Yeah, Yeah, Yeah

Posted on April 9, 2014 by Julie-Ann Baumer

I got a letter for Aunt Tomato the other day.  It was one of my “fans” asking me if I had started my tomatoes this year.  Oh, and by the way, why wasn’t I writing much about gardening in general?

I’ve started my tomatoes.

Tomato TimeMy tomato seed germination rates were lower than I had hoped, but I’ve got 20 plants.  My next door neighbor thinks maybe I’m growing marijuana over here, but sooner than soon, that whole industry will be the domain of…oh, forget it.  It’s too early for a political rant about the never-ending reach of our elected officials looking out for the best interests of “we the people.”

I don’t smoke marijuana and I don’t grow marijuana, but once it’s “legalized” you can be sure it will about as good for you as tobacco, grocery store food, and alcohol.  They’re all “legal” too.

I’ve started some peppers and I’ve cleaned up my “surprise garden” and the “redemption garden.”  After work tonight or tomorrow, I’ll head over to the town gazebo and start raking and cleaning up.

My garlic has broken ground.

I’ve been thinking about flowers and lettuce and maybe it’s okay to grow a few less tomatoes this year.  I’m contemplating a sunflower folly.

No dreams about tomatoes yet and that’s probably a good thing.  No dreams at all.

I’ve got a new apron that I bought at an “apron tea,” but that’s another story for another day.

Posted in Dear Aunt Tomato | Tagged | 1 Comment

Uncle Bob on a Surfboard

Posted on April 7, 2014 by Julie-Ann Baumer

Lately, Mondays have been “travel days” here on the blog; I write about the places my “Lady Alone Traveler” journeys take me over the weekend.  Last weekend, I took a road trip with my brother and he wrote about it on his blog.  Technically, I wasn’t the Lady Alone Traveler so I didn’t blog about it myself.  We had a good time, though, and maybe being a ‘lady alone” is overrated.

This weekend, I stayed close to home and early Sunday morning I decided to take a long walk.  I headed north on Route 9 (Ridge Road) with a vague notion of several possible destinations.  After near a mile, I crossed over onto the Bowdoinham Road.

What was this?

Pink Plastic SlipperA plastic doll slipper?

It was strange and creepy and thinking it might be a bad omen, I turned around, crossed Ridge Road again, and headed down the King Road.  Not that the King Road is without problems.  I saw a woman letting a bunch of barking Chihuahuas out of a dog pen, but it wasn’t as creepy as the plastic doll slipper, so I kept walking.  If the Chihuahuas had been wearing pink plastic slippers, I would have run back to my house, but that wasn’t the case.

Once past the barking dogs, the King Road is a pleasant promenade with gently sloping hills.  It didn’t seem like a long walk at all and pretty soon I was at the intersection of the Littlefield Road.  I took a left and followed the Sabattus River until I came out onto Route 196, or Lisbon Road.

My unspoken destination was Benoit’s Bakery and it was in sight.

I'd walk 3.5 miles for a donutRationalizing with myself, I decided I could have a donut if I walked to get it.  Although I was temporarily stymied by the slipper and the Chihuahuas, getting that donut was the best decision I made all day.  Wouldn’t it be great if figuring out everything in life was that easy?  “Sure…I’ll have the biggest cream-filled donut in the case, please.  Counting calories? Hell, no, Nick, I just walked three and a half miles for that donut.”

There’s only one table at Benoit’s, it being more of a “take out” place than a “sit for a spell” place.  Sitting at the table on this particular Sunday were a local couple, Frank and Pam.  Maybe people in town call them as Pam and Frank. I’m not sure.  They were several years ahead of me in high school so I didn’t know them well.  I knew they were in the “house restoration and improvement” business and they had owned the bowling alley at one time, too.  I asked if I could sit down and join them and then explained who I was, mentioning the proper relatives to make my identity clear.  I find that saying “I’m Bobby’s niece” generally opens more doors than “I’m Herman’s daughter” because everyone knows Uncle Bob.  Don’t tell Herman, the Winter Carnival King of 1951, though.  He still thinks he’s popular.

