Category: Ramblings (page 2 of 3)

I hate to admit it, but there was a time I was against motor vehicle inspections. I always thought they were a waste of energy. For me, anyway; they got in my way. The fact that they existed forced me to do something I didn’t want to do – an extra and irritating chore. And honestly, they still do get in my way, but that’s because of the simple fact that I know how to perform my own vehicle maintenance and repairs.

Over the past few months, I’ve listened to two stories told to me by two different gentlemen. Both stories concluded basically the same thing – that neither of the cars they had attempted to pass inspection, passed. One gentleman indicated that the auto mechanic wanted to charge him $3000 for the necessary repairs to “get a sticker” and the other gentleman was told it would cost approximately $900. Now, from personal experience, I know that each of these repairs would have probably cost around, in total, $400 and $150 in parts respectively if the owners had done the work themselves, but obviously not everyone has the knowhow or wherewithal to get things like this done.

I’ve been working on my own cars since I owned my very first one at 16 years old. That was a 1981 WV Rabbit. After that, I owned a Buick Regal, Chevy Camaro, Chevy pickup truck, Honda Prelude, Honda Accord, and many others. Nearly every one of my cars and trucks needed work. I can’t even imagine how much I would have spent if someone else did that work and then charged me for both the (inflated cost of) parts and labor. Most of the reason I messed with my cars so much was for the fun of it – I enjoyed taking things apart and putting them back together. For most people, however, they don’t want to go near such things. Needless to say, when one of my vehicles required a repair, I knew it needed it before the car even knew it needed it and I did whatever required doing myself. So when it came time for an inspection sticker, I was wasting part of my day by having someone else look at what I was driving. I had the skills of a mechanic, so all I really sought was the sticker. And that’s why I was so against the entire ordeal.

Remember the two gentlemen I mentioned above? Neither of them know how to work on cars. Neither of them would have any idea their brake pads needed replacing and neither of them would realize the undercarriage of their truck was rusted out so badly that they’d soon be sliding down the road, butt to blacktop, rather than sitting comfortably in their driver’s seat. It’s because of reasons such as these that I came to conclude that, yes, the general public needs to have an eye kept on them and one way to do that is through yearly motor vehicle inspections. So as much as it pains me to say, since I’m part of the general public, I must have my own car and truck inspected too.

If you live in Maine and if you know nothing about cars or trucks, it’s important to find a qualified mechanic who will lift your vehicle inside a garage, pull off the wheels, and meticulously filter through each and every aspect of what might need filtering through – tires, brakes, brake lines, belts, filters, undercarriage, ball joints, struts – everything. If you’ve got a good guy who will do this for you, you’re in luck. And if he recommends that something needs a repairing or replacing, get whatever that is done. But if you’ve been working on your vehicles nearly your entire life and are careful about maintenance, go ahead and find another guy. One who is more efficient with his inspections. After all, having your car lifted and gone through with a fine tooth comb takes forever and many of us simply don’t want to wait for things like that.

This year’s been a bit sketchy in regards to auto repairs and safety inspections. I had to do some work to get things up to snuff. When I went to get my truck inspected in September, I discovered that from having it sit unused for so long, the brake calipers had partially seized up. That required me to purchase and replace all four calipers as well as pads. But by doing the work myself, I saved a ton of money. What would have cost in the thousands, cost in the low to mid hundreds.

At the same time as this, my car was giving me trouble. Due to corrosion, I was forced to replace the transmission pan. While I had the pan off, I changed the filter, gasket, bolts, and fluid. The car needed a filter and fluid change anyway, so that dampened the blow of the somewhat overwhelming project. But again, I would have spent thousands if I had a mechanic do the work. By doing it myself, I spent about $250 and learned a lot during the process.

The car also needed a driver’s side taillight because the blinker wasn’t functioning properly. The fix was simple, but if I hadn’t shopped around or if I had a professional make the repair, I could have paid far too much for the part. For the car I drive, when the blinker goes bad, the entire light assembly needs changing. A mechanic would have charged me hundreds for the part. How much did I pay through Ebay? $57.

I often say that people don’t not know how to do something, but rather, they simply don’t do that something. They don’t try. Do you think I somehow magically knew how to change the transmission pan or how to properly add the fluid? I didn’t. I did the necessary research and then performed the work. I actually did it. That’s really all it takes sometimes – to do the work.

Anyway, that’s my spiel on vehicle inspections and auto mechanics. Love them or not, if you’ve got a car, they’re a part of life.

The good folks of Maine were stricken by some sort of disease last month. None of us knew what it was, but nearly all of us were affected, me included. At first, I thought it was a simple head cold induced by some dust that was cast into the air by a propane heater fan. Dust has been a trigger for me for most of my life. In fact, back in 2012, I trained Muay Thai at a club in Connecticut that used forced hot air as its heat source. The heat used to run while we were in class. That year, I caught seven head colds in the one season due to the dust spewed from the system. It was terrible.

Again, this year, I thought my illness was triggered by dust, but once others began presenting the same, or similar, symptoms, I knew that couldn’t have been the source. It must have been germ based. Stemming from either bacteria or from a virus, most likely a virus since it was contagious. Seemingly everyone was getting it. People from town, people from the food pantry, and people from jiu-jitsu class. Everyone. What’s worse was that this particular illness lasted weeks, unlike any other I’ve ever experienced. The symptoms began in the sinuses, moved to the head as a headache, and then moved to the throat and chest. Poor Laura even caught it and weeks later, is still coughing from lung irritation. Weird.

