For the Love of Joe

Posted on August 13, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

Three months ago, I went to Fenway Park.  Remember?  The Red Sox beat the Cleveland Indians that night, 7 – 5.  It was a good game.

The Red Sox met up with Cleveland again this weekend; they managed to split the series, topping the weekend off with a 14 – 1 slug fest.

I listened to the game yesterday afternoon.  I tune in to WEEI every day, too.  I like to hear what the “script” will be.  It starts around 6:00 a.m. with a “Dennis and Callahan” opening “monologue”.  Sports talk radio is no different from any other polarizing “talk” radio.  There is a script and talking points; occasionally, a talker will stray from the script.  Sometimes, it’s by design to create faux arguments and generate calls.  Sometimes, it’s authentic.  But if it’s real, the “talker in charge” will reign in the stray talker and convince them to repeat the script.

Last Thursday, the script was “the season is over; Beckett and Lester have to go.”

Glenn Ordway is like another talk radio guru named Glenn; it was liberating to realize this.  After my epiphany, I was able to see WEEI for what it was and enjoy the drama.  I was able to think my own thoughts about the Red Sox.  I could think my own thoughts about the Patriots and the Celtics too.

Ordway could say “pay no attention to that man behind the curtain” but I was free and I was now “one” with Red Sox ownership.  Fenway Sports Group is in charge; the partners don’t care what callers on WEEI have to say.

Neither do I.

Following last night’s victory, Butch Stearns hosted the post-game talk.  He asked listeners to call and text him with their thoughts about the rest of the season.  Here’s what I texted him:

“I’m going to follow the Sox until the end.  Not because I’m a devoted fan and follow no matter what, but because I want to listen to how Joe C. handles the demise.”

Joe Castiglione is the current Red Sox radio announcer.  He is factual and polite; a gentleman.  He never starts a fight with his co-workers in the broadcast booth.  They don’t discuss uncomfortable and inappropriate conversations filled with innuendo.  They discuss baseball, baseball statistics, and other G-rated topics based, in part, on what they’re advertising.  They’ve talked about Maine a lot this summer because the Maine Department of Travel and Tourism bought advertising with WEEI.  They discussed Moxie for about two weeks in July.

I am curious to hear how Joe Castiglione will handle the Red Sox demise.  My sense is that he will be dignified and professional, like a purser on the Titanic.  Knowing how to handle adversity in a graceful and civilized manner is a skill I want to cultivate and I think I can learn a few things from Joe; I’m going to listen to as many games as possible.

By the way, the script for today is “It’s Patriots Monday.  The summer is over and we’re not going to talk about the Red Sox anymore because the Texas series was the end of the season.”

Got it?  Good.

Are you going to follow the Red Sox through October?

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Cryptic Birthday Cards

Posted on August 12, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

It’s Sunday; I should be resting.  It’s hard to rest sometimes.

One of my friends sent me a cryptic birthday card.  I’m trying to figure it out.  There was a Biblical reference, there was a Bruce Springsteen quote, and there was a reminder of something from the past.  There was a ribbon in the envelope, too.  There was a picture of a red tractor (probably a Farmall) glued inside the card; there was a sticker of sunflowers in the card.

These are not sunflowers; they’re nasturtiums:

I don’t know what it all means and I’m tired.

Next week, we can celebrate a few more birthdays, discuss serious topics like the darker aspects of August and the changing seasons.

I’m not going to think about Bruce Springsteen today.  I’m going to rest.

You do the same.

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Uncle Bob’s Birthday

Posted on August 10, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

The other day a friend from home went to see the Portland Sea Dogs; he sent me a picture of a plaque in the Portland Room at Hadlock Field.  It was a plaque listing the 2011 inductees into the Maine Baseball Hall of Fame, including Uncle Bob.

I know I write about Uncle Bob a lot; everyone likes him.  He’s popular.  I really wanted him to get into the Maine Baseball Hall of Fame, so I wrote a letter of recommendation for him.  Other people, including my brother, wrote convincingly about Uncle Bob and he was admitted to this elite group of Maine baseball players.