Pam and Frank and I had a good chat, talking about real estate, the local business scene, and the state of the world.  We didn’t save the world; we didn’t even try.  It was a chance meeting, but because we had some shared history, it was easy to be neighborly and friendly.  I thought back to all the times I had gotten coffee at the surfer dude coffee shop next to my condo in Hampton in the fifteen years I lived there and how little I knew about most of the regulars.  Was it me or was it because Uncle Bob wasn’t a local Hampton surfer dude from way back?  I can’t even imagine Uncle Bob on a surfboard, although I saw him in shorts once last summer.

Sure, life in a small town isn’t all coffee and donuts, but knowing a few of my neighbors is one of the reasons I moved home in the first place.  Who wants to be alone all the time?

And if pink plastic doll slippers, Chihuahuas, and Uncle Bob on a surfboard don’t come up, well, I know it’s going to be a pretty good day.

Posted in Home, Just Writing | Tagged , , , , | 4 Comments

Peak Crocus

Posted on April 6, 2014 by Julie-Ann Baumer

Here’s a peek at St. Helen’s first crocus.

Peek CrocusAh!  Spring!  It’s “peak” crocus.

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As Luck Would Have It

Posted on April 4, 2014 by Julie-Ann Baumer

I could go on and on about The Bridal Sarcophagus; that’s what I have done for the last ten Fridays here on the blog.  This is week number eleven.

Enough.

What happened?  I got a nine-to-five job working for a large company doing what I had done on and off since graduating from college.  No more, no less.  I gave my notice at The Bridal Sarcophagus and within a day, I was persona non grata in that retail establishment.  Little Miss Ruffles was upset, but being very young and resilient, she got over it. We might have gone out for lunch a few times after I left and she kept me informed as thing “wound down.”  In a matter of months following my departure, The Bridal Sarcophagus went out of business.

Little Miss Ruffles presided over the “great unwinding” of the shop, selling everything except the backless upholstered “barge.”  She sold me one of the store’s French mannequin dress forms, which I thought might be useful in the future.  One day the shop was gone, quickly replaced by a “paint your own pottery” lounge, a consignment shop, and a nail salon, in that order.

Bay moved her spa across the street to a bigger and better location because waxing big hairy eyebrows is profitable.  I don’t know what happened to Carleen.

I lost track of Little Miss Ruffles for a few years until (as luck would have it) her third cousin got a job at my company.  In the course of idle chit-chat, we realized we had a mutual acquaintance and I was pleased to learn Little Miss Ruffles matriculated at the University of New Hampshire with a dual major in “Eco Gastronomy.”  She’s spent time studying in France, Italy, and the Napa Valley region of California.  She still waxes, buffs, and plucks at Bay’s spa on school breaks and summer vacations.

Bravo!

Her third cousin tells me she’ll be graduating soon and is hoping to get engaged to her long-time boyfriend.  Apparently, “she wants the ring” and knowing Little Miss Ruffles and her youthful spirit of determination, she’ll get it.  I hope she’ll remember that in addition to rings and things, she’ll need a dress.

The Wedding DressMay she live happily ever after.

My blog friends, that ends the story of The Bridal Sarcophagus.  Join me again next Friday as I begin a new series called “I Wish I Had a Million Dollars.”

Hot Dog!

Posted in Friday Pillow Talk | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

Start Somewhere

Posted on April 3, 2014 by Julie-Ann Baumer

I’ve tried to “be positive,” not complaining about what was the longest winter I could remember.  There’s still ice and snow everywhere, including on the garden I share with Uncle Bob and in my “surprise garden” on the corner of Maple and Summer streets.

Uncle Bob says “it will go fast now.”

With a tepid spirit of optimism, I decided to “start somewhere.”

Start SomewhereIt’s day to day.

Posted in Minimalist | Tagged , , | 1 Comment

It was No Vega, Baby

Posted on April 2, 2014 by Julie-Ann Baumer

One day I saw a groovy old Vega station wagon tooling around in a parking lot and I texted the picture of it to Reggie.  I asked “is this what chased you all those years ago?”

Vega, BabyHe got all “smart aleck” and said, “it was no Vega, baby.”

Reggie’s saga continues…

The Opel.  Not many of those on the road in Maine ever, never mind in those days, when Audis were strange, exotic wheels.  There was a Ford Cortina belonging to a schoolmate, the pastor’s BMW, Devo’s big brother had a true Mini Cooper from their first go round.  There were Volvos, boxes on wheels, but they were hardly exotic.  Oh, and the Hales on Plummer Street had a Saab 96, a little grey thing that looked like a squashed teardrop.  That was about it for non-American cars in our neighborhood.

