Beanie’s Bars

Since the announcement of my retirement, some of my colleagues at work have asked me “what are you going to write a book about?”  Many of my work mates live in Canada and I wanted to be articulate.  I had to keep myself from taking them on this long, blog-like journey of explanation. 

If I was prone to self-promotion, I would have said “Marjorie Standish, now go read my blog.”  Instead, I’ve simply said “a biography of a famous Maine woman.”

If you’re a long-time reader, you know I’ve been intrigued by Maine’s first foodie for more than a decade.  Is she a famous Maine woman, though?  Sure, everyone in Maine knows about her “Melt in Your Mouth Blueberry Cake.”  But how well do we Mainers really know Marjorie Holbrook Standish?  We’ve barely scratched the surface.  And if we don’t really know much, how could I possibly explain it all to my friends in Toronto? 

We won’t get to the bottom of it today, though, because blogging is about shipping content and I have time for only two cups of coffee and writing this morning.  I have an interesting story to tell you about one of Marge’s friends.  Grab your copy of Cooking Downeast, pull up a chair, pour yourself a cup of coffee, and turn to page 180.  Do you see a recipe for “Date and Nut Bars?”  Wonderful.  Here we go.

My sugar is so refined…

Marge first featured this recipe in her November 3, 1957 Maine Sunday Telegram column.  But she didn’t call it “Date and Nut Bars.”  She elaborately (and perhaps sycophantically) introduced it as “Beanie Farrell’s Chinese Chews.”  Marge said that Beanie gave her the recipe in the summer and that since then, Marge had “made them at least ten times.”  Two years later in her October 25, 1959 column, Marge wrote about making three different kinds of bars for her Kennebec Valley Community Chest planning meeting.  She said “any group works better if there is a cup of coffee and a bite to eat in the offing.”  No truer words were ever spoken.  Marge goes on to say “…because I make Beanie Farrell’s Chinese Chews about once a week, it didn’t take a minute to whip up a batch of those.” 

Dear reader, “Beanie Farrell’s Chinese Chews” are easy to make, delicious to eat, and freeze well.  Marge mentioned all of that in both of her columns.  My friend Karen, down in Harpswell, suggests lining your 8 x 8 pan with parchment paper instead of butter and I second that motion.  Your bars will come out of the pan easily and be ready for cutting when they’re cool. 

Marge’s mention piqued my curiosity about Beanie, so I did some digging. 

Albina “Beanie” Walker was born on May 12, 1895 in Guilford, Maine, to George A. and Albina Ledew Walker.  The family moved to Stonington, where Beanie graduated from high school.  She attended Shaw’s Business School in Augusta.  On April 10, 1917, she married James E. Leighton, Jr. at Sacred Heart Catholic Church in Hallowell.  Their wedding announcement said “they are a prominent young couple of Hallowell.”  On May 19, 1919, their son Walker James Leighton was born. 

In April, 1936, the Leightons celebrated 19 years of marriage at The Worster House, a popular Hallowell restaurant in the 1950’s, said to be “Where Maine Goes to Dinner.”  But just 3 months later, tragedy struck and James Leighton, Jr. died at Augusta General Hospital.  Clerk at the Hallowell post office for 28 years, he was noted to be involved in many community activities.  He was 46 years old.

On June 27, 1940, the Kennebec Journal featured engagement pictures of stunningly attractive Albina Leighton and handsome David Francis Kelley.  They were married at Sacred Heart Catholic Church on August 5 of that same year and the Kennebec Journal noted it was “a wedding of unusual interest…”  Unusual how, I wonder? They don’t say. Kelley, a 1916 Bowdoin College graduate, was the postmaster at the Gardiner post office.  The newlyweds made their home at 44 Lincoln Avenue in Gardiner.  Newspaper social columns indicate the Mr. and Mrs. Kelley were active in Gardiner community activities until January 5, 1950, when David Francis Kelley died at the Gardiner General Hospital.  He was 57 years old. 