We were all happy for Uncle Bob.

Today is Uncle Bob’s Birthday; here’s the letter I wrote for him.  Everyone should have an Uncle Bob.

  **************

February 11, 2011

Maine Baseball Hall of Fame
P.O. Box 1062
Yarmouth, ME  04096

Gentlemen,

Please accept this letter of recommendation for Robert “Bob” Baumer’s induction into the Maine Baseball Hall of Fame.  I understand a formal nomination has been submitted by my brother, Jim Baumer, which includes the appropriate documentation regarding Bob’s statistical and technical qualifications for admittance to the Hall.  From my own reading of history, I think Bob Baumer possesses the necessary baseball resume for this honor.  The best players, of course, are well-rounded and have other qualities which enhance their baseball reputation.  Bob Baumer represents the type of person who can be described with many adjectives and although your eyes would grow weary were I to write at length about all of them, it is my position that Bob has been many things in his life, including but not limited to “Southpaw Pitcher.”  These would include son, brother, uncle, friend, coach, citizen, soldier, worker, neighbor, historian, farmer, and lumberjack.  I am sure I have missed a few.  Therefore, I offer to you a few thoughts and anecdotes to enhance what the records say about Bob Baumer.

It is true that I was born in August, 1964, and therefore, I did not see Bob play baseball during the Robert’s 88’ers magical season.  It was not until much later in my life that I realized I was born right in the middle of the Robert’s 88’ers orbit.  Literally.  Stan Doughty and Marty Roop were two and four doors down my street respectively, and Bob was around the corner, over the dip in the road.  I was too young to understand why Uncle Bob was never home in the cool of the summer evenings when I would sit on the porch with my grandparents.  Sometimes, my mother and I would stay late and I vaguely recollect Uncle Bob rolling in from his game, wearing his uniform and unloading his baseball equipment from his car trunk.  None of that made sense to me at the time.  After all, I was a little girl and I didn’t really care much about baseball.

It is also true that Bob Baumer is relatively modest.  It was not until my brother wrote his book in 2005 that I had even an inkling of my uncle’s baseball resume.  I remember thinking to myself “Uncle Bob played in the Cape Cod League?”  In our self-congratulatory society, it seemed odd to me that someone wouldn’t brag about that.  But that’s not Bob’s way of doing things.  He’d say something more like “I remember when I was playing for the Auburn Asa’s.  There was a place that sold gas, 5 gallons for a dollar.  I’d always fill up when I passed, whether I needed gas or not.”

As an uncle, Bob was either directly or indirectly involved in his niece’s and nephew’s lives.  To the athletic among us, he would be a trainer and coach.  To the not so athletic, he was our guardian angel, riding high above the street in his oil truck and wagging his index finger to remind us to stay on the straight and narrow path.  It was hard to be a delinquent in Lisbon Falls when you knew the oil truck might be just around the next corner.  Even today, when I am in Lisbon Falls, if I stay in one place long enough, I can be sure that Bob will show up.  If I’m at the library, he’ll drive by and see me.  If I’m tending a community garden, there he is.  An afternoon at the Historical Society inevitably leads to an “Uncle Bob sighting.”  There’s no hiding from him and he’ll still wag his finger at me and remind me that in some ways, I’m always going to be five years old.

In my latest pursuit, I have decided I want to be a farmer.  Lucky for Farmer Bob, I have decided to be an agrarian in his back yard.  My thought was that since he’s got such a big garden, he wouldn’t mind sharing a few rows with me.  Indeed, Bob had no qualms about letting me plant a few things and he’s been a perfect gentleman about my ever-increasing need for space.  He’s let me do soil tests and bring in manure by the truckload…in his truck.  He helped me install a rain barrel and he showed me how to operate the rototiller.  He even seemed to like the sunflowers I’ve been planting in the row along the road.  In my zeal last summer, I got a little carried away and planted the biggest “mammoth” sunflower seeds I could find.  True to their name, they were 14 feet tall and to me, they were “the bee’s knees.”  Neighbor Bob did not see it quite that way and he was kind and gentle in pointing out that perhaps they were blocking his neighbor’s view a bit and making it hard for Mr. Roy to back out of his driveway.  After a bit of sputtering about the aesthetic beauty of mammoth sunflowers, I had to concede that Bob was right and in the spirit of neighborliness, I will plant a more moderate sunflower this summer.

