Lots of people ask me about The Moxie Festival. When does does the parade start? Can I get a hot dog? Are there any vegan food options? Where’s the car show? Is that a Moxie flower?
I strive to provide excellent customer service, responding in minutes, sometimes seconds. In the event I don’t, here’s the schedule!
Festival Schedule July 11-13, 2014
See you there!
Here in the blogosphere, lots of writers will be crafting posts called “Fireworks.” Surely, the word will be trending today? I should be writing a post about Kathie Veilleux and Smokey Moxie Pork Wings, but I didn’t buy any ribs this week. I’ll buy the ribs this weekend and we’ll feature Kathie on Monday. Crap, I’ll need to buy a grill, too.
I’ve written about fireworks before.
And before.
This is my favorite fireworks post.
Smoke, fire, combustion, pork wings. Why am I sitting here listening to a song about fireworks by a band from Canada? I’m paraphrasing their lyrics here:
“she said she didn’t give a BLEEP about fireworks, and I never saw someone say that before.”
If it were still the Eighties, would I have been called a Commie?
I’ve got to go. I have to hang a flag or two down at my house so no one accuses me of being a bad American, a Canadian, or something worse.
No fireworks until Moxie…baybee.
I had a dream last night. After tossing and turning for a few hours after midnight, I finally fell asleep and broke the law in dreamland. It was a minor infraction, like littering or jaywalking, but in the dream, I was worried I would be in jail for The Moxie Recipe Contest. I was so glad to wake up. I jumped out of bed, threw on an old orange sundress, and zipped down Route 9 to The Citizen’s Gazebo to make sure I was still in the epicenter of the Moxie universe.
Not in jail. Didn’t even see the Po Po on Route 9.
Amen.
The show must go on. The Moxie show, that is.
A once-popular bumper sticker surfaced in the 1980’s. It said “practice random acts of kindness and senseless acts of beauty.” Two years ago, I wrote a blog post with my thoughts on random acts of kindness, so I won’t bore readers with a rehash of why I think such things won’t make the world a better place. I’ll just leave it at this: it’s not about random things—it’s about changing your heart to be kind in spite of unkindness, anger, and hatred all around. Random acts of kindness are just wallpaper.
Change your heart. That, my friends, is the work of our lives and we’ll probably never perfect ourselves in this world.
I’m stepping off my high horse now.
**********
Living up here on Route 9 for the last year, I’ve gotten used to the traffic whizzing by from about 6:00 a.m. until 6:00 p.m. Zoom, zoom, zoom. An occasional motorcycle screams by and once in a while a logging truck chugga chugga chugga downshifts to make it up and around “The Ridge” before coasting smoothly into town. My landlord and friend, Rick Mason, goes to work really early, sometimes before the sun comes up.
One day, a vehicle went by and I heard two long beeps.
BEEP BEEP.
I didn’t think much of it, but then I got a text from one of my classmates.
“That was me!”
It was Alan Thomas, the fourth grade funny man.
Alan and I were in Mrs. Hunnewell’s fourth grade class. So was Donna, Susie, Christy, Steve, Steve, Patrick, Julie, and a few other small town friends who I get to see more of now that I’m home. I still get to see Mrs. Hunnewell, because Alan invited her to a barbecue he had at his house and he invited me, too. It was a real treat.
Alan had a lot of energy when he was in school and sometimes I think he had a little too much for some of our middle-aged teachers. But back in those days, high energy boys were sent outside on their high energy days. Mrs. Hunnewell probably told Alan to go outside and run around the building one afternoon instead of trying to make him sit properly in his seat and read a book.
In fifth grade, one of our teachers sent Bobby Delorme outside to count the bricks in the building; did Alan have to go with him?
I’m not sure.
Alan moved away from our town in (I think) sixth grade and I didn’t know what happened to him until very recently. He grew up, got married, started a business, and had a family. He has grandchildren. I’m honored to know his wonderful wife, Janet, too.
Alan is still funny and he still has a lot of energy.
As I’ve gotten to know him, what I’ve observed is that he is kind. He doesn’t have a bumper sticker on his truck that says so, but he lives his life in a certain kind of way, looking out for people.
That’s what I see.
