The dream of a White Christmas was kind of like a nightmare.

AUBURN, Maine —Anybody who dreamed of this White Christmas, should be, and I am quoting one of my favorite writers, Charles Dickens, “boiled in in their own pudding and buried with a stake of holly through their heart.”

Bing Crosby has suddenly become my enemy and his holiday dream turned into a nightmare for many snowbound residents of New England. I never understood why Irving Berlin wrote this song. 

Did he ever shovel his driveway or try to drive a car in snow!

I was going to spend the afternoon eating, drinking and being merry, but a Nor’easter dropped a foot of snow on us this Christmas and buried both my driveways with annoying white powder.

But now my son and I will be manning the shovels and cursing another snowstorm on Christmas. Instead of raising a toast to my fine family, I will be tossing snow over my shoulder in the Arctic air.

Bah humbug! Are there no work houses for Mother Nature and Old Man Winter?

I would have preferred the sun, temperatures in the high 30s and a place to walk without fear of slipping on ice and hitting the ground with a skull-cracking thud.

Yeah, baby it’s cold outside!

Yukon Cornelius had it right when he screamed, “It is not fit for man nor beast.”

But before you call me Scrooge, I used my girth and muscle and extricated a car stuck in snow.

But no good deed goes unpunished. The plow came and left a wall a snow in front of my driveways the could have only been scaled with repelling gear.

I am lucky to be surrounded by neighbors who know how to be right neighborly and haven’t lost the Christmas spirit. Two of them snowblowed my driveways despite the frightful weather. Their kindness is just one of the many reasons why I offer them fresh vegetables from my garden each summer.

I was not dreaming of a white frigging Christmas. The last thing I wanted to be was snowbound thanks to Mother Nature, who took all of New England out for a walk this Monday.

Despite the shoveling and the biting cold, I have to admit the snow gave the holiday a special glow and a reason to get outside and breath that fresh Canadian air.

Forgive me for sounding like a cranky Mainer lamenting about winter’s wrath, but like Dr. Seuss said: “Adults are obsolete children.”

I am no different.

NPR’s reporting shines a light in the Upside Down

"Natural disasters are terrifying - that loss of control, this feeling that something is just going to randomly end your life for absolutely no reason is terrifying. But, what scares me is the human reaction to it and how people behave when the rules of civility and society are obliterated." 

— Eli Roth

AUBURN — For two and half days, it felt like we were out of the loop after a nasty Nor’easter sideswiped Maine and left thousands of the state’s denizens groping in the dark the past week.

Just before I watched the lights fade from every room (thank you, Moody Blues), the annoying radio alarm sounded revelry at 6 a.m.

I bounded out of bed and told my annoyed wife that we still had power.

I should have kept my mouth shut.

Five minutes later, I saw a flash of light outside the bedroom window and watched the radio clock and night light go out.

Silence filled the room. 

The neighborhood went dark and I was drowning in anxiety, not knowing where my next cup of coffee would come from in these perilous and dark times.

We felt like we stumbled upon the portal to the Upside Down. I also realized I didn’t possess No. 11’s power turn the frigging electricity back on. 

“Oh damn it,” I said as I reached for the flashlight. More four-letter words followed when I bumped into objects along the way to a pitch-black kitchen.

Cable and Internet were out of action and a dormant coffee maker denied me my morning jolt of caffeine. 

The power was gone. I was unhappy, cold and the sudden quietness was already getting on my nerves.

My wife and I would snipe at each other by candlelight for the next two days. We hung out anywhere we could to get the Internet. We visited the Lewiston Library and drank coffee at Dunkin just for the WiFi. We were like wandering, energy vampires looking to suck up free Internet on somebody else’s dime.

We weren’t overreacting. News stories were breaking that Mueller and his team of lawyers started making arrests in the Russian controversy. We were gleeful that Mueller’s band of merry men were making headway, but we were still on the sidelines with no TV or Internet. 

That’s when we turned to National Public Radio for our news and a chance to cheer on Mueller for getting to the bottom of this mess that our president appears to ignore.

We commandeered our son’s ancient radio, stuck some batteries in the back and listened to “All Things Considered” and an endless stream of NPR stories about Mueller’s fearless exploits.

NPR was like another flashlight in our dark home.

For 60 hours, I lived in the murkiness of the Upside Down. I missed taking a warm shower and brewing a cup of that black gold that jump-started my mornings.