Naturally, there will be some reading either this letter or my brother’s nomination who will say “well, you kids are biased.  He’s your uncle.”  I direct you to read again Chapter 3 of Jim Baumer’s “When Towns Had Teams” where he outlines the genesis of the Robert’s 88er’s, their 1964 championship season, and the role Bob played in their success.  You could also spend a few summer afternoons poring over Bob’s various chronological scrapbooks of his own sports history, lovingly preserved and noted.  The facts generally speak for themselves and I will refrain from rehashing them here.  As Bob’s 1954 yearbook quote reminds us, “a modest man never speaks of himself.”

Thank you for considering this nomination for a man who would not nominate himself.  Bob Baumer has done much to support local baseball.  He has also done a lot to support the goodness of small-town living.  I am glad Bob chose to “stay” when the world said “go.”  In doing so, he has preserved a home and a legacy for all of his family and friends.  Lucky for us, we can still sit on the porch in the cool of a summer evening and talk about baseball.

Sincerely,

Julie-Ann Baumer

********************

(Maine Baseball Hall of Famers from Lisbon Falls, 2011 Moxie Parade, photo courtesy of Jim Baumer.)

Happy Birthday, Uncle Bob!

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Dear Aunt Tomato – I’m Askeered!

Posted on August 9, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

The information I provide to you is editorial and helpful in nature and cannot be construed as perfect truth.  Some of the information I am providing is based on anecdotal evidence and personal experience.  The benefit claimed has not been evaluated by the USDA or your local extension service.  Your results may vary.

Although Thursday is usually my “Minimalist” post (a thought-provoking picture with minimal words), a question for Aunt Tomato will always trump a picture.

My nephew, Mark, writes:

Dear Aunt Tomato,
I picked my first tomatoes off my first tomato plant last night, but I’m wary to eat them because the tomato plant was planted in the only piece of dirt in my backyard (a crack at the edge of the paved apartment parking area) and I’m worried the dirt is contaminated and I’m going to end up eating contaminated tomatoes. What should I do? Make them into necklaces?  Give them all to my roommate? Or just eat them?

Here is my response:

Dear Mark,
Although you did not specifically ask about “lead contamination” I will assume this is your major area of concern because of your urban location.  Lead can be present in urban, suburban, and rural soils due to airborne industrial and auto emissions and lead paint scrapings.  A vacant lot may have housed a high-lead building.

These things are concerning.  Lead can stay in the soil for a long time.

The good news is that you practiced some soil-remediation when you planted your tomatoes; you added organic matter to the soil.  You also planted tomatoes instead of potatoes.  Fruit bearing plants are less likely to accumulate lead in their edible portions than root vegetables and leafy plants you might eat (like lettuce).

Based on this, I would wash your tomatoes and eat them.  I would give some to your roommate, too, because it’s good to share what we have with others.

If you think you might grow tomatoes and other things in this same location next year, the best thing to do would be to get a soil test.  Make sure the soil test includes a lead scan.  Your local extension service may be able to help, or there may be a soil testing service at a local university.

This article, published by the University of Maine Extension Service gives more information and suggestions.  I think you’ll be more confident eating your tomatoes after reading it.

By the way, good job!

Love,
Aunt Tomato

I wonder how my friend Bobby Knorr is doing with his tomatoes? 

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I’m Old-Fashioned

Posted on August 8, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

It’s “Birthday Week” here at the Coop and at home; that implies not only well-wishes for long life and vitality, cards, cakes, and presents, but a few old-fashioned things too.  One of those old-fashioned things I like is the “thank you note.”