It’s pretty chaotic in my life and in my town right now. Lisbon is getting ready to host the biggest party of the year, The Moxie Festival. I’m getting ready to move to my new old house on a hill. I’ve haven’t developed a routine about mowing my half-acre lawn and sometimes it looks a little shaggy; not like my neighbor Breezy’s.
(And what’s not wonderful about having a neighbor named Breezy? I’m sure I’ll have a few stories about him one of these days and maybe his daughter, Susie, who was in Mrs. Hunnewell’s class with Alan and me.)
On Monday, I got a text from Alan.
“I left a surprise for you at your house.”
It was one of those days and I wasn’t able to get away from my work until early evening. Nothing on the front steps or in front of the garage. I opened the front door, looking for a gift bag.
I walked through the house to the mudroom and went out the back door and started taking my clothes off the line. Then I looked up from my clothespins and looked down the long sloping lawn. There were the neat and orderly lines of a riding lawnmower. On one of the hottest days of the summer, someone had mowed my lawn for me.
I was stunned by the kindness and I couldn’t get my brain around it. I got all weepy, too.
Later, I texted Alan and thanked him and we chatted a bit. I told him I wanted to tell people about his kindness, but I didn’t want to embarrass him. You know what he said?
“You can if you want. Friends help friends. I love to help people.”
Not random acts of kindness, but friendship. Friends help friends. Small, committed groups of friends can make a difference and there’s nothing random about that. In fact, it’s wisdom.
Today’s great wisdom was brought to you by my friend, Alan Thomas, owner of Al’s Irrigation, in Wales, Maine. Would that everyone reading my blog have a few good friends and remember, to have a friend, you have to be a friend.
BEEP BEEP!
Yesterday on Facebook, I suggested that Monday, June 30, 2014, was “Moxification Monday.” Here’s what I posted:
Time to get those home Moxie fires burning! Moxie up, friends, tomorrow is Moxification Monday. I love my hometown!
According to my brother, who commented on my post, one of the local papers is sending a photographer to my hometown today, looking for the signs of Moxie. Who knew? So this morning, in the wee small hours, I drove from my apartment to my new old house and hung out a load of Moxie Laundry on my clothesline. I know, I’ve been delinquent in writing about house progress and move-in deadlines, but it’s true! My new old house on a hill has a clothesline! And today, it’s full of just a few of my favorite Moxie clothes and accessories, with the exception of my orange underwear.
I might hang out my clean laundry on the line, but there’s this little thing called tact…
As I was hanging out the tee shirts, the orange bandana, the aprons, and the socks, I started thinking about gifts. When I go to my new old house and work in the garden or clean a window, I think of what a gift the house is to me. Sure, I paid for it through a bona fide real estate transaction, but there are things about the house and property that are priceless, like the gardens. They were built over the fifty plus years the prior owner lived there and they’re amazing. They’re not like a bunch of fast-growing landscape materials thrown into a strip mall parking lot, guaranteed to look presentable today, tomorrow and forever. Every flower and plant was carefully considered.
I promise to tell you more about the beautiful garden gift I inherited later this summer.
Then there was the little gift of a Moxie pocketbook I got on Friday.
One of my friends was catching up on my blog and found this post I wrote last year about my makeshift Moxie pocketbook and gave me this gift. Well, I had to wipe a little tear from the corner of my eye I was so touched and happy.
Listen, home friends, this is what I’ve been thinking lately. Maybe you’re tired of hearing about Moxie and maybe you’re tired of me talking about it. It’s even possible that you’re tired of me.
(“That Julie Baumer, I get so sick of hearing about her Moxie Recipe Contest. I wish she’d take her orange mixing bowls and move her fat Moxie BLEEP back to New Hampshire.”)
Don’t be angry with me if my picture is in the paper, ok? Because even though it’s fun to experience those minutes of small town celebrity, in the back of my mind, I’m always thinking about the best way to promote The Moxie Recipe Contest and The Moxie Festival and our town. Being able to shine a bright orange and positive light on the hometown I love feels like a gift. It’s the gift I’m giving to the place I call home.
Thank you for giving me a chance to give a gift.
In the bigger picture, each person who lives in Lisbon Falls, Lisbon Center, and Lisbon (“the Lisbons,” as Maurice Bonneau calls our towns) gives a gift to the world during the Moxie Festival. Did you ever think about that? Things in the world are kind of messed up right now and yet 30,000 people come to our little town to celebrate with us each year because we’ve figured out how to have bright orange fun with something as simple as a can of bitter soda. When I think about that, it makes me really proud to say I’m from this little town. What a wonderful gift we give to the world.
