Goodfellows52: Shut it down, Mr. President

Goodfellows52: Shut it down, Mr. President: "Suppose you were an idiot, and suppose you were a member of Congress; but I repeat myself."                               ...

Shut it down, Mr. President

"Suppose you were an idiot, and suppose you were a member of Congress; but I repeat myself."

                                                                                                                                 Mark Twain

AUBURN, Maine — For those of you who are laughing or sobbing uncontrollably at a Congress that doesn't work and play well with others, enjoy the show that never ends in American politics.

This cinematic production has all the melodrama of a film noir movie that has been playing at theaters ever since President Obama was elected. Congress has put on a quite spectacle that is probably equally amusing to the rest of the world, too. 

Sure, Congress's stupidity is certainly entertaining, but their inability to do something, anything, constructive has left us all out in the cold and wondering why this governing body is still collecting a check.

How can America can be taken seriously when our nation's leaders act like a bunch of toddlers in a sandbox?

I campaigned for the president and I am probably the GOP's worst nightmare — a displaced Massachusetts Democrat who lives in the Pine Tree State.

Believe it or not, I still believe in the value of political parties with different ideologies. Whether you are a Republican, Democrat or an independent, your voice is heard at polls. But when our leaders can't find common ground, compromise, and make appropriate decisions for the greater good, you have to ask yourself what the hell are they doing there on Hill.

Right now, the Republicans appear delusional. They are now holding our government hostage because they don't like Obamacare or the president. And the GOP is allowing the Tea Party (but what is really in the tea) to incite such insanity.

Fine! There is no love lost between the president or the GOP, but that doesn't mean unhappy Republicans are entitled to use the U.S. government as ransom to achieve their political agenda.

Mr. President, shut it down now! 

If the Republicans can't understand that their foolishness will trigger a serious round of unemployment and possibly a worldwide economic meltdown, then let the GOP live with their blunders.

It will cost them at the polls.

Sir, these guys  don't realize Obamacare is the law and was upheld by the U.S. Supreme Court.

If Republicans are frightened by the president's healthcare plan, then run for office and try to repeal the law.

Good luck, though!

If the government does indeed close its doors thanks to John Boehner and his group of misguided chowder heads, Obamacare will begin on Oct. 1 anyway — because it is the law.

How can these guys call themselves lawmakers when they don't understand the law?

I think our national leaders have become great entertainers, but when the U.S. government closes up shop and Social Security checks aren't mailed, constituents won't find this sideshow amusing anymore.

Enough with this nonsense from political leaders who lack the common sense to know what it right!

Mr. President, just close it down!

Goodfellows52: Funeral for a friend

Goodfellows52: Funeral for a friend: Affirmation To grow old is to lose everything. Aging, everybody knows it. Even when we are young, we glimpse it sometimes, and nod o...

Funeral for a friend

Affirmation

To grow old is to lose everything.
Aging, everybody knows it.
Even when we are young,
we glimpse it sometimes, and nod our heads
when a grandfather dies.
Then we row for years on the midsummer
pond, ignorant and content. But a marriage,
that began without harm, scatters
into debris on the shore,
and a friend from school drops
cold on a rocky strand.
If a new love carries us
past middle age, our wife will die
at her strongest and most beautiful.
New women come and go. All go.
The pretty lover who announces
that she is temporary
is temporary. The bold woman,
middle-aged against our old age,
sinks under an anxiety she cannot withstand.
Another friend of decades estranges himself
in words that pollute thirty years.
Let us stifle under mud at the pond's edge
and affirm that it is fitting
and delicious to lose everything. 

Poet Donald Hall

Debra Ann Johnson's last visit to our home in June

PORTLAND, Maine — We buried a good friend and sister-in-law at Forrest City Cemetery on a Monday afternoon.

The clouds gave way to bright sunshine as a few mourners said kind words about Debra Ann Johnson. Dark skies returned as teary-eyed friends and family reluctantly left the cemetery to go on living without her. 