Long before I was a blogger, I was interested in “etiquette” and “manners.”  My mother taught my brother and me almost everything we knew and might need to swirl in the social circles of Lisbon Falls, Maine and beyond.  Helen helped us to say “please” and “thank you” and taught us how to write it, too.  After graduating from the University of Maine at Orono, I picked up my first copy of “Etiquette” by Emily Post at a flea market.  Today, I have a little library of books about etiquette and manners.  They’re quaint and old-fashioned, like the old cookbooks I read on the nights when I can’t fall asleep.

Even though the rest of the world may have transcended manners, I’m old fashioned and I write “thank you” notes.

Here’s the simple skinny on writing a “thank you” note:

Dear (insert name of person or persons being thanked)

Thank you for (insert gift, dinner, or item given)

It was (insert why the gift, dinner, or item was thoughtful and why it was appreciated)

Sincerely (insert your thankful name here)

Yesterday was my birthday and my thoughtful friends at The Big Corporation surprised me with flowers, a delicious cake, and some gifts.  It was lovely.  Today, I need to get busy with my “thank you” notes.  Here is a sample of the note I’m thinking of sending to Tildee Murchoch, who brought in flowers:

Dear Tildee,

Thank you for the beautiful arrangement of birthday flowers.  It was sweet of you to not only remember that I prefer local, organic, grass-fed flowers, but to also include my favorite, the sunflower.  You have a good eye for flower arranging; if things don’t turn out with the “earth friendly professionals” group, you would make a terrific flower farmer.  Thank you again for making my special day beautiful!

Affectionately,

Julie-Ann

People may show up for job interviews in pajamas and Crocs; that is their business.  Until the post office has delivered the last piece of mail, I’ll keep writing thank you notes.

Oh, and thank you for reading my blog!  I like it when you stop by!

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Tante Anna’s Birthday

Posted on August 7, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

Although I have reconciled myself to the fact that I may never have the life I dreamed about when I was very young, I am still trying to find a reasonable substitute for that spectral location.  I can see snatches of this place very clearly in my mind; sometimes I hear it in a certain piece of music or I might smell it in the summer air.  Once, I thought I saw a bit of it at a grange hall in Lincolnville, Maine.  I saw it in a store window in Belfast.  A man in Blue Hill writes a blog about old houses and when I read his posts, I am temporarily transported.

It is possible I am chasing something that no longer exists.

If it exists at all, it exists in my imagination.  In that place, it’s late afternoon.  It’s October and there are leaves on the ground on Bates Street in Lisbon Falls, Maine.  I imagine I’m old enough to remember and appreciate the things I miss today.  I’m wearing a wool skirt and a twin set.  I have a fall coat and some sensible yet stylish suede shoes with a 2 inch square heel.  I’m walking up the driveway and into the breezeway of a quaint Cape Cod-style house.  It’s dark on the breezeway, but the lights are on in the kitchen.  I can smell coffee percolating and the whiff of a cigarette.  My two older cousins are sitting around the kitchen table doing homework and my two younger cousins are in the living room, watching “Dark Shadows.”  Aunt (Tante) Anna is on the phone, smoking a cigarette and talking conspiratorially with some unknown friend or relative.  When I knock lightly on the screen door, she peeks around the corner and says “Come in, Julie.  Joanie, Kaye, your cousin is here.”

If I could go back in time, that house on Bates Street would be one of my first stops.

My Aunt Anna was born on August 7, 1925, in the sunny house Uncle Bob lives in today.  She was stylish and animated.  I don’t know a lot about her childhood and young adulthood; I guess I’ll have to start interviewing my cousins.  She was 39 when I was born and my mother asked her and Uncle Paul to be my godparents.

I don’t believe in birth month meanings and horoscopes.  I do know that Aunt Anna’s fashionable approach to life influenced my mother and in turn, influenced me.  I am quite sure Aunt Anna went to a decorator show house or two and there always seemed to be paint chips and wallpaper books in the dining room.  She loved beautiful dishes and antiques.

She was very generous.  She gave me lovely things I still use, like a delicate pink serving dish and a stoneware soup tureen.  Serving dishes and soup tureens are the kinds of things I’ll be using more often when I get to that place I’m trying to find.