Just to let you know, I tested myself for COVID and the test came back negative. I’m suspicious of the test though because I have an odd feeling COVID had a part to play with this. Our collective susceptibility was just too coincidental. The thing moved too fast, was too debilitating, and lasted too long.

The disease isn’t what I wanted to discuss in this post though. It was merely a prelude to the suggested medicament, which is as entertaining as entertaining can get.

I volunteer with an old-school Maine woman. She moved to the state during her early teen years and has yet to leave. She’s now in her 80s and knows the rules of the road, so to speak. Basically, she’s seen a lot of things and knows how it all works in this part of the country.

Last week, as I was nearly healed from the suffering of my dreadful malady, this wonderful woman and I were speaking on the front steps of our organization. She noticed the lingering affliction in my eyes and indicated that I still appeared to be sick. I didn’t feel sick anymore, but I apparently still looked it.

She told me, “You know what will really kick this from your system?”

Of course I wanted to know, so I replied, “What? Oh please tell me so I can pass the information on to Laura. She’s still ill.”

My friend informed me of the cure and it goes like this: “Get yourself a big glass and fill it half way with whiskey. Then fill the other half with water, drink the entire thing, and go to bed. When you wake up in the morning, you’ll feel great!”

I couldn’t believe it. I thought this suggestion was the best thing ever.

I told her, “C’mon, that can’t really work,” to which she replied, “Hey, it’s worked for me. I’ve drunk that and when I woke up the next morning, I had no idea where I was.”

I do love Maine and I love the people in it. This whiskey cold cure is just about as Maine as it gets. Basically, drink enough to knock the cold right out of your soul. While I have no idea if this particular remedy actually has any positive effect on a person’s health, I’d certainly agree that a half glass of whiskey ingested in one gulp would make just about anyone feel…different. If I drank that much in one sitting, my cold would most likely be the last thing I’d be concerned with the next morning.

While straight-up whiskey therapy for a cold might not be the best road to travel down for most people, I’ve heard good things about what’s referred to as a hot toddy. What’s a hot toddy, you ask? It’s a simple drink that can ease the symptoms of just about anything. Here’s the very straightforward recipe:

Hot Toddy Recipe

¾ cup water
1 ½ ounces whiskey
2 to 3 teaspoons honey, to taste
2 to 3 teaspoons lemon juice, to taste
1 lemon round
1 cinnamon stick

Mix the liquid ingredients in a glass and toss in the lemon round and cinnamon stick. Drink up and enjoy. Sounds good to me, especially while sitting in front of a cracklin’ wood stove. See ya next time.

This is going to be an odd post. I’m not even sure what I’ll write. As of this moment and as I sit here and think, I’ve yet to conjure up anything that seems remotely cohesive. I suppose though, I’ll try my best. For me, that’s what these types of situations call for – my best. The issue at hand is that I’m feeling a certain way and I’ve yet to determine an effective articulation for those feelings.

There’s a book floating around out there called, “How to Win Friends and Influence People.” It was written by Dale Carnegie way back in 1936. It’s actually one of the world’s most popular books – a title that’s been sold over 30 million times. I’ve read this book on numerous occasions and can confidently say that it’s had a tremendous effect on me. Probably the most tremendous effect from any book I’ve ever read. The first time reading it was during my attendance at Binghamton University in New York. My mother bought it and mailed it to me and boy did it leave an impression. It’s not a long read and it’s quite approachable. So much so that I wrote an entire summary of it on my other blog. You may find that summary here, if you were so inclined to read it, that is.

I’ll get right into it. This next paragraph may seem abrupt.

I’m concerned with the way people in this world are acting today. I witness their behaviors each week of each year and their lack of politeness is astounding. Consider this: If you were to walk into a room full of people between the years of 1685 and 1815 (during the Age of Enlightenment), chances are, someone would greet you and say hello. Ask you how you’re doing. Today? You’d not be likely to receive a glance. And if the entire population of that room did happen to glance your way, chances are no one would bother saying anything. This irritates me.

Here’s another example: Let’s say you achieved something remarkable. Another time, another place, perhaps you’d receive comments on your remarkability. Today? It’s like your remarkability is a threat to those around you. I get the sense that many folks out there would treat you with scorn rather than offer you the praise you deserve. I’d love to say I’m mistaken here, but I don’t think I am. The general sense I get is one of negativity and a distain for the fellow man. I’m sure I could go on and on regarding the reasoning behind this, but I’ll leave it here; many of us need to wake up to the needs of society and the individual. We must shed whatever weakness and laziness we’ve accumulated and determine ourselves to present a positive impact on others. I’m aware that my claims above are bold and I’d like you to know that I’m generally referring to society at large, rather than the small groups we belong to. Within those small groups, I’ve seen nothing but the best of behavior. Obviously, a few within every group leave something to be desired, but by and large, my experiences have been positive.

Back to my semi-rant. I’ll share a story with you to illustrate my point of all this.

