I was so pleased to hear this week that my great friend, Lord Prez Trumpleton, is saying that America will once more go to the moon.

And just to illustrate the extent of his underappreciated genius, I am told that he is going to make the Moonies pay for the entire trip!

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Now for a few oddball headlines, which, as you know, I love to collect. I have a very large plastic sack up here in the concrete towers at the foot of Mechanic Street, where I am forced to live, which is absolutely stuffed with weird headlines. I collect them, you see, rather like some people collect horsefeathers, or hen’s teeth.

The first is from the Bangor Dreadful News, which earlier this week announced in an online photo caption that there is something called the Portland Headlight.

I suppose it is attached somewhere near the front of the Portland Automobile?

Next is a choice plum picked from our very own dear newspaper which declared, also in an online headline this week, that “State, Rockland look to improve pedestrian danger zones.”

Actually, I can’t think of any reason why Rockland shouldn’t have the absolute best pedestrian danger zones in the whole of Maine. Can you?

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Last week, we marked the passing of Albert Larrabee, one of the many people from Rockland who once worked for The Courier. I noticed that the fact that he ran for City Council some years ago did not surface in the print edition, although former Mayor Brian Harden mentioned it online.

The way I remember it, Albert was one of four candidates for City Council that year, and although he was not elected, he did not come in last, either. I had a lot of respect for his deciding to run, surrendering as he did quite willingly to the excruciating glare of publicity that shines upon all people seeking public office.

For years after that, I always thought of him as Councilor Larrabee. Some people assumed I was being disrespectful of him, but I can assure you I was not.

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On Dec. 15, the Time Out Pub in Rockland reaches the point of having been in business with the original owners for 20 straight years. Kathy and JB got it going back in the twilight years of the last century, and they are still at it.

If this is a current record, it will be because, although certain other bars might possibly have been around as long or longer, I think none have been around that long under the name and the same operational ownership.

I will be stopping by the old place on the 15th to bend an elbow in respect of this esteemed commercial longevity. Would be happy to do the same for anybody, of course.

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A few weeks ago, I mentioned novelist Ben. H. Winters, but I think I left off the last letter of his name. This is by way of a correction.

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Saturday last, I met a young gentleman while we were both rummaging around in Wink’s swap shop at the dump. He located a small glass vial containing two or three mysterious pearly-white items, labeled “Crocodile Teeth,” which he put in his pocket.

Ever the curious fellow, I asked what value he saw in these strange, magical items. He replied that there are enough boys aged 1 through 9 in his family that one of them is sure to want to own a pair of crocodile teeth.

Hard to argue with that.

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Last Thursday afternoon, Dec. 7, found me momentarily in the company of a local citizen whose dad escaped from a Navy ship sunk at Pearl Harbor, all those years ago. We raised a couple of glasses to his honorable memory.

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I heard the name of our local bookstore mentioned approvingly on the air last week. Hello Hello Books downtown came up during a call-in show on public radio about good books to read. Sherman’s in Camden also came up.

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Despite our advanced age, a few of us managed to pull off the semblance of a good Christmas party last weekend. And at our advanced collective age, you never know who you might find at a shindig like this.

The interesting fact about this particular party is that two of the guests had, on quite separate occasions, met Martin Luther King.

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I see that George Marks and Ralph Cline are both recently passed away; two honest gentlemen whose acquaintance I was pleased to make during my work with the Courier in an earlier time.

George once took my small son and me for a ride to the breakwater in his little boat, Two-Toots. The boy got to drive it a considerable way across the harbor, too, which was a great delight for him when he was so small. Thanks to George for that.

I will not mention the morning some time ago when George spoke to me for half an hour or more on the bitterly cold streets of Rockland, where I was standing shivering on the sidewalk and he was in his heated van, talking to me through the half-closed window.

Ralph I met in his sawmill when I was doing a piece on something or other in the Independent Republic of St. George, and he told me his dad had posed for the painter Andy Wyeth upstairs in the building. It took him a while before he agreed, but in the end he allowed me to photograph him in what he said was more or less the same spot his dad had posed for the painting known as "The Patriot."

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It is nice to see an inflatable Santa in camouflage gear at the bottom of Rankin Street. That’s a proper Rockland Santa if ever there was one, and I salute him.