According to the Monday, October 8, 1951 Kennebec Journal, Albena (sic) Kelley and Dr. Chalmers G. Farrell “were married in a quiet wedding ceremony Saturday morning at the St. Joseph Catholic Church rectory” in Gardiner.  Dr. Farrell was a prominent local physician and surgeon, respected in the community. 

I wish I could report that Dr. and Mrs. Farrell enjoyed decades of marital bliss.  Unfortunately, Dr. Chalmers died on September 30, 1955 at Togus Veteran’s Hospital after a hospitalization of 5 weeks.  He was 69. 

Dr. Farrell was not a Catholic like Beanie; his obituary said he was a member of Gardiner’s Christ Church Episcopal.  His funeral was held there at 9:00 a.m. on Monday, October 3, 1955.  Perhaps this is why Beanie and Dr. Farrell were married at the rectory. 

I’ve barely skimmed the surface of Beanie’s life story.  There’s more, believe me.  And what about her husbands?  Dr. Farrell himself was a widower when he married Beanie.  I found an obituary for his wife Margaret, a nurse from Westbrook who died in 1947 after only 2 years of marriage.  Dr. Farrell probably had at least three wives, but I can’t prove that today.  I did not eat enough Chinese Chews to energize myself for that genealogical journey.

Albina Walker Leighton Kelley Farrell died at a local Gardiner hospital on April 8, 1977.  Her sparse 4 paragraph obituary doesn’t tell much of a story.  No mention of her husbands, her friendships, and her Chinese Chews.  No mention of her life, her loves, and her losses. 

The Chinese Chews themselves are a story, although my time is running out.  When Marge first mentioned Beanie almost 70 years ago, she said “everyone knows what delicious food she turns out.”  That’s why Beanie didn’t have time to talk to Marge the day Marge called.  She was too busy baking cookies. 

As good a cook as Beanie was, she didn’t invent the Chinese Chew.  It was first featured in the June, 1917 issue of Good Housekeeping, submitted by a Mrs. L.G. Platt of North Bend, Oregon.  (What’s her story?) Beanie would have been a young newlywed when the magazine was published.  Maybe she clipped the recipe and pasted it on a card.

It’s also interesting to note that by June, 1960, Marge was calling the bars “Beanie Farrell’s Date and Nut Bars” in her column; she said she was mixing them a “bit differently with excellent results.”  I don’t know what she was doing differently.  I’ve examined both recipes closely and all I can deduce is that she replaced the butter with MARGARINE!  And she didn’t try to hide it, either.  I mean no disrespect for Maine’s first foodie, but for the love of Marge…no margarine! 

Look, the Chinese Chews are really simple and delicious.  They’re easy to throw together and they make a wonderful argument for why you should always keep some dates in the house.  The bars cut up well and you can get creative.  I cut mine up like parallelograms. 

I’m not sure I’ve tied things together here today, but that’s my idea for a book.  I’d be curious what you think and remember, “the past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.”

Posted in Cooking and Food | Tagged | Leave a comment

Anyway, Writing

I suppose it’s natural to call the question-and-answer pitter-patter between human and large language model (trained by Google, TM) a “conversation.”  Although there is no coffee or carefully carved brownies, I admit to having “conversations” with Gemini.  Or Copilot.  Or Grok.  Yesterday, Gemini and I were conversing about social medial statistics, blogging, digital reach, and digital fracturing.  These are the kinds of things you chat about with a large language model.

(No coffee or brownies were required.) 

I’ve been thinking about writing again after a long period of quiet.  It’s hard to get started.  I want to take my readers on a long poetic journey of why I stopped writing 5 years, 10 months, and 25 days ago and tell them everything that happened during this long highway of time.   

I told Gemini to write one sentence that would explain it all.  And do it in the style of blogger Julie-Ann Baumer.  Gemini said:

“Starting over.”