Each week, I work with a very special group of people. We volunteer to help those in our community who may be in need. A few weeks ago, I was talking with one of our volunteers when she mentioned a book she was reading. Being the polite fellow I am, I asked her for the book’s title and author. Even if I had no intention of looking further into the book, the right thing to do was to ask her these questions. It made her feel as though her story was worthwhile and being listened to, which it was.

This woman and I continued to talk for a few more minutes when I was forced to excuse myself to help a person with a task. We parted ways until later in the day. Upon reconnecting, I sat and watched, we’ll call her “Jane,” work. After a few moments passed, I said, “You know Jane, you do a very good job here. I’ve come to conclude that there are a few people in this world who make the entire thing go round. You’re one of those people.” What I said was true. Jane visits our organization every single Monday and selflessly does her job for no pay and without complaint. She’s a wonder and I told her as much.

Here’s the crux: After I offered my thoughts to Jane, she began to cry. She said, “You know, I really needed to hear that today. It’s been a tough one.” She walked away from me, gathered her belongings and went home. I was left wondering what put this woman in such a state, but more so, I was left wondering how the entire group of us could have ignored Jane to such a extent that it took hours for her to hear something nice enough that would cause her to well up in tears. I can’t express how disappointed I was in myself for not paying better attention to the needs of our volunteers. Yes, people should speak up if they’re facing difficulties, but others should also take notice when something isn’t as it should be.

In general, I believe we need to begin paying attention to people other than ourselves. We need to demonstrate to the world how well-raised we are. Are you aware that most of us have mothers and fathers? Yes, it’s true. Do you know that it costs nothing and takes a mere moment for a mother or father to teach a child to show appreciation? To say please and thank you? To express interest in another? If you haven’t been taught to do these things yourself and if you aren’t paying attention the way you should, I implore you to read Dale’s book. It’ll teach you everything you’ll need to know. A good impression goes a very long way in regards to personal relationships, but a bad impression, unfortunately, goes an even longer way. I’ll leave you with this:

1. Approximately eight years ago, a boy who lived up the road from Laura and me told us he was graduating from high school. After hearing this, Laura bought him a card and I enclosed a congratulatory check for $50 in it. We gave both to him. Weeks later when we next saw him, because we hadn’t heard anything back, I asked if he opened the card. He replied, “Oh yeah. Thanks.” Wow. I’ll remember that experience forever and not in a good way.
2. Approximately five years ago, a family a few roads from ours gave Laura and me a dozen duck eggs. We thanked this family profusely for their generosity and being so grateful, Laura decided to spend about four hours of her day baking them a double-chocolate cake using some of the eggs they gifted us. The cake was made from scratch and the ingredients cost about $20 – mostly for the chocolate. It was an extraordinary cake. We gave the family the cake and never heard back from them. Weeks passed when I asked the family if they enjoyed it. One of them said, “Yeah, it was good. Thanks.” Wow. I’ll remember that experience forever and not in a good way.

Being polite means you need to go out of your way to make another person feel a certain way. First, you’ll need to ascertain how you’d like the person to feel and then you’ll need to make that feeling happen. Do you know that every single time Laura receives a gift from someone, no matter how big or small the gift, that person receives a hand-written note of thanks in return? Laura was raised to an extraordinary standard and it’s one of the characteristics that attracted me to her. She’s gracious and very, very polite. I just wish the rest of the world was more like her.

Remember, being polite isn’t a challenging concept to grasp. It exists when a person shows regard for another in their manner, speech, and behavior. The adjective polite stems from the mid-13th century Latin word, politus. Politus can be defined as refined, elegant, or even polished. It’s the demonstration of consideration for others, the using of tact, and the observing of social norms. What’s the opposite of being polite? Being rude, of course. And as we all certainly know, no one, and I mean no one, likes a rude person. So please be polite every chance you can.

PS – If you’re interested in learning about manners and etiquette, I encourage you to take a look at Emily Post.

Back in the 1990s, there was a quarterback for the New York Giants named Dave Brown. I remember watching him play. He was one of the best quarterbacks I’ve ever seen throw a ball. When Dave was on, he was really on. And when he was in this state, he seemingly transformed the football into a missile. Such accuracy and elegance. And speed! Boy, I remember watching those games when Dave was playing well. It was like nothing could stop him.

While Dave Brown was an incredible quarterback for the Giants when he was on, there were unfortunate times when he wasn’t. And when he wasn’t, he was an awful quarterback. During those instances, he was terrible for the team and as I recall, they really didn’t know what to do with the guy. Dave Brown was extraordinarily talented, but his problem was, he lacked consistency. Which, of course, cost him his career. It’s a shame because I believe everyone who watched him play, saw his talent – we really couldn’t miss it. We all hoped that he actually was as great as great could get. That inconsistency thing though – he simply wasn’t great all the time and consistent greatness is what the NFL demands.

I’ve played tennis since I was a young boy. During my early years, my mother sent me to tennis lessons at the town park and afterward, during the years that followed, I continued on with my lessons at a few other locations. I was an awful player. Sure, I’d get a hit here or there, but overall, I was terrible. Which begs the question – why in the world did I join the varsity tennis team when I was in only eighth grade? Not even in high school yet – my friend Russell’s mother talked me into it. She was in the midst of trying to persuade Russell into joining the team and, apparently, in order to do so, he needed a friend to come along. I decided to rescue him and I signed up alongside my good buddy. I even remained with the team after Russell quit a few weeks in. As least I was consistent with showing up.