When somebody like Debra Ann Johnson passes, I feel shortchanged, even cheated. And please don't bother explaining the process of death, grief and the most overused and pathetic word when it comes to accepting death — closure. I will look the other way and ignore you. Closure doesn't exist. You just live with the pain that comes from loss. 

Being the last man standing in this fickle life really means experiencing the anguish of watching wonderful souls march into eternity, leaving you behind with memories and sadness. It can suddenly become an empty world when loved ones vanish over time.

Debra Ann stood up for me when I needed emotional support. And here I was standing beside her graveside to honor a mother who raised three fine sons and still found compassion and kindness to reach out to her sister, Terri.

I have only known Debra Ann for five years. It was a short friendship, but I know the bond will last a lifemine.

Debra Ann had a positive influence on our lives. She was a remarkable piece of nature's work because she found a way to move on despite her ups and downs. But Debra Ann was a woman of conviction and persevered no matter what life threw at her.

Her first priority was her family, and that is why I love and respect her. She kept it together for her family, and that says something about this woman who had the capacity to make her world a better place for her offspring.

Talk about courage.

My courage was waning as I waited for Terri to emerge in one piece from life-saving back surgery. Debbie and her family came to my rescue after making the long trip from Lincoln. They sat with me for hours in a waiting room to help me hold it together. Debra Ann had her own numerous responsibilities, but she put her life on hold for an entire day. She wanted to be at Terri's beside when she awoke. 

Sometimes, families drift away as the years roll along. Debbie Johnson brought us together, and our reunion continues to this day as I to meet the rest of Debra Ann's family.

Debra Ann Johnson, who was born Oct. 15, 1965 and died on Sept. 10, 2013, didn't receive medals or become a celebrity for making family her first priority in life. But she did have the love of a grateful family.

I won't say so long, Debra Ann. As far as we are concerned, you are alive and well in our hearts.

Goodfellows52: Autumn closes in on my garden

Goodfellows52: Autumn closes in on my garden: " A garden is a grand teacher. It teaches patience and careful watchfulness; it teaches industry and thrift; above all it teaches ent...

Autumn closes in on my garden

"A garden is a grand teacher. It teaches patience and careful watchfulness; it teaches industry and thrift; above all it teaches entire trust."
Gertrude Jekyll 

AUBURN — You can't eat flowers, and that explains why I don't focus on planting roses or tulips.

But I went ahead and planted sun flowers, anyway.

This season, which got off to a rough start with 20 days of rain in June,  I tried growing sun flowers by seed. Two poked through the soil and survived to grow 10 feet.

The twin Russian giants tower over my garden as cars slow down and their occupants give me a thumbs up when they see sun flowers, putting smile on this proud Green Thumb's face.

Still, I concentrate on vegetable gardening simply because I enjoy consuming organic rabbit food, which is not tainted by deadly pesticides and fertilizers. I must confess that I use one pesticide, Garden 8, sparingly to ward off aphids and cucumber beetles. 

I enjoy toiling in the soil and watching thing grow.

I have rigged myself for silent running — just like a submarine does when it goes deep or is creeping up on an enemy. I shut off the damn TV, dream of taking a hammer to my annoying phone and pull the plug on your computer for 48 hours. I have discovered that there are plenty of hours in the day to get my hands dirty.

I save money, lose weight, and enjoy the fruits of my labor. I have built my own Shangri-la and enjoy getting down and dirty with nature and all its mystery.

Trust me on this.

Sure, I have been frustrated by the weather, bugs and other varmints that treat my garden like a buffet. But I am always surprised at the taste of my home-grown tomatoes and remain the envy of my good neighbors who are often on the receiving end of a bag of vegetables.

But the cool winds of September remind me that another garden is on its last leg and another summer is fading away.

Last year, an Auburn police cruiser was riding by the yard. He stopped and complimented me on my garden.