There were always cookies at her house, too, on the kitchen counter, arranged in sparkling and attractive glass jars.  There might have been Oreos and chocolate chip cookies, but I only remember the Vienna Fingers and the Sugar Wafers.  My mother never bought these particular cookies.

These jars aren’t sparkling and attractive, like Aunt Anna’s.

The cookies taste just the same way they did at her house, though.  They might not be “good for me” but if eaten in moderation, maybe I’ll be okay.  They are delicious and when I get to that place I’m searching for, I’m going to keep cookies in air-tight jars on my cupboards.  I’ll perk up a pot of coffee and invite people over at dusk on a cool October day.

I will let you know when I get there.

Until then, to all people born on August 7, have a cookie or two.  Aunt Anna would want you to.

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Birthday Cakes

Posted on August 6, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

Birthday parties and celebrations can be elaborate affairs.  When my brother turned a certain age, his wife surprised him with a trip to New York City.  One day, I called a friend and she told me she couldn’t chat because she was taking her 6-year-old daughter to a birthday party at the Museum of Fine Arts.  At The Big Corporation, we often honor the birthdays of our co-workers with a special snack, based on their snack preferences.  One person likes whoopie pies, another likes chocolate, and a third likes mixed fruit and yogurt.

Try putting “birthday party ideas” into a search engine and see what happens.

The birthday cake is part of any respectable birthday celebration; here is the history.

Making a cake is easy; it’s practically all science.  My favorite old cookbook, Culinary Arts Institute Encyclopedic Cookbook, copyrighted in 1950, has a tab called “Your Cakes” and it says:

“Every homemaker hopes to make the perfect cake.  This is entirely possible with our present knowledge and equipment.  ‘Lady Luck’ of our grandmothers’ day no longer plays a role in cakemaking.  If standard measuring equipment and quality ingredients are used and the directions for mixing and baking are followed carefully a perfect cake is the result.”

My mother makes beautiful birthday cakes.  Lady Luck plays no role in Helen’s cake making, either.  She measures her quality ingredients using standard equipment; she follows the directions carefully.  Dare I say she does these things perfectly?

She is not a “one cake fits all” kind of baker, either.  She’s always reading magazines and cookbooks to find new cakes to try.

If a cake is a flop, she throws the recipe out.  Pronto!  If the recipe was in a cookbook, the words “not very good” or “never make again” will be inscribed in the margins.  If it was a perfectly horrible recipe, she will simply make a large “X” over it.

Since my divorce and being “alone” and all, my mother has taken it upon herself to spoil me with special birthday cake creations.  In 2004, she made a cake that had caramel drizzled over the top.  In 2008, it was a yellow cake with raspberry filling and lemon frosting.

Here’s a conversation we had about birthday cakes on Sunday:

JAB:      Mom, do you remember that square birthday cake you made  me with the Necco wafers on top?
MOM:   It wasn’t that good, was it?
JAB:      It was ok, I think, but I only remember the Necco wafers.  It looked good, though.

Of course, there was one year she was not in the cake-making mood.  I’m sure there was a perfectly good explanation as to why she bought a cake at the grocery store.  Let’s just say it didn’t go over too well with me; I don’t have a “poker face.”  I’m no Lady Luck and I don’t play cards, either.

It hasn’t happened again since then.

This year’s cake was a rich chocolate cake with a mocha frosting that included 2 sticks of butter and a whole jar of Fluff.  It was perfect and even though we were celebrating a little bit early, I got birthday candles, “Happy Birthday” sung to me, hugs, and presents.

Given how hot and muggy it was this past week, I feel a little bit guilty that my mother was toiling away in the kitchen for me.  I’m going to write her a “thank you” note on Crane stationery right now and tell her how much I appreciate everything she’s done for me since the day I was born, including making elaborately perfect birthday cakes.

It’s the least I can do. 

Thanks, Mom!

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Birthday Week

Posted on August 5, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

I stocked up on birthday cards yesterday.

Coming up:  one week of birthday cards, birthday cakes, birthday stories, birthday people and maybe even a birthday show house.  I’m tired just thinking about it.  I am reminded that today is Wendell Berry’s birthday.  I wonder if he celebrates such things?