The reason I bring Dave Brown’s name and ability into this post is because I think I’m a lot like him. Since my teen years, I’ve continued to play tennis and while I’ve learned a lot and have enjoyed my fair share of killer shots, I’ve yet been able to win a match to save my life. Not because I’m not talented, which I am. I’m talented like Dave Brown was. It’s because I’ve got no consistency. I choke. I get nervous and I screw things up when they matter most. But I’ll repeat, I have made some killer shots. Shots so good they’d earn the “Ooohs” and “Aaahs” of everyone watching. And that very same audience would continue to watch as I got clobbered for the rest of whatever game I was playing. Now that I’m middle age and being honest, I can reveal that I haven’t played in years – because of the aforementioned reasons. I still remember how terrible I was and I chalk it up to tennis being one of those things I probably should have avoided since the beginning. Like golf, it’s a game that messes with the head. And apparently, I’m not great at having my head messed with.

I’d like to share a quick tennis story with you. It’s about the time I joined the high school varsity team as a middle schooler. What audacity I had, thinking I could go off and play against those guys who had already hit puberty. Yes, Russell’s mother talked me into it and yes, Russell quit a few weeks after the season began, but while we were together, Russell and me, we enjoyed ourselves. Every day, we’d leave the middle school after classes had finished, walk through the sports fields, all the way to the elementary school, where Russell’s mother worked as a teacher’s aide for none other than my very own first grade teacher, Mrs. Bubley. We’d enter the classroom, where we’d be greeted by a two cans of soda and two very large cookies that were purchased from the Italian deli up the road. Mrs. McKee’s way of bribing two boys who weren’t necessarily interested in playing tennis, as their first choice of activities, anyway. Her bribes worked and we continued drinking the soda and eating the cookies, that is, until Russell decided he didn’t want either anymore and stopped showing up. From that point on, I walked straight from the middle school to the tennis courts, where I’d lose every match I ever played.

During the season, I practiced my game and took tips from the boys who were older than me. Their tips did help and I managed to win a few games, but really, I wasn’t proficient by any meaning of the word. I attended every practice and went to each and every meet. I even joined in the “away” meets where I’d play against boys from other school on their courts. While I haven’t the foggiest memory of most matches, I do happen to recall one in particular. It was an away meet. I remember the coaches placing me against another boy who was about the same age as I was. We were set aside on a court away from the others and were left to our own devices. Since the boy was so young, I thought I had a chance. I didn’t. He handily beat me, which was fine. At least I was able to keep my record of 0-0-0-0.

When the season ended, the entire team was to gather one evening in a high school classroom for an exciting event called “awards night.” Awards night was basically the culmination of everything that occurred on every field, court, or mat during the entire season. It was when all the sport teams gathered to discuss their wins and losses and to congratulate each other on their successes and proud moments. But more importantly, it was the night when the coaches awarded the players with their varsity letters. After all, these were high school teams and if a player participated in enough games, that player earned a letter. I’d participated in all of the games, so I was quite excited about purchasing my school jacket to which I’d sew my letter. As of yet, no one in my family had earned a letter, something I’d readily change.

A man named Mr. Martino was our coach. He was sort of a nice guy. A bit cocky and had that swagger high school teachers exhibited in those days. A lifer who I’m sure retired years ago. Mr. Martino scrolled through the list of players that awards night. He stood in front of the classroom behind the teacher’s desk and called out each individual’s name, who was to walk up to the front, shake hands with him, graciously accept the letter, and return to his desk. It was a moving ceremony, really. The players were overjoyed by their achievements and varsity letters were held up to lower rib areas to show where they’d soon be situated. I was impressed.

The strange thing was…after the final name was called, I realized that I sat alone as the only student who hadn’t received anything. And it wasn’t only me who realized this, the other players did as well and when one of them mustered up the courage to shout, “Hey, what about Jay?,” the others joined in as well. Out of all the wonderful occurrences I experienced that night, those players showing such concern for my well being was the most special. And it’s something I remember to this day.

Under pressure, Mr. Martino looked up and said, “Oh yeah. Jay, c’mon up.” I didn’t waste any time striding forth to that desk to take a firm hold of the only letter left. I placed my fingers on it, pressed them into that soft green and white material, smiled at the coach, and gave him a huge, “Thank you!” After that, I returned to my desk to revel in all the glory the universe would offer me that night. I had done it. I had actually been the first, as far as I knew then, middle schooler to have earned a real, genuine, authentic, and extremely cool looking varsity letter for playing a high school sport. As you could imagine, I sat firmly on cloud nine. The other players appreciated the sentiment as well and showed as much when they clapped for me. They all knew I didn’t really earn the thing for winning any games, but they were glad I got something for my efforts and commitment.

After a few moments, the coach indicated that the show was over and all of us were to head on home. As everyone else was almost gone from the classroom, I stood from my seat and, before I exited too, walked up to the desk to thank Mr. Martino for what he had given me. I said, “Thanks coach. This means the world to me.” He replied, “Oh yeah, let me have that back,” and ripped the letter from my hands. He slid it in his folder and walked out.