Let’s keep on giving…and wear your orange loud and proud today!
Friday, and it’s not just a beautiful day in Maine. It’s an incredibly beautiful day in Maine, the kind of day when a man or woman might call in sick to their job. I’m not that kind of woman, but it’s bright, clear, and lovely and I can’t judge others who might say “screw it” and go to Reid State Park or Popham Beach after making a quick, cough-filled phone call.
Here in Moxie Town, things have hit the “full nutty” phase of preparations for the Moxie Festival.
I can’t quite explain it; it’s something in the air. I can just feel it. From across the pond, at Moxie Festival Parade central, I get sporadic texts messages from Gina. “Marching band headcount finalized” and “Kora clown car confirmed.”
The phone rings.
It’s a photographer from a local paper, she wants to take a picture of me “cooking with Moxie.” Says she’ll even come to my house, to make things easier. This necessitates a night of kitchen cleaning. I’m part French Canadian, remember? Spic and Span runs through my blood.
While shining things up, I make a Moxie Chocolate Cake, another batch of Leanne’s ice cream topping, and experiment with some Moxie-macerated strawberries. Maybe I’ll serve it all in with some Moxie-infused Cool Whip with a pretzel on top.
Ironing…that’s this morning. I might need to iron that blue check tablecloth I washed last night. It looks good against my orange circle skirt. Yes, I finally broke down and had my own Moxie costume made. I’ve got the beads, too.
The photographer asked “Do you need me to pick up any Moxie?”
Seriously?
I wish I could sink my toes into some beach sand, but I’ve got work to do, taking care of the Moxie business. We are going full nutty.
Klown Kar Konfirmed, with a pretzel on top.
One of these days, I’m going to write a long blog post about buying a house. It was a gut-wrenching decision and I had doubts and fears. I still do. But my brother said something to me in one of our conversations about local economies and I keep coming back to it whenever I have a doubtful moment about my decision to buy a big old house on a hill. I’m paraphrasing, but he said something like:
“By deciding to buy a house in Lisbon Falls, you’ve made a decision to invest in the town.”
We’ll have more conversations about how to be a local investor on this blog, for sure. My brother writes about it a lot, too. His latest piece for the Portland Phoenix is all about the paradigm shift needed when we think about “local.”
For now, let’s just say it’s time to get the show on the road and start moving into my new “local investment”.
We are all economic development directors now.
It’s funny how our brains work and how we humans sometimes have the tendency to develop tunnel vision about the things we’re doing. I buy a Jeep and I start to think the whole world cares about me and my Jeep. All I see on the highway are Jeeps. I even begin to think somehow my affection for my Jeep is creating a new Jeep world order. Yes, I created the Jeep craze that is sweeping the country.
Except there is no Jeep craze sweeping the country.
Over the past week, I’ve been chatting with a writer doing a feature article on The Moxie Recipe Contest. She’s had a lot of questions about the history of the contest, past entrants, and recipes. I’ve had to do some research and it’s been interesting to realize that I am not the center of The Moxie Recipe Contest universe.
Amen to that.
Last night I curled up with this little gem of a book.
For the record, Sue Conroy was the first Moxie Recipe Contest “hostess.” In addition to these delicious duties, she compiled a cookbook and continues to publish it semi-regularly. She also practically single-handedly ran the festival for many years, so it’s probably important to note her as the ground breaker for cooking with Moxie.
I did not invent the Moxie Recipe Contest.
After Sue hung up her apron, Justin Liudvinaitis picked up the Moxie whisk and stirred things up for a season or two. Justin is a “real” chef and he’s won awards for cooking on a professional level.
I did not invent The Moxie Recipe Contest.
As I’m reading the recipe book, I start to see familiar names of people who were in the contest last year. Andrea Metayer, Leanne Pinkham, and Maureen King. Then there’s this sweet and carefully worded recipe by Dorothy Smith, Secretary and Treasurer of one of my favorite places, The Lisbon Historical Society. She created “Bitter Sweet Frozen Treats” and the recipe reads, in part:
“Pour milk and Moxie in a jug. Toss only until the milk and Moxie are one.”
