Neun comes to New England

My buddy, Tim Neun of Eugene, Ore., was in New England for the holidays, visiting with his daughter and her boyfriend. I haven't seen Tim since 1996, when I left Portland, Ore. to move back home.
During my brief residency in the Pacific Northwest (1994-1996), Tim was essentially my best friend. We both worked for a company in the downtown area. Tim was the guy who turned me onto kayaking, taking me up to Siletz Bay (spelling?). He is a smart, sarcastic, funny guy.
It was great to see Tim, but the visit seemed too short and unfortunately Laura couldn't get out of work to meet him.
Living in Oregon was not the positive experience I hoped it would be. I moved there from Nashville after requesting an inter-company transfer. But it was in Oregon that I realized that geographic cures don't work. I spent more than 15 years bouncing around the country trying to find myself and hit a proverbial brick wall.
If not for Neun, I doubt that I would have survived. He was supportive, kind and generous.
On the day when I decided to load my Dodge Daytona with my worldly possesions and drive back east, the only thing that gave me pause was the idea that I might lose this valued and trusted friend.
But I knew when I started driving east at 6:10 a.m. on Sept. 2, 1996, I was doing the right thing. And, of course, it was raining.
Four days later, I drove into Saco (Maine) and for the first time --- felt like I was finally home.
For the next decade, Neun and I stayed in touch with sporadic e-mails and random phone calls.
He saw me at my worst and accepted me. It was great to see him ( no matter how briefly) when I was in a much better space.

The thing that struck me about yesterday's visit in Portsmouth (N.H.) was his daughter and her boyfriend. Just when those of us entering middle age begin to have doubts about the future, we can look at people like them and relax.
They were extremely polite and gracious, and we had a great conversation about the state of our country and our collective social values.
Five days to go before I officially begin my new job, so I need to wrap up a few more projects around the house.

Nice face

Christmas morning

Santa got done sometime around 1 a.m.; and as you can see . . . Mrs. Claus did all the wrapping.

Frozen now

Think spring

This shot was taken in June 2005, shortly after we installed the pond. At that time, we had four goldfish living in there. The last of those goldfish died this weekend, some 15 weeks after we moved him inside for the winter.

Post Partum (the day after)

The view from my kitchen window shows the post-Christmas melting and the gray skies are representative of today's mood. Maybe it's because I watched back-to-back Quentin Tarantino movies yesterday while Laura cooked the turkey; or maybe it's because the kids are already bored.

Tonight, we will go to visit my sister in Gardiner, where my mother is also visiting and then drop off the kids at Jerry's house (bio-dad) for five days.

One of my old friends from Oregon will be in New Hampshire this week, and I'm hoping we can get together. This is just blather, and looking at this photo makes me think of heating costs and rising electric rates. So, I'll wrap this up and post a better photo of the beackyard next.

Pass the pepper, please

We're home from the funeral. Laura began sleeping on the way home. Within 15 minutes of arriving home she was curled up on the livingroom floor with her blanket and our dog, Scout.

Sound asleep.

So I did what any other red-blooded American man would do. I headed for the kitchen and began searching for the paprika and a cutting board.

Our company's annual potluck dinner is tomorrow, and since it will be my last, I wanted to leave in style. Thus, I purchased extra-lean bacon, overgrown, sweet onions and the finest Maine potatoes money can buy for my hot German potato salad.

If you have a crockpot, it's a cinch to make it, but it's not for you carb freaks. Just smelling it will add 12 to 14 inches to your waist line.

I never thought I would share recipes on the internet, but here goes.

Cube 6-7 med., un-peeled potatoes and boil for 3-4 minutes (You do not want them to cook through).

Fry 1 pound of bacon till crisp; then crumble it over the drained potatoes. With the bacon fat still in the skillet, fry a some chopped, sweet onion. Combine the potatoes, bacon crumbs and onions in a crock pot and mix. Now add 2-3 globs of dijon mustard, a pinch or two of unground black peppercorn and a dash of paprika. Stir the mixture, spooning in 2-3 tablespoons of sour cream.

Refrigerate overnight and then turn on the crock-pot (low heat) four to five hours before serving, mixing often. Goes great with a stout beer. Enjoy!!!

Uncle Bert

Last week, I thought today would be little more than a day of drinking and celebrating with my co-workers and those I developed relationships with during the last seven years as the Courier's editor.

But God had different plans.

So, instead I will be going to a funeral.