And that was that. To this day, I’m not sure a middle schooler has ever received a varsity letter.

For the past few days, I’ve been looking at photos of Scotland, England, and parts of France (and even Pennsylvania) that show lots of beautiful white snow on the ground. I must confess, I’m a bit jealous. Here in Maine, we’ve seen only rain. While that’s fine, and as I’ve mentioned in my previous post, we’ve certainly needed it, I’ve got to say rain’s nothing compared to the first snowfall. And as for the locales I mentioned above, the folks who live in them are in their glory. They don’t see much snow at all. Except for those living in Pennsylvania. They get lots of it.

As I sit here and type, I’m listening to the wind howl outside my window. This is the time of year when vast temperature changes are common and with those temperature changes come differences in pressure, which causes the wind. Of all weather phenomenon, I dislike the wind the most. It sits just atop ice storms. Ice storms are terrible because they knock the power out for days on end, something wind usually does for just a few mere hours. They’re both horrible events, but I’m sure I’ve already said too much about it. Discussing the weather on this blog quickly becomes tedious.

In other news, I’m reading my first Hemingway book. It’s titled, “For Whom the Bell Tolls,” and apparently, it’s surrounded by scandal. I wasn’t aware of this before I began reading it because its description seems rather innocuous. And now that I’ve read past page 50, it remains innocuous. Little did I know until last night that the book ranks at #30 on the ALA’s list of most-banned classics. Why? Because it apparently contains material that the state deems inappropriate. Communism, Marxism, etc… Which is fine, I guess, because I’m not too interested in those topics, but it does seem somewhat odd to ban a book such as this. I suppose the state can never be too careful though, especially when dealing with revolutionary types. Here are some fun facts for you: In 1940, For Whom the Bell Tolls was declared non-mailable by the U.S. Post Office. In 1973, the book was banned in Turkey because the book included “propaganda unfavorable to the state.” I mean, you gotta do what you gotta do, I suppose, but whether any of this banning is substantiated by actual content contained in the book remains to be seen. I’ll surely update this post when I finish reading.

I can’t say the book has completely captured my interest as of yet. It’s so far been a slow read at just a few pages completed before I fall asleep each night. When I love a book, such as The Name of the Wind, I’ll read chapters during every instance I sit down with it. When a book is slow, I only manage to make it through a few pages until my eyelids become extraordinarily heavy. And when that happens, I end up not remembering what I read anyway. The thing is, this particular book is rated very highly, so I’m hopeful it’ll pick up steam as I progress. And if I find this one appealing, I’ll dive right into A Farewell to Arms, another Ernest Hemingway novel. From what I hear, this other book is as excellent as excellent can get.

I’ve gathered that Hemingway novels require a certain level of tenacity to ingest, digest, and appreciate. I’ve listened to a few reviews on his different works and many of them have been described as flat out boring from the beginning through the middle sections, but as the endings begin, the lessons reveal themselves. And that’s what many reviewers have found value in. Hopefully I can find value in Hemingway’s lessons as well. I’m ready to hunker down to enjoy some of what can only be described as concise, straightforward, and realistic material – classic Hemingway. And that, my friends, comes with an Oxford comma. Until next time…

We’re finally getting some much needed rain here in western Maine. I’m not sure we’ve seen any for over a month. It’s been relatively warm too with the temperatures hovering around 40° during the daytime. Overall, it’s been a pleasant autumn. The rain certainly is welcome though. People have been complaining of allergies and I suspect the dry leaves on the ground have had something to do with that. All that dust flying around the outside air is bound to have an effect on the sinuses. Hopefully it’s all been washed downstream.

A few days ago, I was browsing Google Earth (something I often do) around the Dunkeld, UK region. I was merely searching about, somewhat haphazardly, when I changed from satellite view to street view. I find it fascinating how different the two perspectives appear. A road that looks somewhat busy and well travelled from the air almost always turns out to be a one-lane-like farmer’s driveway. Things are quite different in Scotland than they are in the U.S. I’m used to wide blacktop, double-lane roads here in Maine. In the Dunkeld region of Scotland, the roads are so much more intimate, for lack of a better word.

As I was browsing through the streets of outer Dunkeld, I noticed something striking. Almost everywhere I visited, I found walking path signs adjacent to the roads. I’ve long known that walking is a treasured pastime in England, but I can’t say I was sure of the same in Scotland. Apparently, it’s a thing there too. As a matter of fact, just in the Dunkeld area alone, there are almost a dozen walks that range from 3-4 miles all the way up to approximately 10 miles. To view trail/path descriptions and an official walking map of the Dunkeld Path Network, click here. To see a quick-view of the map, see below.

Dunkeld and Birnam are situated along the River Tay, where it’s most congested on the map. I’ve learned so much about the area and have truly fallen in love with it. I’m looking very much forward to the day Laura and I visit.