Toss only until the milk and Moxie are one…it’s poetic, isn’t it? I’m going to make some Bitter Sweet Frozen Treats this weekend; I’ve got some house guests coming.
It’s true. I did not invent The Moxie Recipe Contest. I am only joining a line of others who came before me, adding my own little flair to something that was done wonderfully before I got involved. It will be done wonderfully after I’m done being The Moxie Recipe Contest hostess, too. Really, there is nothing new under the Moxie sun.
There are two ways you can get a copy of Cookin’ with Moxie. You can be one of the first 25 entrants in The Moxie Recipe Contest and get one in your swag bag or you can trot right down to The Kennebec Fruit Company, aka The Moxie Store on Main Street in Lisbon Falls and buy one from Frank.
The Moxie Recipe Contest will be held on Friday evening, July 11, 2014, at Chummy’s Restaurant in Lisbon Falls, Maine. The judging begins at 5:00 p.m.
I sat down with my “netbook” last night and zipped around the ‘netz to see what I had missed this weekend. It wasn’t as if I tried to stay away from social media, texting, and portable e-mails. I had a lot of things to do.
The first sentence of a blog article said “unless you’re living in a cave near the Khyber Pass, you will have heard of this story…” The story was about a handsome felon whose mug shot got over 33,000 “likes” on a police department’s Facebook page. Me? I had not heard of this news story. It’s not my cup of coffee, I guess, and when I hear a number like 33,000 I think “that’s about how many soldiers we have in Iraq…when are they coming home?”
I’m a retrograde kind of woman, teetering on the edge of a cave-like existence on days when I don’t look at my phone or computer. I had a good weekend, though, in spite of my lack of technology and information. Here’s a few of the things that happened:
Slipper Sistah and I climbed up on my parents’ roof and swept it off. My friend Samantha Van Hopper stopped by my house and helped me weed one of my flower gardens. While we were visiting, my sister-in-law stopped by for a tour of the house. I had dinner with my friend, At Your Service. I got a good night’s sleep, I think. I cleaned my garage. Uncle Bob stopped by to take a look at my lawn mower and laugh at me for planting cucumbers and melons “a little late.” I went to the Dairy Maid twice. I had a headache.
OH! I finally took this picture!
Someone bought Margaret’s house and they’re doing renovations. Yep, there is beauty everywhere, even in the toilet.
When I think about my weekend and all the “real” people I saw, talked to, and enjoyed spending time with, I can’t help but think living in a cave near the Khyber Pass is a good thing. Jesus said the rain falls on the just and the unjust, so it’s possible and likely that a criminal could be strikingly handsome, charming even. That the world is all “a twitter” about it is unfortunate and absurd; crap, I’ve wasted my time and yours talking about it.
I can’t reach a conclusion about internet trending criminals, but it’s a beautiful day here in Maine. Live an authentic life today, whether it goes “viral” or not.
My mother invited me over for dinner last night. It was a beautiful day in Maine; no humidity and an invigorating breeze blowing through the sheer curtains. We were enjoying our salads when, out of the corner of my eye, I spied someone climbing the stairs to the door. Male or female, I couldn’t tell by the loud, tie-dye shirt of many colors and the plaid cap. The character reminded me of Greg Brady from the episode where he dresses up like a hippie to impress a girl, season 2, episode 18.
The clipboard and the clownish outfit gave it away. It’s an election year and various political organizations hire men, women, and Greg Brady-look a-likes to go door to door during dinner time promoting the talking points of various causes. The spiel begins with something innocuous like “we want to make sure everyone in your house is registered to vote.” Then, there’s a pitch, using code words specific to the cause or party doing the pitching.
Was it wrong of me to quickly shoo away the dancing clown on my parent’s doorstep during our pleasant family dinner? Seriously, at this late date in history, why would any failed political party or community organizing movement use the door-to-door disturbance technique? Maybe it’s by design. Create polarization between people so they don’t see the real problem is the broken system itself. I told the clown everyone in the house was registered to vote and we didn’t need any of that clown talk during dinner; thank you and have a nice evening.
Family trumps solicitors in our house.
The incident soured my salad and left a bad taste in my mouth last night. I slept fitfully and I’m trying to erase the clown-funk with a shot of Moxie simple syrup in my coffee this morning. Click on the cuppa cuppa for a happier family of clowns.
Send in the Moxie clowns.
Julie-Ann Baumer 