I suggested that they climb the stone steps and take a peek. As I moved on, that's exactly what they were doing. I think I might have found a couple of new members of the congregation.

Blue Wave

It's all about the hair. Want to make a statement? Make it with hair. I've always been a strong advocate of that age old adage 'clothes make the man', but hair for me is a strong second. Whether guy or gal, one's hair says a lot about who you are and where you MIGHT be headed. Get it? So what do you think? Is this a gentleman's blue wave or a young lady's coiffured mohawk? Live the do! Hairdo that is.

The Pipes

Happy St. Paddy's Day! Sunday afternoon, fighting away the showers, I attended Portland's annual St. Patrick's Day parade. It was short, but with some fine music and color. The Dunlop Highland Band (seen here) and The Claddagh Mhor Pipe Band provided the pipes, and there were kilts and sporrans abound. Since I didn't attend the ceili at RiRas afterwards, the highlights for me were the remarks of the General Consul of Ireland Michael Lonergan, with that Irish brogue and the pipe bands.
Remember: Brave Men Wear Kilts!
I haven't got one... but I WANT one!

Adverbial Phrases

A friend of mine passed this little book along to me. He thought I'd like to take a look at it. It's Swinton's Language Lessons: Introductory Grammar and Composition. The copyright page is missing, but the name and address inside reads Ella M. Noyes of 117 Boston Street, Lynn Ma.
My first day in Seventh Grade found me in the new gym getting my schedule. Skipper leaned over looked at my schedule and said, "You got Kibler." A moment later, he said, "Uh, oh you've got her twice." Yes, it was true. I had her for English and social studies. That afternoon, I raced home, found Mom and told her to call Lincoln Junior and get me out of her classroom. I didn't know it then but that day was a benchmark in my life. Mom, of course, said no, and a good chunk of that school year was spent in Room 210. The first part of the year, she drove me crazy. I hated that room. She made me work so hard; she covered my papers with so much red ink, I thought I was bleeding at times. As the year progressed, something changed. She taught me to have some confidence when I took up my pen, introduced me to Jack London and made me want to go to her desk and talk to her(even with that funky, 'old lady perfume'). Bottom line, Helen Kibler was my favorite teacher of all time. I think about her room and those life lessons she taught a lot. She's been a big influence on my life in so many ways. Then there came a day in the early 90s, when I opened the Press Herald and was saddened read her obituary. That was a hard day for me. I tried to replay that entire year in my mind that morning to no avail. How strange it is that some people become attached to us beyond our control.

First Born

october 15
she paints
she cooks
she cares
she loves
she travels
she creates
she jokes
she wines
she dines
she gardens
she sews
she teaches
she learns
she plays
she shops
she listens
she prays
she dresses
she accomplishes
she's there
she's then
she's memorable
she's forward
she's back
she's the difference
here, there and everywhere
elenka

Imagined

As I wake this morning, I still can't get my head around the fact that today John Lennon would have been 70 years old had he not been killed in 1980. That is indeed a long trip from the Ed Sullivan show and those Shea Stadium concerts. Is there any way to just get a piece or two of those innocent, youthful years back? Sitting on the back steps at Stevens, often staring up towards the Milky Way wondering where this life was taking me. Waiting there for that first Sunday night show. Brenda, Judy and Judd's excited voices making their way up the back trail to see my sister. I met them at the back door. Brenda chirping, "Are you going to watch them? They're so gorgeous and sharp!" "Ya, probably", I think I remember saying, trying to act distant and aloof. But I know one thing about that Sunday evening sitting around the old Philco-- my life changed; I know it did! It headed in a different direction, and I like where it went. Although, on mornings like this(with the Lincoln Park fountain as my picture), I long for a few innocent hours. Excuse me while I put "Double Fantasy" on and take a short trip back. Peace!

Willie in Park

Last evening we packed dinner, grabbed our folding chairs and headed in to Deering Oaks to take in some Shakespeare in the park. The Fenix Theatre Company presented the comedy 12th Night at the wading pool, and it was a hilarious hour and a half of madcap zaniness. It was a wonderful evening of the troupe weaving the bard's tale. I don't know who enjoyed it more the audience or the actors. Bravo!

ps. I'm away from my computer this week, but stop by anyway. I'm posting some neat shots. By the way, my scarecrow is complete. Coming soon to a Blog near you!

Three Apostles

I wouldn't trade anything for experiencing the Sixties-- this city, the music, my family are all a part of the mix. Another important ingredient were friendships made. When I look back, I had few real close friends. In lots of ways I valued a bit of reclusiveness that my third floor bedroom on Coyle provided. However, I do have two best buds from those times. We've been hanging with each other, in various degrees, since somewhere in the crazy decade. One goes back to Confraternity classes at St. Joseph's, while in seventh grade at Lincoln. Through high school, we sat close to each other in most classes. In the latter years of high school, I spent a lot of time in Gorham. Let's just leave it at--- they were the 'Gorham girls'. I met the other, through high school friends there, while he was walking on South Street. On Christmas Day and usually a sunny August afternoon, the three apostles get together with friends to share stories and a few daiquiris. We did yesterday, and it was riotous laughter and some zany stories as usual. Why the three apostles? Well, if you knew our true identities, you'd know. Best friends: they truly are worth their weight in gold!