Forget the sandwich and wait for dawn

By David Grima | Aug 28, 2014

Interesting to read that the pilot who landed an antique biplane rather heavily and turned it up on its nose at Owls Head on Saturday is named Rudder.

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Speaking of things in the air, I heard a squadron of geese honking their way through the sky after dark, also on Saturday. And given the rather cool weather we’d had for a few days it was hard to avoid thinking of fall. In fact fall is weeks away, but I don’t mind admitting I have been watching the weather this summer with a wary eye. Days that should have been in the 80s have been in the 70s, and days that should have been in the 70s have been in the 60s. And there have been few or no fireflies, either. Also, there have been none of those hot sticky nights where it is impossible to fall asleep, and they usually arrive in late July or early August. The trouble is, of course, that the relatively cooler summer has in fact been quite pleasant, almost sweet. The trouble is, of course, that given last year’s hellish winter it is hard to stop thinking that a cooler summer will mean another cold winter. In fact the Farmer’s Almanac is predicting a second rough winter, as it did last year. Have I cheered you up yet?

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The other day in Bonelda’s kitchen I was picking through a spineless, almost disintegrated, cookbook by Anna Thomas called “The Vegetarian Epicure,” and saw that the recipe for savory cheese and onion pie has been commented on in pencil. “Is Horrible” it says in a condemnation scrawled there by the owner a good many years ago. Bonelda also says that another cookbook contains a recipe for “the worst thing I ever ate in my life.” I forgot to ask her what it was that so revolted her. Years ago a friend tried to palm off some pumpkin squares on Mrs. B that were pretty vomitrocious as they had been made with goat milk instead of the proper stuff. It’s hard to think of anything that tastes worse than those goat milk pumpkin squares.

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Drink up while I tell you a tale that was told to me in good faith about a residential care facility in Knox County that collects returnable bottles from a drop-off in the town square, fills an 18-wheeler with them, and ships them for redemption to the South End Market, the economic hub of the neighborhood. This effort is said to have earned about $16,000 a year for the non-profit home.

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The other week I got back to the concrete towers where I am forced to live at the foot of Mechanic Street, long after dark. Groping blindly for the end of the long rope up which I have to climb to get in, I found something tied to it. The South End Tomato Lady had struck again! It was a bit of a struggle to get the bag of tomatoes off the rope, so in the end I did the manly thing and cut it free with my knife. Then, up the rope in a flash to make a tomato sandwich. Problem, no bread. First solution, send one of the Four Seagulls of the Apocalypse to the store with a dollar bill in its beak. Problem, the foolish bird ate the dollar. Second solution, strangle the seagull, at least in my imagination. Can’t really do that sort of thing, of course. Final solution, forget the sandwich and wait for dawn to bring a better idea. A long and hungry night.

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Several times lately I have seen people driving cars with a dog on their laps. Must be quite insane. Next thing we know, they will be talking on their cellphones, or something equally unlikely. But dogs on their laps is surely ridiculous enough to begin with.

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Speaking of cars, the other day N mentioned something she called a Ford Exploder.

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A month ago some young girls were strolling along Crescent Street in the direction of the ocean, and as they went they called out to a neighbor on her porch, “Are there jellyfish in Maine?” A fair question, I suppose. As far as I could tell, though, not a single jellyfish replied. I think they must have smelled a rat.

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I don’t know what Reade Brower has against Brussels sprouts, that he should expose them to scorn in his paper last week. I think he should apologize once a week until at least Thanksgiving.

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Dubious headline of the week from the last edition: “Search still on for Waldoboro planning director,” yet there was not a single word of explanation about how the planning director managed to escape or where they have been looking for him. And has he had his shots?

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According to the Courier, people in St. George have been told they can withdraw from the school district they are in without their taxes going up as a result. Right.

David Grima is a former editor with Courier Publications. He can be reached at davidgrima@ymail.com.

Comments (1)
Posted by: Francis Mazzeo, Jr. | Aug 31, 2014 13:16

Driving with a dog on one's lap is probably not advisable but safer then driving impaired by drugs or alcohol. Someone pretending to be living in a concrete tower makes more sense only to those who might take an occasional puff of the wacky weed.



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