The reason I bring any of this up is because, as I’m sure I’ve mentioned in the past, Laura and I are seasoned walkers. We do it both for exercise as well as relaxation and entertainment. I’d love to one day do it out of necessity, meaning, live close enough to a town, pub, or store, and use our walks for purpose rather than those reasons I mentioned above. As we also become older, we consider what we’ll do with our free time. Retirement is still a long ways off, but I’m a proponent of incorporating activities to the point of them becoming habitual, years before they’re necessary. I believe walking is one activity we’ll be engaging in for the long-haul and it’s comforting to know it’s well respected in a place I’ve become so fond of.

Throughout my life, I’ve lived in New York, Georgia, Connecticut, Florida, and Maine. I’ve never really concerned myself with my cars rusting out until I arrived in Maine. In New York and Connecticut, yes, the winter roads are sanded and salted, but I’m not sure I noticed any discernable difference between when I purchased a vehicle and when I sold it, rust-wise. Nothing ever seemed to happen in a bad way. That’s not to mean that cars don’t rust in those states because they certainly do. I have a long history of family members needing to repair holes in their floorboards – you know the type; you’re a little kid driving down the road with your father in his old truck. You can see the blacktop and painted street lines pass you by underneath your feet. Yeah, those good ol’ days.

I think Maine uses something different on the roads than what the other states use. Whatever’s utilized up here to melt the snow and ice also melts the steel of a vehicle. It’s strong. It eats away at pretty much anything and it does some real damage. And unfortunately, if a person doesn’t keep a close eye on the undercarriage of their vehicle, it may just fall apart. Honestly, you really truly (and regularly) need to keep on top of either cleaning the under areas of your car during the winter, undercoating, or both. Preferably both. And while you can’t stop rust completely because some is bound to find its way through, you can completely and utterly slow it down – tremendously.

To illustrate my points, I’ll tell you two quick stories. If you plan on moving to Maine, or northern New England for that matter, please take note. You’ll only encounter disappointment if you don’t.

Laura and I own two cars. One is a BMW 328xi. The other is a Ford F250. They’re both in excellent condition and both have relatively low miles when compared to other vehicles on the road. We really only drive them when necessary, which keeps them out of trouble.

Earlier this summer, I noticed a small puddle on the garage floor, underneath the BMW. At first, I didn’t really mind. I thought it was no big deal. After a while though, I became concerned. As the days passed by, the puddle grew. And grew. And grew. It grew to such an extent that I thought an inspection was warranted. I jacked the car off the ground, looked underneath, and discovered the the leak stemmed from the transmission pan. The pan was covered with rust. Nothing else was rusty in the vicinity of the pan – just the pan. To make a long story short, I ordered the necessary parts and changed the pan, filter, and fluid. The fluid and filter needed a change anyway, but I could have done without having to wait a month for a new pan to arrive from China. I was somewhat stressed during the entire endeavor. Road salt caused the pan to rust and ultimately leak. It was something that could have been avoided. And what’s interesting is that while I was procrastinating the inspection of the vehicle, I lost three quarts of transmission fluid to the garage floor. The transmission only holds eight, so I cut that one rather close.

This year, I brought my truck into a mechanic for a yearly safety inspection. As I arrived at his garage, I noticed smoke coming from the driver’s side front wheel hub. Come to find out, the brake caliper was sticking due to disuse of the vehicle. As I stood in disbelief, the mechanic explained that he sees the type of thing I was experiencing all the time. Year after year, people find their truck calipers sticking because the parts rust from sitting either outside or in their garages. Because the Ford F250 is so horrible in regards to fuel efficiency, most owners only drive them when necessary, e.i., to pull boats or plow snow. In the meantime, the trucks sit and the brake systems rust up. In my case, I hadn’t driven the truck earnestly in years. I had no reason to. So also in my case, upon inspection, I discovered that both front calipers had torn piston boots and one rear brake had the pads actually rusted to the brake caliper bracket. They wouldn’t move at all. Mind you, this is all being discovered at the same time as I was fixing the BMW. I was down two vehicles simultaneously.

To make another long story short, I bought replacement calipers and pads for all four wheels and did what I had to do. Now, everything is brand new. There’s no other rust on the truck and since I still don’t drive it much, I slathered Fluid Film over every single part of exposed metal I could find. Now, the metal is protected from rust, but I’ll still take the truck for a monthly drive, just in case.

I suppose I’m writing this post for a few different reasons. First, I found it rewarding to get the ordeal off my chest. I had to tell someone and that someone is you. Second, I thought a quick PSA was in order. Again, if you live in Maine or would like to live in Maine, take heed of my words. Your vehicle will rust away if you don’t protect it. Just because you can’t see it or feel it at the moment, it doesn’t mean it’s not happening. It’s like cancer and termites – both do their damage behind your back and unfortunately, under your nose.

I consider this blog my personal journal. I haven’t exactly began journaling, per se, yet, but I’ll certainly do that once I write all the posts that’ve been bouncing around my mind for the past few months. I love journaling and I feel it’s something everyone should do. It forces a person to sit down and think about his or her day. It forces recollection and ponderance. It forces a slower pace. And these may actually be good things.

Before launching this blog, I did some perusing on whether or not anyone out there was interested in reading something like it; a blog that’s personal in nature, like the ones we used to write before 2010. Earlier this century, it seemed like journal-type websites were all the rage. Nearly everyone had one and people around the world were eagerly gobbling up posts as soon as they were written. RSS was a big thing and it seemed like technology to make it easier for folks to consume this type of material was being developed just as quickly as new blogs sprang up. Those days truly were good ones, so when I recently decided to jump back into the fray, I wondered to myself, “Is the personal blog really dead?” It certainly seemed as though it was. I made it my mission to find out. Because after all, why in the world would I go to all the effort of setting up a website like this if no one was interested in looking at it?