“Finally.”

“Anyway, writing.”

I laughed out loud.  I liked all three of the staccato sentences, but I was not sure I would start a post that way.  The last one appealed to me as a possible title.  I tossed them away with great force in the dramatic and imaginary way I do.

A lot has happened since we met here regularly.  A hundred stories, maybe more.

Where does one begin with such a whirlwind of thoughts and words?  Maybe a link to an old post will help ground me against time. Since it’s Reformation Sunday, I think The Lutheran Binder is a good one. It’s hard to believe that was 8 years ago. But it’s as relevant today as it was then and Flux Restaurant is still open and serving delicious food right here in town.  Jason LaVerdiere remains the owner and head chef.  I’ve lost touch with Shelley; it’s my fault and I feel bad about it.  But at least I’m in Maine and I can commiserate and join with E.B. White across time and exclaim “I would really rather feel bad in Maine than feel good anywhere else.” 

Oh, and I’m retiring at the end of the year!  Here’s how I wrote it up for my colleagues at work, after over 21 years at The Big Corporation:

“As she begins her next chapter, Julie-Ann is looking forward to caring for her parents, writing a book, creating bigger gardens, and curating a lifetime of memories. She plans to live a more analog life, be a good neighbor, faithful friend, and grateful steward of the beautiful things she has been given.”

Maybe I’ll change my name to Julie-Analog. 

Anyway, writing!

Posted in Just Writing | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

That Was The Worst Christmas Ever

On December 17, 2020, I started a blog post with the title “That Was The Worst Christmas Ever.” I never posted it. I haven’t posted anything since December 7, 2020.

A lot has happened since then and I’d like to write about it. Or maybe not. Bear with me as I figure out how to use WordPress again, ok?

Posted in Just Writing | Tagged , , | Comments Off on That Was The Worst Christmas Ever

Manitowoc Calling

For the last three weeks, I’ve received an unknown call on my cell phone.  The call comes in at the same time every day, but I never answer it.

Manitowoc Calling.  That’s what I think every time I see it and then I think “Hello, hello, Manitowoc calling.”

I was curious about the number and googled it; I found nothing.  My iPhone eventually labeled it as “potential spam.”  I wanted to answer it because I knew about Manitowoc, Wisconsin.  I blogged about it in 2016.

Maybe someone from Manitowoc wanted to talk to me about my Aluminum Specialty Company Tree. 

Well, they might.

Not only did a piece of Sputnik IV crash in Manitowoc, the town has more recently been hosting a festival called “Evergleams on Eighth.” This festival, which runs from Thanksgiving through early January, celebrates the aluminum Christmas tree once produced in Manitowoc in atomic-age abundance. The aluminum Christmas tree means something to Manitowoc, like Worumbo woolens and Moxie mean to my town.

I love my sparkly tree.  When I first moved home, I was living in an apartment above Rick Mason’s excavation garage.  I could see the Mason’s house from my apartment and I remember the night I put my tree up in a window facing the Mason’s house.  Gina, Rick’s wife and my good friend, loved it.  It made me happy that Gina could see it from her house. 

It’s been over 3 years since Gina died.  I don’t think about her every day, but I think of her often.  Her family still lives here in town.  Her husband has remarried.  Her son got married, too, and he and his wife have a baby.  I wish I could have seen Gina as a grandmother. 

Christmas evokes memories for all of us. It’s rather Dickensian, really. We think of Christmas past, we live in Christmas present, and we wonder about Christmas future.

We are living in very dark times. I won’t go on. You can read the (ahem) news yourself. Make your own conclusions. But I’ve noticed that many of my neighbors are putting up Christmas lights this year. They started before Thanksgiving and normally I would be very Emily Post about it and scold them in my mind, almost as if they strung the lights wearing white pants and open toe shoes. I’m a little worn out this season and less sparkly than normal. But I put the candles in my windows Saturday night, in collaboration with my neighbors and friends against this dark night.

