Sweet gone all to salt

By David Grima | May 23, 2014

Last Saturday was not a great day for little people in the Lime City. On different occasions during the day I observed three members of our species, all less than 4-feet tall, demonstrating this quite clearly. One told her mother she didn’t care to “watch out for cars” in a parking lot, and added that she had every intention of getting hit by a car. You can imagine mother’s reaction. Another expressed herself with a single sustained note of wailing pitched at just the wrong level for adult comfort. A third simply assumed the horizontal situation at her parent’s feet near the checkouts at Hannaford and refused to get up. These were all other people’s children, and my heart goes out to the parents sincerely.

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Speaking of things seen over the weekend, I notice that Goodwill is now selling nude photos and paintings. There were elements of human anatomy on display in broad daylight that are not normally seen in a general retail context in this Puritan part of the country. I took no personal offense, but am glad at least they were images of the other half of the species. Male nudity is so much more difficult to bear, no matter how hypocritical that observation proves us to be. Yet the difficult fact remains that men without clothes on usually look so much more ridiculous than women in the same state.

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I understand the city council is looking to swing its red pen through the staffing list at the public library this year. I am against such things. I would urge the South End Tomato Lady and her kind to please leave the library staff alone. At the same time I understand the council also intends to end the freebie it has provided for many years to the Lobster Festival, by charging organizers for the use of the public landing this summer. I certainly have mixed feelings about this. Both the Festival and our library are evidence of a mixed and rather animated kind of culture in Rockland that I would personally like to preserve. Both have done rather a lot for Rockland over the years, in their unique ways.

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Yes, I also pay taxes. Sigh.

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One recent warm dark night I wandered down from the concrete towers where I live at the foot of Mechanic Street, and overheard an older gentleman ordering a bowl of lobster stew. Asked if he was from around here, he replied that his father was born on a kitchen table in Owls Head. I suppose that’s a good sort of answer.

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I learned the other day of a scientist who tried an experiment with kindergartners in the local schools. The idea was to persuade them to eat raw carrots. The little weevils ate the celery but would not touch the carrots until they were planted in a bucket of sand, and they could pick them out, clean them, and gnaw at them to their weevily hearts’ content. Can’t be explained.

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A young gentleman was recently sharing his opinions on the best use of a Time Machine. He thought his first choice would be to flip back a few years and attend a Pink Floyd concert. He said he would also use his time-traveling privileges to try and influence the band Metallica to change something at the end of one of their songs. Finally, he said he would use his machine to bring dead people to our modern century (I know, it sounds like a city council meeting) to show them the influence their work has today. For example, he said that when he was but a tiny weevil himself, an elf was a funny little person who labored in Santa’s workshop. Citing the effect of the late J.R.R. Tolkien and the people who have movies out of his Hobbit books, my informant said that these days an elf is thought of as tall and blond and having the use of a sword and bow.

These are all rather benign uses for a Time Machine. If you wanted to be cruel instead, I suppose you might dig up George Washington and a nice selection of those Founding Personages, and set them down in a modern Congress for a couple of hours. I don’t think anyone could be more cruel than that. Oh, the bitter tears at what they had wrought in the name of liberty, that it should have come to merely this.

If I had a Time Machine, I think I would like to watch Stonehenge being built.

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Did I ever mention that, in my opinion, the most interesting thing that was ever in The Courier is a picture of a potato that looked remarkably like Richard Nixon? I must have said that before. I think it was a Black Cat column in the 1970s.

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Bonelda tells me that, once upon a time, she and another party spent hours picking wild blueberries. They collected heaps of them, and planned to make all sorts of delicious goodies including pies. Later in the kitchen, the party of the second part went and poured in salt instead of sugar, and they had to throw the lot away. They were mortified. I bet they felt just as bad as Geo. Washington & Co. would feel if we had the ability to use a Time Machine on them as suggested above, the anticipation of sweet gone all to salt before their eyes.

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

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