They weren’t an Opel coupe with tinted windows.

This was after the Vietnam War, during the “hollow” military of the 1970s.  The Navy base in Brunswick had its problems, and my father, a landlord encountered more than his share of them.  In those days drugs were rampant, before repeated sweeps and “Not in my Navy” became the catchphrase.  The sailors brought back all sorts of things from far away locations, most of them unsavory and some of them would make your skin crawl.

The Opel’s owner was one of those sailors.  The Opel’s passenger was an older girl who lived a block away from me (and our blog hostess), and she probably outweighed all of us put together.  Her family was renting the house they stayed in, and were likely Navy, too.

So when I saw the Opel on that lonely road with no one around, I knew what it was and who was driving.

What I didn’t expect was the Opel to pass so close that I had to jump into a snow bank to avoid it.

I’m sure they were laughing inside that coupe.  I got back into the road and yelled some choice expletives at them, accompanied by the finger.

The speeding Opel skidded to a sudden stop on the wet, gravel coated road.  It sat there for a moment.

Then the backing lights came on and the tires spun as he stomped on the gas in reverse.

I weighed my options in a flash, and chose the woods.  Over the snow bank I went and back down into the woods I had only recently come out of.

Fifty yards in I stopped.  The Opel loomed where I had bounded the snow bank.  I couldn’t see him, but the windows were down and I could hear him taunt me, threaten to hurt me real bad.

The fat chick cackled with laughter at his every word.

I turned and headed deeper into the woods, back towards the way I came.  His last words were, “You can’t escape me.”

Then the Opel spun out and raced off to where he figured he would meet me again.

Posted in Reggie Black | Tagged , , , , | 4 Comments

Mixed Emotions (or Sometimes Facebook Zucks)

Posted on March 31, 2014 by Julie-Ann Baumer

On April 22, 2012, I joined Facebook.  I know, I was a laggard and I’ve blogged as much on several occasions.  I don’t have a Tee Vee, either, so go ahead and judge me for that, too.  Readers might also be shocked to know that more than once Uncle Bob has accused me of “thinking too much.”

For many months, the fun of Facebook has faded for me and it feels like a chore.  Something about it has changed; maybe the algorithms controlling my “newsfeed” have identified me as the perfect new owner for “Henry, the miniature Sicilian Donkey, rescued recently from severe neglect…in search of a permanent home.”

Maybe Mark Zuckerberg’s minions think I want to know that the sister of a girl from my high school Chemistry class got French Polynesia as the country she should live in, based on a quiz she took.  I don’t know what her tropical drink name is or what her spirit animal might be.  I’ve finally blocked all the quizzes; I’ll probably need to go in and retool my settings, though.

Then there is the disaster porn.  Oh, I almost forgot the outrage porn posts, the ones where men and women fight with each other in a binary fashion, as though there are only two possible outcomes in life.  Black or white, right or left, male or female, yes or no.

The subtle social control messages like “when you stop crying you should share this” always make the hair on the back of my neck go up a little.  Don’t “should” me, bro.

I still like to see pictures of my friends, their children, and their pets.  (Rest in peace, Blossom.)  And I’m glad one of my friends got a new job.  It’s just the “manufactured” information and the celebrity news I’m not particularly interested in reading.  And the quiz results.  Because of these things and a few others, I have “mixed emotions” about Facebook these days.

I block ads and I don’t give an answer when Facebook asks “why don’t you want to see this?”  Because giving Facebook more information about me will enhance my user experience.  Yeah, right.

One of my Facebook friends fell off the face of the Facebook a few months ago and I ran into her at a Farmers Market.  She was an infrequent but interesting poster, always kind and thoughtful.  I wondered where she went.  As we chatted over the leeks and kale, I said “hey, why aren’t you on Facebook anymore?”

She let out a sigh and said “oh my goodness, it was such a distraction.  It didn’t reflect much that was real in my world. And if I didn’t respond to a comment right away, people seemed put off.”  Then she said “you know, if someone wants to see what I’m doing and how my life is going, they can come on over and visit me or call me on the phone.  Time and life passes by so quickly.  It’s the real things I want to know about people.”  She had a point.