"Officer, you know your need is two fresh, prize-winning summer squash," I said.

"Are you kidding," the officer said.

I walked over and handed him the squash. I told him to dice them up, add olive oil, butter, bread crumbs and bundle the squash up in aluminum foil and throw the vegetables on the grill.

"No kidding," the officer said. "Thanks."

"Hey, it is always good to grease the police," I said.

We both laughed. I discovered that gardening is also a great way to build community relations with local law enforcement, too.

Goodfellows52: Never speak ill of the dead, and a stroll through ...

Goodfellows52: Never speak ill of the dead, and a stroll through ...: “Remember, remember always, that all of us, and you and I especially, are descended from immigrants and revolutionists.”  ―  Franklin D....

Never speak ill of the dead, and a stroll through the Western Promenade

“Remember, remember always, that all of us, and you and I especially, are descended from immigrants and revolutionists.” 

― Franklin D. Roosevelt

A view from above of Hadlock Field and the city of Portland. 

A tour of majestic homes that surround the Western Prom. 

 

Above-ground crypts and tombstones of American veterans.

This where it all started for my son — Maine Medical Center. 

PORTLAND — Anyone with a fat wallet can travel around the globe to visit historic landmarks that fill the pages of history books, but if you look hard enough, there are hidden relics that determined the fate of a young nation right in your own backyard. 

When you talk about recorded history, spend an hour or two at a cemetery in your neighborhood — or seek out unkept graveyards sitting off dirt roads in the middle of nowhere. We don't find cemeteries creepy, and we don't' wander rows of 100-year-old tombstones seeking out lost souls who might haunt these final stops of the dead. I have no interest in the macabre, but all those old headstones reveal tiny pieces of history about people who helped shape this nation. I remain a firm skeptic of the paranormal.

If we come upon a cemetery and have the time, we get out our camera and visit those who have gone before us. We make it a point to visit Old Burying Point Cemetery in Salem, Mass., on Halloween, and reading the headstones never gets old for this family. We have visited Anderson Cemetery in Windham, Maine, my wife's hometown. There is a long gravel road that runs for about a quarter of mile before you find it. An unmarked Indian burial ground is nearby. Anderson features veterans from the American Revolution and an above-ground crypt built into the side of mound that might give you a chill up your spine.

After visiting a classmate of Anthony's at Maine Medical Center, we decided to walk the Western Promenade. Anthony entered this life 17 years ago at Maine Med., and here we were again. I look at the hospital and can't believe it has been 17 years since my precious son dropped in on us. We are pretty lucky, and Anthony reminds his mom and dad of our good fortune every day.

It was about a three-mile walk around promenade, and it was there we stumbled upon Western Cemetery. My wife and son thought it was creepy. I found it restful, serene and beautiful. It's in the heart of Portland and the perfect place to rest for all eternity.

This nearly 200-year-old graveyard is surrounded by grand houses that cost a fortune. You would have to own your own bank to build these stately homes and  maintain their well-kept gardens in today's market. The brick inlays, massive porches, and cupolas always makes me wonder who lives in such luxury.

Before we walked through those quiet, affluent neighborhoods, we strolled along the promenade's long paths and enjoyed wide-open views of Portland and Hadlock Field — home to the Portland Sea Dogs. We gazed up at a statue of Thomas Brackett Reed — statesman, Civil War veteran and a former Maine Attorney General.

Down the road was Western Cemetery, which is surrounded by rod-iron gates. There was nobody there as we walked among the dead against a threatening, gray sky. There are worn-out headstones and above-ground crypts that are slowly being reclaimed by the ravenous earth. Some of the tombstones marked the graves of War of 1812 veterans like William Pollies Jr., an ensign, Richard Hunnewell, Joseph Glazier, and Charles Taylor, who was a member of the Fifth Maine, which saw action in the Civil War.

All this history and greenery was right in the heart of Portland, and all we did was take a long winding path through a park to discover it all.