My favorite blazing tableau is a trailer on the West Road in Bowdoin. The lights are strung haphazardly all over the yard, with the inflatable snowmen and Santas. There is even Santa in a space ship. It’s very different than my display here on Blethen Street, but I love it because it is almost as though it was the one thing the owners could do then to push back the darkness of being poor and forced to stay home all the time. Maybe they’re out of work. I don’t know.

Very soon, I’ll put my sparkling Manitowoc aluminum tree up. I’ll put more decorations around the house and maybe throw some red and green chocolate covered candies in faux crystal dishes. It’s my best shot to push the darkness back and give a big middle finger to the forces who would have us living in fearful expectation of the future.

“Manitowac calling…Ja, frohe Weihnachten auch für dich!”

Posted in Just Writing | Tagged , , , , , | Comments Off on Manitowoc Calling

Apfelmus Uber Alles

“Applesauce for Everyone.”  That was the title of a Cook’s Illustrated magazine article in their “Fall Harvest Recipes” special edition.  Publishers are still publishing magazines and twice in the last year, I’ve impulsively thrown Cook’s Illustrated on the conveyor belt behind my toilet paper and bleach wipes.  The magazine has been in circulation since 1993; it’s associated with the PBS cooking show America’s Test Kitchen.  The magazine and the PBS show were founded by a man in a bow tie named Christopher Kimball.

I enjoy the magazine and if I had a trust fund and did not need to knead dough at the Financial Services Test Kitchen for my daily bread, I would happily spend my life reading back issues and streaming episodes of the show.  And cooking, of course.     

“Applesauce for Everyone” was a lengthy dissertation about the best way to make applesauce if you did not own a food mill.  Should you peel or not peel your apples?  What is the best type of apple to use?  How chunky should your applesauce be?  The article’s author decided that the peels and cores were instrumental to good flavor and described a tedious process of peeling and coring the apples and then cooking them separately from the apple meats.  The peels and cores were then simmered and strained, creating an apple liqueur to be added to the apple meats when they were mashed with a hand masher. 

Or something like that.  Thank goodness I have a food mill.  The thing worked like a charm and in less than 30 minutes, I had a jar of delicious applesauce. 

Making applesauce is easy. Maine’s own Marjorie Standish described the process in about 150 words in her book, Keep Cooking the Maine Way.    Quarter, steam, mill, and sweeten.  Boom. Done.

Thanks, Marjorie, for being a graceful cooking ghost and guide.  I’ll be bringing the applesauce to the empty Thanksgiving table this year. 

Posted in Cooking and Food | Tagged , , , , , | Comments Off on Apfelmus Uber Alles

Pour Me a Glass of That, Buddy

The verb “collaborate” is popular today.  It’s primary definition, according to Merriam-Webster, means to “work jointly with others or together especially in an intellectual endeavor.”  Yet according to a search engine “use over time” chart, the word is approaching “peak word usage” and may be in decline.  Thank God for that.  If I am asked to “collaborate” one more time, I may lose whatever is left of my COVID-clouded mind.    

I prefer the secondary definition of the word, “traitorous cooperation with an enemy.”  It has a delicious Cold War feel, reeking of espionage, well-coiffed women in carefully fitted clothing, and vodka.  Remember the Cold War?  Pour me a glass of that, buddy.  Those were good times.

While I’ve been staying home and saving lives, I’ve given some thought to “living like it’s the Cold War.”  I’m sometimes a throwback, drinking my coffee from a cup and saucer, not a mug.  I wear skirts and sweaters to go to my virtual office, too, and I always wear an apron when I make lunch or dinner.  It doesn’t cure the deadening suffocation of the national fear-fogging, but it helps break up the day into manageable pieces.       