Uncle Bert is an "in-law" relative. And since Laura and I have been together just a little more than four years, it's not like I can say we were particularly close. And even Laura, I think, is grieving the uncle she knew from her childhood more than the Uncle Bert who decided to end his sorrow and grief a bit sooner than the rest of us expected.

But his suicide, like all suicides, has left me troubled.

Roughly a year ago today, Uncle Bert smoked a cigarette with me outside my new home. He was always very nice to me. Sure, all of Laura's relatives were nice to me (some more than others), but Uncle Bert seemed comfortable talking with me; and he wasn't what you would call a big talker.

He had a thick Downeast accent, gray hair, a wiry frame and a warm smile. We talked about my driveway, which really needs to be repaved. He spent several years as the owner of a paving company, and told me that my driveway was actually in pretty decent shape.

"You have a nice home, Randy," he told me. "You're doing a good job with those boys."

There's no way to explain how much that comment meant to me. He reminded me of my own late Uncle Leonard, a man who raised me during my teenage years when my mother was overwhelmed and my father was focused on indulging his every biological whim.

I always felt for Uncle Bert; he struck me as lonely, and there was no denying the fact that he never quite accepted the loss of his wife, the woman Laura knew as Aunt Cathy.

Laura and I were both raised as Catholics. And yesterday (or maybe the day before), she asked me if I thought Uncle Bert would go to heaven.

Yes, I told my wife as she brushed away a tear. "The God I believe in would not turn Uncle Bert away. Uncle Bert was a kind, decent and honest man. If he doesn't go to heaven, then it's no place I want to be."

The Church tenets were designed to keep people alive. Although its doctrines are fear-based, the intent, I think, was more practical and based in necessity.

God, I believe, is sad that Uncle Bert is no longer with us. But I believe in a loving and forgiving God, a God who understands and accepts our human follies. Would you turn away your child if he or she made a mistake?

Laura and her cousins have much closer realtionships than I ever had with any of my cousins. They get together frequently every year. So I know Peggy and Liz (two of Bert's four children) as well as any of my in-laws.

Peggy and Liz are amazing women with families of their own. Their father's better traits are certainly apparent in the way they raise their own children.

I just hope Uncle Bert knows what a special gift he gave me by openly expressing a vote of confidence in my struggles to be a stepfather.

As someone who spent the better part of a decade struggling with severe depression and at least two serious suicide attempts, I was shaken to learn that Uncle Bert went through with his shuffling of life's mortal coil.

I just hope God knows what He is doing, and I hope we all learn from the lessons that are so readily available in every day living.

Uncle Bert is gone and will not be here for this Christmas or any other, but I choose to remember that sly grin and gentle demeanor. And I know that all the streets in heaven will be well-paved, at least in the smoking section.

Weather Freak

Another Friday storm; but this one left plenty of ice behind, especially on the ski slope that also serves as my driveway.

For my out-of-state friends, including those in Tennessee, Arizona and Oregon; stay where you are because Mother Nature has a hard-on for New England.

Sure, we will spend billions to rebuild New Orleans. Why not? Just because it's under sea level, there's no good reason that we shouldn't ignore all the pressing needs of the rest of the country to make N.O. just like it was before; where levees protect the Wal-Marts that were built on the Bayou.

I shouldn't bitch; it's just that I don't think the federal government should be held responsible for every time Mother Nature has a hissy fit. Since the Farmer's Almanac is calling for yet another long, cold winter with plenty of snow, I wonder if all the ski resorts in Maine will now be able to afford repayment of the federal pork they received two years ago when the snowfall amounts were less than expected.

With outstretched hands, we wait for the money that grows on the trees; and in the meantime run up massive debts with nary a thought about the future or the levees that may not be quite as strong as we once hoped.

Some day, I hope the good people in southern Maine (and elsewhere) will wake up and realize that the jetty in Camp Ellis is not the sole cause of Mother Nature's push inward from the sea.

As far as I'm concerned, if you build your home on a pile of sand on the shoreline, then you're on your own when the cold winds of reality beckon . . .

Gotta go, my plow guy is here . . .

Laura and the boys

Laura hates this photo, and it began raining just moments after I snapped it.

Real men wear long shorts

Me and the boys (Tim and Matt) in western Maine during our summer vacation

Transistion

So, welcome to my blog . . .

Yes, it's true, after more than seven year's at the helm of the Courier's editorial department, I am moving on to greener pastures.

Check back often because I will still be keeping an eye on local politics and providing you with behind the scenes reports of our local government in action.

This could be a lot more fun than my public access show, we'll see.