Before I let you in on what my findings were, I feel as though I need to explain why most people surf the internet. You probably already know the answer. It’s no secret. Okay, here’s the reason: because people are bored. Yes, it’s true. Most people on this planet, no matter how much they’ve got to do all day, are bored out of their wits. And beyond being utterly bored, they’re consumers as well. Consumers of everything; useful knowledge just as much as useless knowledge. It’s why social media has become so popular and it’s why so many of us have become completely and wholly addicted to it. I guess the mobile phone hasn’t helped in that regard because I can’t imagine folks sitting at their computers all day long reading through these websites, so it’s surely a combination of both material and accessibility. Material being the media and accessibility being the phones. I’ll get back to the being bored thing in a moment.

So let’s answer the question of whether or not there’s any desire for reading personal blogs, otherwise known as online journals. From what I’ve found, the answer is a resounding yes. Early on in my “internet research,” I landed on a Reddit post that discussed the very topic. The original poster asked if there were any personal diary-like blogs out there that were favorites and if anyone missed the personal blogs of yesteryear. From this one question, a massive exchange took place. Many responders lamented the blog’s decline in popularity and just as many wished they’d come back. Personally, I wish they’d come back too, which is why I write on this very website. Apparently, because of the epidemic of boredom on this earth, individuals far and wide crave not only the inane nonsense of what occurs on social media, but would love to follow the lives of others as well – blog style. And not only that, these readers, or consumers of both useful and useless knowledge, crave depth, which is something social media simply doesn’t offer at the moment. I mean really, how much scrolling past pictures and memes can a person do with their thumb before they feel like a total idiot. It’s become apparent that readers would like to ingest something that lasts longer than a moment or two. From what I’ve found, they’d like to follow the lives of others. As evidence of this, please read through the following replies to the question the forum user posted (referenced above):

1. Oh I miss them so much! I used to read these kinds of blogs and I even had one too. Lately I have felt like I would like to do it again, but it seems like everyone has stopping blogging like this.
   
2. I miss that – I had a blog like that back in like 2004-2005!
   
3. I’m in love with blogging and would totally and completely adore finding other blogs like mine!

Sentiment like the above is the tip of the iceberg. I cruised through website after website where people were practically crying because they had difficulty in finding personal blogs like the ones they used to read. Yes, there are directories that include them, but even those directories are arduous to locate. I guess the search engines don’t deem them as appealing as the public does.

I’m not sure online journals are meant to be popular. I think their audiences are like that of the television show LOST – very tightly knit and extraordinarily dedicated. Smaller blogs like the ones I’m referring to are intimate with writing that’s authored by a person who doesn’t mind sharing details that most would rather keep private. It’s because of this reason, these websites are so appealing. Also, if a reader were to leave a comment on such a site, it’d surely be answered by the blogger. That’s not a common occurrence, so I dare say it’s special. And it really is special because not only is a person reading what’s written on a website, over time, they’re developing a relationship with whomever it is who’s doing the writing. I should know – I’ve made many a friend through blogging. Of course, they’re all gone now because I haven’t blogged like I used to in years, but perhaps if I begin again as I intend to, future relationships might develop. That is, if people find my writing interesting and personal enough. I’ll do my best to make it so.

So there it is. My little spiel about journaling on the internet. I honestly had no idea what I was going to write before delving into this post, so I hope what I jotted down made some sense. If you’ve got any memories to share, I’d love to learn about them. If you’d care to comment about whatever it is you’d like to comment about, I’ve love to read it. Thanks!

I think one of the questions most people have on their minds, at some point or another, is, “Can I or do I want to live where I am for the absolute rest of my life?” If a person hasn’t asked him or herself this question, they’re either not old enough or are content where they are. Laura and I are content where we are. Although, I’d say we’re content because we’re relatively young and are able to handle the natural elements that are thrown at us. I’m currently healthy and strong enough to shovel snow and split wood. Will we be this content when we’re in our 70s? 80s? 90s? Will I still want to deal with snow and firewood then? We’ve discussed topics like this quite a bit and have come to the conclusion that there’s no one place on earth that’s perfect for everything all of the time, rather, there are multiple places that are perfect for some things some of the time. While I’m frustrated by realizations such as these, I’m also a realist and realists need to recognize reality for what it is.

Spring and fall in Maine are superb. The weather couldn’t be better. The temperatures are neither too hot nor too cold. Traveling is easy and home maintenance is low. Even the summer isn’t terrible. Yes, the air gets hot and sticky for a few weeks and the bugs certainly are annoying, but absent of living in the middle of a town or city, I think that’s something we’ll simply need to get used to. Regarding the type of place we like to live, bugs are merely a fact of life.