One bright October day, while not staying home and saving lives, I stopped in Bath, Maine.  I sat on a park bench outside the Patten Free Library and read my brother’s blog on my phone.  He ruminated on the coming winter.  “Six months into Covid, with little abatement in sight, the looming darkness and colder days don’t bode well for anyone preferring light and summer breezes…what’s coming, I’m afraid, is a dank, Dickensian dystopia to be endured over the course of the winter.”  Exhausted from isolation and sharing his concerns about the dimming of our days, I looked up from my phone and into the blue October sky.  A young man was walking towards me.

It was the strangest thing, to be filed under “you cannot make this stuff up.”  A kind young man, he tipped his hat and unabashedly answered my curious questions.  He was a “historical costumer.”  He said he and others happily walked the earth like the Ghost of Christmas Present, spreading joy and good will by wearing garb from another time and place.

It warmed my heart and I’ve thought about this man’s spirit many times as October’s bright blue weather dwindles towards the Halloween full moon.  I’m so glad he chose not to stay home and save lives.  If only for a brief moment, the world seemed bright with light; I felt alive.  It warmed my heart.  

Pour me a glass of that, buddy.

Posted in Just Writing | Tagged , , , | Comments Off on Pour Me a Glass of That, Buddy

The Politics of Coffee

Boom!

It’s August 7, 2020 and I’m up at the crack of dawn drinking coffee and listening to a British band I discovered in college, The Jam.  Thanks be to the masters of the universe!  Today, I can stream all of the band’s music (and their remastered versions too!) at any time I desire.  I began today’s birthday beat with The Jam’s “Girl on the Phone.”

As I listen to lyrics from these 1980’s songs, I wonder how much the music influenced me, either overtly or covertly.  The Jam’s members were bold in their opinions and although I could not identify with many of them, I liked their sound.  In retrospect, many of their songs were downers.  Take for instance, “Private Hell” from the band’s 1979 album Setting Sons.  It’s a dirge-like number and the lyrics are a dark, dismissive look at domestic life.  See for yourself:

“The man who you once loved is bald and fat,
And seldom in,
working late as usual.”

The man I love is bald.  I’m ok with that.  Honestly, I can’t even imagine him with hair.

But the song has a good beat and as the coffee hit my bloodstream, I danced around on the Oriental runner in my hallway.  (Is it ok to say “Oriental runner” anymore?)

I had a different vision for my 56th birthday.  I wanted to wake up in the Canaervon Room at the The Norumbega in Camden, maybe hike up Mount Battie, eat something delicious from Dot’s in Lincolnville, and then stop in at The Dollar General in Montville to pick up some detergent and paper products.  Instead, I’ll soon check in with Palm Beach Perry at my job for pay.  We’ll kibitz about work for a bit and then put the hammer down on the day.  The Jam had a song about working in an office, being part of the production line.  “Smithers-Jones.”  A song from a different time, with different and the same politics.  I don’t know.  I took the lyrics and worked them into my own reality, then as now.  The music had a good beat and I could dance to it.

I’m not going to overthink it today.  No thoughts on the politics of coffee and whether I should be drinking so much of it.  I’m going to put the hammer down on the production line and get done early.   (I’m on my way up to the office, Perry!!!)  Then maybe I’ll go out on the river in a kayak with the bald man.  I might even bake some chicken drumsticks for a picnic.

He is not fat.

The Politics of Coffee

How lucky am I to have a friend who lives on a cove on the shark-infested waters of Maine?  She has a delicious recipe for chocolate zucchini cake, too.  Here’s to another year of life, love, friends, beauty, and all things glorious.  (And the Oxford comma.  Google it yourself.)

Happy Birthday to me!

Posted in Just Writing | Tagged , , , | Comments Off on The Politics of Coffee

Pretty Ugly

The other day, an acquaintance on Facebook posted this:

“If only people could see the advantages of wearing a mask.  Not related to the novel coronavirus.  You can stick out your tongue at rude people; you can mumble comments to people not following the arrows in the grocery store.  Those are just a couple.”