Today is a good day to rest in the garden and get ready for the busy week of birthday action ahead.

You’d better rest up too.

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Talk of the Toile – Sort Of

Posted on August 3, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

I’ve wanted to be a writer for a long time, maybe since I started journal writing in 1974.  I have style guides and writing books; I have friends and family who encourage me.  These friends and family have also given me writing books.

Now I’m writing this blog, sometimes about gardening and sometimes about decorator show houses and life.  I cannot tell a lie; I do occasionally look at my blog stats to monitor my blog traffic and see how many people read my posts.  I am often disappointed.  I think about giving up.  On one such disappointing day, I decided to read the writing book my friend Audra gave me.  This book, written by two freelance writers, suggested that there were unconventional ways to succeed at writing.  In fact, in the acknowledgements, one of the authors thanked the other author for teaching her how to stick the slang word for buttocks into every article.  Apparently, using the slang word for buttocks is the key to writing success.

No wonder my blog stats are disappointing.  I’ve never once used the slang word for buttocks in any of my blog posts.  It’s not a word I like to use.  Sure, I will occasionally say something like “Bobby Valentine is a buttocks” or “that bag of garbage smells like buttocks” but for the most part, I confine my profane outbursts to the solitude of the Jeep, the Coop, or walking along the flight line at lunch with Cherie Ripperton.

I’m not going to use the slang word for buttocks in a blog post just to increase my traffic.

I do have a funny story, though, about breaking wind(ows).

Wednesday being the first day of August, the new month and all, I decided to make two “resolutions.”  First, I was not going to eat in my car.  Period.  Second, I was going to “be positive” every day no matter how many disappointing and uncontrollable things happened.  I even contemplated writing a blog post about these resolutions; I might not have a huge following, but I do feel committed to those who read what I write.  If I tell my readers I’m going to do X and Y, I do it.  For instance, I publicly broke up with Lago’s Ice Cream at the end of June and I’ve stuck with it since that day.  I have been tempted to stop at Lago’s on more than one occasion, but I haven’t done it because I said I wouldn’t.  If I did stop, that would make me a liar and a backslider.

That won’t do.

Yesterday, I was working hard at “being positive” and I even developed a little acronym I texted to Cherie Ripperton.

P 4 +

“P” is for “positive.”

Get it?  She got it, eventually.

It was a good start and mid-morning, I decided to take an energizing skip up the 3 flights of stairs in our building.  The top floor of the building is vacant and the ladies room is very clean; it’s my public bathroom of choice.  Running up a few flights of stairs for a bio-break is a refreshing way to take care of business.  It’s very positive.

On this particular occasion, I passed an underwriter I knew on the stairs and we swapped faux pleasantries.  He said “it’s a new month” and I said “yes, you’re right!  It’s a good day to be positive!”

He smiled as he went down the stairs and I gave him the thumbs up as I went up the stairs.

Reaching the ladies room, I smiled to myself, thinking “wow, maybe Norman Vincent Peale was right!  There is power in positive thinking.”  I pushed open the door and heard the most unpleasant sound.  It was the sound of someone’s slang word for buttocks breaking wind(ows).

Krakatoa.

I was mortified and embarrassed.  Then I thought “this might be a funny blog post” and “maybe I can use the slang word for buttocks and improve my blog stats.”  It was hard not to laugh out loud, so I turned on the water and quickly washed my hands so the wind(ow) breaker didn’t hear me.  Then I left the ladies room and laughed all the way down the stairs.

I’ve now written a blog post including the slang word for buttocks.  I’m sure my blog stats will skyrocket, my blog will go viral, and I’ll become an overnight sensation.  And even a person who doesn’t like bathroom humor will have to admit that I turned an odd situation into something positive and that is the power of positive thinking.

Just remember:  P 4 +

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The IGA

Posted on August 2, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

We have lots of grocery stores here on the NH Seacoast; I won’t name them.

I still miss The IGA.

There’s still an IGA in Cape Elizabeth, Maine.

Rock steady, IGA.

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