The greatest threat to our happiness, peace, and survivability is the snow and bitter cold of Maine winters. While I do absolutely love the winter and most of what comes with it, it may not be a sustainable option after retirement age. Consider this scenario: I’m shoveling the driveway, I slip, I fall and break my hip, Laura calls an ambulance, they can’t get to me because of the snow. It’s a valid concern. Most friends in our area are seniors and I worry about them constantly. Preparation is key. I’m not sure people prepare nearly enough and they suffer because of it.

Quality of life is another concern. Laura and I like to walk, hike, garden, and generally enjoy the outdoors. We’d like to do that for as much of the year as possible. We’d also like to experience the types of culture only city centers can offer. So having a large town or city somewhat nearby would be wonderful. Having it accessible via a medium other than a car would be even better.

What I’m building up to here is that perhaps an idea is in the works. Not officially or anything, but perhaps the idea of, in 20 years or so, living somewhere else for a few months out of the year might be a wise idea. Someplace that would give Laura and me most of what we’re looking for in regards to what I mentioned above.

There’s a place in Scotland called Dunkeld. It’s a small town of approximately 1,100 people about an hour and a half north of Edinburgh. It’s referred to as the gateway to the Highlands. If Dunkeld had a twinning city here in the U.S., it would (or should) be Farmington, Maine. Dunkeld actually does have a such a city. It’s Asheville, North Carolina, but I find the notion of this twinning silly. The two are similar in some respects, but as far as population size goes, there’s not much similarity there at all. I know I’m being partial and wishful here, so please just let me have this. We’ll go with Farmington as opposed to Asheville. Please.

Dunkeld appears to offer much of what Laura and I look for during the times of year that are toughest in Maine. It also offers proximity to the culture we seek. I suppose part of my motivation for writing this post is to remind me of the working and evolving checklist of satisfaction that we’ve already applied to this tiny town. Dunkeld offers: a small population of people, a country setting, hotels, pubs, and tourism, more than enough local hiking trails, elegance and wealth, restaurants and local shopping, history, a nearby medium size river as well as a smaller one, accessibility to a primary Scottish thoroughfare, cool summers and temperate winters (as compared to Maine), stunning architectural and natural beauty, an incredible topography, a nearby railway, relatively close proximity to towns and cities, and much more that I’m sure I’m forgetting. Basically and most importantly, it seems as though Dunkeld is a nice town, not too small/large, in a location where it does snow, but that snow doesn’t turn to ice and hang around for five months. That’s a huge plus.

I’ll keep this post updated as I learn more, but as of right now, I think Dunkeld in Scotland is a primary contender for lightening the burden of Maine’s harsh winters. We’ll see what happens over the next few decades.

Wood stove season is upon us. I’ve been waiting for this all summer long. Back in April/May, I cut some trees, split some logs, and stacked some firewood. Now it’s time to burn. “Burn what?” you ask. Right now, mostly balsam fir and white pine. “But that’s softwood – pine,” you say. Yes, I know it is. And it’s wonderful.

When I was a kid, the unwritten law of the land said that it was taboo to burn any sort of pine. Everyone who was anyone said that the sap in the softwood would cause creosote, a sticky tar-like substance – and that creosote would clutter up the chimney. While, yes, wet pine that’s full of sap would certainly make a mess of things inside the chimney and add a nice layer of black gook to the walls, dry pine doesn’t do much damage at all. As a matter of fact, after years of testing, I’ve discovered that hardwood that isn’t dried out enough actually creates more creosote overall than does softwood.

Maine’s state tree is the Eastern white pine, for good reason. There are a whole heck of a lot of them here. On my property alone, we’ve got hundreds. And as far as balsam firs go, we’ve got thousands. The white pines are huge and while the balsam firs aren’t nearly as big, they both die off while still standing. They both also suffer lots of storm damage, usually during the winter, leaving them scattered across the forest floor. Each spring, I cut both the standing dead trees as well as the ones that have fallen and I load their carcasses into my trailer to be split and stacked up near the house. I’ve found that if I cut and stack enough and let the wood dry out long enough, I can burn this “free wood” well into December. This year, I think I might actually make it into January. I’ve got a lot this year and that makes me feel good. Every time I burn a piece of maple or oak, I feel like I’m throwing money away. Every time I burn a piece of pine, I feel like I’m somehow winning the game. I’ve got a lot of pine back there in the woods and it’s a wonderful resource to use to heat our home.

I titled this post Shoulder Season Firewood. If you aren’t familiar with what the shoulder season is, think about it this way: There’s summer. We don’t burn firewood during the summer. There are also the coldest days of the year in January and February. During those peak times, we burn hardwood because we want the most heat possible and because we need those logs to leave behind some glowing coals every morning. Coals help keep the fire going the next day. During the months of October, November, December, March, April, and May, we don’t need a tremendous amount of heat and because of that, we wouldn’t want to burn our good hardwood. These off-months are considered the shoulder season. Of course, every year is different and some months may need some adjustments, but that’s the general idea.

If you search around the internet to see what people burn during the shoulder season, I think you’ll find that folks burn what’s considered junk wood. Wood that can be obtained for free or for very little money. Wood that wouldn’t necessarily be burned on Thanksgiving or Christmas day, but that would be perfect to get a nice fire crackling with in the morning and to let burn out during the afternoon, when the sun’s shining and the walls of the house heat up. Pine is perfect for this and in my case, since I’ve got so much of it, everything seems to be working out rather well.