This same acquaintance ended his disgust with people not wearing masks in public with “What is wrong with people?”

The great and horrible thing about the novel coronavirus is we, like Cyndi Lauper, are seeing our citizenry’s true colors.  But unlike Lauper, I don’t love the true colors I’m seeing across the fruited plan of this once beautiful and prosperous land.

It’s possible that I don’t even know the beauty of this country, having been born about 125 years (more or less) after the beginning of the Industrial Revolution.  But I have trodden through the grainy sand of Georgetown’s Reid State Park, hiked Camden’s Maiden Cliff, and eaten a lobster roll in Eastport.  I have been to beautiful places in other states, too.  True, I have not traveled as much as I could have in my middle class life.  Because I like being at home.

And now I’m stuck at home; all around me, almost everything is pretty ugly.

The best part of my days are the text messages from friends about meals and recipes.  And sometimes they listen to my occasional cries into the digital wilderness.  Like yesterday.  I asked a friend if I could share “something mean.”

“Go for it,” she texted.

“I would not object to the masks so much if everyone didn’t already look like slobs.  If they wore pretty dresses, with matching masks, gloves, and hats…that would make it more bearable.”

Pretty Cute

(That’s little me on the right, stylish at an early age thanks to my mother.)

I can see a smart Lily Pulitzer dress with a matching mask and some opera-length gloves.  Maybe a pair of matching Jack Rogers sandals.  I might be able to tolerate that.  But our world has disintegrated into an amusement park, with everyone walking around unwashed in their pajamas.  And mumbling venomous comments through forked tongues under their homemade masks.

Before the novel coronavirus, the same Facebook poster I opened this essay with was a person who might rail against bullying, reminding others to “be kind.”  Funny how he’s become a mask bully now.

My fellow Americans…I see your true colors.  And they’re pretty ugly.

Posted in Just Writing | Tagged , , | Comments Off on Pretty Ugly

The Moose Lottery

I got a letter from my brother the other day.  Apparently, he’s sequestered in his basement during this “unprecedented time.”  When he takes a break from his guitar, he writes a letter.  It’s been fun catching up with each other through letters.  I love letters and in spite of Crona (or Krona if you’re German), the mail continues to move along swiftly and safely.  The post office in Lisbon Falls is still open, too; prior to these letters from my brother, there was little need to walk there.  Now I have a reason to go, even though Main Street is a ghost town and no one is hanging out at The Rusty Lantern.

In an April 12, 2020 letter, my brother Jim Baumer wrote “I sense when I read your posts that there’s much more you’d like to say if there was a reason and audience to write for.”

Bingo.

Busted.

There is a lot more I’d like to say, mostly about the cognitive dissonance of the Crona narrative.  Think about it.  How can we be “alone together?”

Then there is “stay home, save lives.”  I guess that means when I drive alone to my family’s property four miles away (for my walk with nobody) I’m a natural born killer.

Do you see what I mean?  There is so much more I could say about this strange cognitive dissonance.

Speaking of killing, I entered the Maine moose permit lottery this week.  There will be 3,135 permits given out; 2,350 of those are for bull moose.  I did not enter the cow tag lottery.  No one really wants a cow tag.

One day while walking alone out and around Baumer’s Field, I found a big bone near a stream.  When I got home, I showed it to several hunters and they all agreed it was a moose leg bone.  It’s in a peroxide bath right now, whitening.  Although there are no moose permits given out for wildlife management district 22, the location of our property, it’s exciting to think one of those giant lumbering creatures was lurking around near my grandfather’s land.  I wonder what Pa would think?

Pa_1

Last night, as I was circling the field and cresting the hill near the powerline, I stopped in my tracks.  Five deer were grazing in the area where Pa used to plant potatoes.  They didn’t smell me right away, so I stood perfectly still, watching them.  There were two doe and three younger deer.  Not fawns, though.  Perhaps “pre-teens.”  Rats!  I didn’t have binoculars!