Time to Analyze DistractionsIt’s always a good time to analyze the distractions in life.

It’s a rainy and windy Monday, the last day of March roaring out like a lion.  April showers bring May flowers and someone will post that today.  I saw a crocus popping up in my mother’s garden, but I didn’t post it on Facebook.

Sometimes, in spite of the power of virtual reality, Facebook just zucks.

Posted in Just Writing | Tagged , , , | 6 Comments

For Spacious Skies

Posted on March 30, 2014 by Julie-Ann Baumer

I was in and out of the clouds on Petrograd Street yesterday.

At The Top of the WorldI jiggled the handle, but the door was locked.

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The Big Hairy Eyebrow

Posted on March 28, 2014 by Julie-Ann Baumer

After the aborted mission to The Bratty Bride, Little Miss Ruffles expressed an interest in becoming an aesthetician.  She was at that tender age when all things seemed possible and Bay outlined an apprentice program that consisted of such odd jobs as sanding callouses, placing hot compresses on blackhead-rich noses, and doing spa laundry.  She’d work a few hours at The Sarcophagus, a few hours at the spa, and sometimes Little Miss Ruffles would also work as a nanny to Bay’s two young sons.  Bay’s “to do” list was never-ending.

On weeks when The Sarcophagus checks bounced (which happened with regularity), Little Miss Ruffles’ squelched her anger in a sulking darkness.  If there were no customers to wait on, she’d huddle in the back room with her cell phone pressed against her ear, whispering conspiratorially.  She started smoking cigarettes and she would occasionally speak out angrily against Bay.

“She wants me to babysit on Saturday night.  She’s got a date with that old man who comes in to have his brows waxed.”

The Big Hairy Eyebrow(Fair readers, let me stop briefly here to say I am not opposed to men’s grooming.  Who knows the scores of hairy eyebrows that are carefully trimmed back from the edges of Einsteinian madness by the quiet comb and clippers of Faye the Barber?  The week before Uncle Bob’s induction into the Maine Baseball Hall of Fame I shyly said to Faye “make sure you trim his eyebrows.”  She gave a look that told me the idea had already crossed her mind and I had nothing to worry about.  There’s no excessive grooming at The Barber Shop, no wax-dipped hands and feet in plastic bags, but there’s enough to keep a man looking handsome and orderly.)

Bay Bracken, a somewhat private person, had apparently been married at one time because her wedding pictures were part of the salon’s marketing materials.  A framed photo of Bay, stunningly gorgeous in a Reem Acra dress silhouetted against a tuxedoed and faceless husband, greeted customers as they climbed The Sarcophagus stairs.  From what I could piece together, she’d been separated for several months.  I knew nothing of her husband; I’d never seen him at the spa or The Sarcophagus.  No male customers visited the spa, just “Uncle Norman.”

Uncle Norman, the last Thursday customer, would pull his ancient Mercedes sedan into a spa parking spot as the sun starting sinking into the horizon.  I noticed his car for the first time one evening as I was closing up the bridal salon.  He was tall, greying, and well-dressed, always sporting a collared shirts and sometimes a jacket.  I passed him on the sidewalk outside the spa once and he yielded the space gallantly, like a gentleman, and bowed his head while saying “good afternoon.”

On one particularly moody day, Little Miss Ruffles confessed to me that Uncle Norman was no one’s uncle.  From that moment on, I saw him and his car everywhere and I couldn’t help but think of Bay’s wedding picture on The Sarcophagus wall.  Still, it was none of my business and the more I saw Uncle Norman arriving for his grooming appointments, the less I saw of Bay at The Bridal Sarcophagus.

After a month or so of his visits, our paychecks stopped bouncing and UPS was making regular deliveries.  We were in the money again, but for how long?

I started giving the whole situation “the big hairy eyebrow” and I started polishing up my resumé.

Posted in Friday Pillow Talk | Tagged , | 4 Comments

A Slip of a Gift

Posted on March 27, 2014 by Julie-Ann Baumer

I was in the Biddeford-Saco area last Saturday and although I took some sad and ugly snaps with my camera, a big window-full geranium made me smile.

photo(2) The owner offered me the gift of a slip the next time I was in the area.

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