Then, all of a sudden, a small head popped up from the over the hill, about 30 yards from me.  Deer are incredibly curious animals.  A woman hunter I know once told me “I’ve seen more deer when I’ve pee’d near the stand…and believe it or not, by lighting a cigarette.”

I didn’t have a cigarette and the pre-teen turned and ran back to the other five deer nervously.  Then one flagged and they all flagged and ran off in a line into the woods.

It was a beautiful thing.

Someone once asked my father if his father (my grandfather) ever wanted to return to the “Old Country” of Bavaria.  My father said his father was unhappy here in America until he bought some land.  Then he was happy.

I am grateful for the legacy of land Michael Leo Baumer left.  It’s a good place to be alone.

All alone and not together.

Pa_2

I don’t have anything more to say about Crona, even though there are many more things I’d like to say.  Cognitive dissonance…it’s what’s for breakfast.

Posted in Home | Tagged , , , , | Comments Off on The Moose Lottery

The Bluebirds of Happiness

Maybe you didn’t grow up Catholic (or Anglican or Lutheran), so you are not familiar with the Easter Vigil.  It’s a long service, beginning at sundown.  The church is dark and the priest lights a fire outside and then lights the Paschal candle.  There is a procession to the front of the church and congregation members light small candles until the church is ablaze with brightness.  The priest stops three times during this procession and sings:

“Christ our light.”

The congregation responds,

“Thanks be to God.”

After the liturgy, there might be a baptism or a confirmation and then the entire congregation renews their baptismal vows.  The whole ceremony is very powerful if taken seriously, especially the renewal of your baptismal vows.

In spite of these “unprecedented times,” this past week was lovely.  I accomplished a week long “news fast” with no Facebook, no Instagram, and no Dr. John Cambell talking about these “unprecedented times.”  We had a freak snowstorm on Thursday evening and I hiked into it with the hunter man.

Holy Thursday Snow

I got some beautiful e-mails from the philosopher “At Your Service” and a letter from my brother, reminding me that uncertainty crushes hope.

Good Friday started off on a shaky foot, with no power and no internet, but all was well with the world by 11:00 a.m.

Yesterday was gorgeous and as I took my daily air in one of my secret places, I noticed some small birds in the budding maple trees along the edge of the large field.  No binoculars, but I stopped and looked closely and identified them as bluebirds.  I have never seen a bluebird before, but according to the internet, they are universally associated with happiness.  One internet guru says “the visiting of a bluebird is a good sign, and you should act upon it immediately.”

And so I did.  I built a snowman in the field and was so inspired I drove to Baumer’s Field and made another one in the spot I sometimes see turkeys (who are the spirit of abundance, ‘sez the netz!).

Snow Goddess

It was invigorating, to be sure.

Last night was still Holy Saturday and the Catholic Diocese of Maine encouraged Catholics and others to light candles at 7:30 p.m. and offer silent prayer and reflection in lieu of an Easter Vigil.

I dressed up like I might if I were going to church, styled my hair, and lit a white candle.  I stood at the end of my driveway and made the sign of the cross.  I recited the Lord’s Prayer and then renewed my baptismal vows.  It’s a powerful thing, beginning with the rejection of Satan, all his works, and all his empty promises.

When I woke up this morning, I decided to also reject uncertainty and the ‘Crona virus.  I opened every window in my house and blasted The London Philharmonic’s “Hymns Triumphant.”  I looked outside and my white candle was still burning brightly at the end of my driveway.

May your day be filled with bluebirds, light, fresh air and the type of true hope that overcomes any uncertainty.  Go, drink coffee, bake ham, and live your life!

Christ is risen, indeed!

Posted in Weather and Seasons | Tagged , , , | Comments Off on The Bluebirds of Happiness