When the sun rose, I got the camera and took pictures of downed trees and power lines. Auburn was a mess and its inhabitants were in a bad mood.

So we waited impatiently as hoards of linemen descended on the Pine Tree State to help put lights back on in New England.

My tour of our wind-swept state was startling. The telephone pole near the end of my street had snapped in two and wires still were connected to the top half of the pole that was resting in the middle of the street.

Mother Nature had done a number on us.

But there was hope — if you believe in hope. Linemen were working on the broken pole for two days. By Wednesday, they were mounting the relays on the top half, and wouldn’t you know it, the power returned in the morning and all was well in my neighborhood by evening.

The TV and Internet came back to life in our home and there was warm water running in the sink to wash the damn dishes.

We were fortunate. There are still over 5,000 people wandering in the dark in Maine. I am sure the level frustration for those Mainers is in the red. 

For us, life was good again and we were grateful to those men who work with electricity and brave danger to put the state of Maine back on line.

And shout-out to NPR for keeping two people informed after two dark days. And with power on, the portal to Upside Down has been closed — for the moment.

Teach your children well

“One child, one teacher, one book, one pen can change the world.” 

                                                                                        ― Malala Yousafzai

AUBURN, Maine — Getting behind the wheel of a classroom is like trying to fly a kite in a hurricane or outswim a tsunami.

And when you are a long-term substitute teacher who has been ordered to parachute into the middle of a school quarter, you feel like a hiker lost on Mount Katahdin during an old-fashion Maine nor’easter.

Teachers are the whole ball of wax, and if a teacher doesn’t have lessons lined up and establish a provisional government, it will be a long 75 minutes for everybody in that room — and there will be anarchy.

I have had the privilege of teaching five classes – American Literature and Senior Writing – at Edward Little High School for the past few months. I was given the keys to the classroom until a wonderful teacher returned after coping with a personal problem.

It has been a dizzying 60 days. Dozens of students walked in and out of my classroom, placing a variety of demands on me. I spent hours pleading, cajoling and coaxing students to turn in work. I listened to students plea bargain their cases when their work was tardy. I thought of creating an appellate court to hear each student’s plea, hoping the judges would lessen my burdens. But just when I thought students turned a deaf ear to me or found me as interesting as watching paint dry, the work started flowing in, and all of a sudden, I experienced the endless joy of correcting papers. I cheered and hoorayed students who turned in a well-written essay or miraculously pulled off an A on a test. I told them they were wonderful human beings, and I meant every word of it. And when students fell behind, I wanted to bribe them with great deals like free pizza for a lifetime or gas card at a local filling station. But as a last resort, I was tersely warned them that flunking a course does not do a body good. Mention san “F” — that dreaded letter in the alphabet to all students — and watch the essays start appearing on your desk.

I have been that dedicated and besides, somebody had to get the job done, and that would be me.

So I held my ground and promised myself I would not allow this two-month stint to act as a corrosive and eat away my brain. I was working two full-time, rewarding jobs, and there were moments when this sleep-deprived teacher had day dreams of my bed and soft, fluffy pillows as Mozart’ Eine kleine Nachtmusik played on in the background.

It took a week to get my bearings and right a ship that was taking on water. Before I was given the green light to take the helm, this particular classroom was like a revolving door at a Las Vegas variety show. Several substitutes made brief appearances in front of the podium before I moved and set up shop in Room 209.

Of course, the first two weeks was sort of like the Rodgers and Hamerstein’s show tune: “Getting to Know You.” I was being vetted by students as I lectured during each period. My every move was scrutinized. I became a public figure who found himself under a microscope.

I was on my own, but I am capable of thinking on my feet and welcomed the opportunity to “wing it” in all five courses, and I enjoyed being a one-man show.

Over the next two months, I was introduced to many fine students who take their studies seriously, and that makes my life easier in the classroom. And those students who fell behind inspired and drove me to find unique ways to teach the subject matter.

For those of you who think dedicated teachers are living the dream because they have summers and holidays off, I dare all know-it-alls to take the reins of a classroom. This is no job for the timid or those who lack charisma or public speaking skills. If you don’t deliver, students will see it, and you will be held accountable for being inept.

I also felt a moral obligation to get the information across to all students and try to make them understand that knowledge is a way out and up in a work force where education is a categorical imperative.

So I jumped into this melting pot of diverse personalities and classroom melodrama. I tried to keep students interested in Stephen King’s “The Body,” a story where profanity is rampant. But King’s book takes on child abuse and does a wonderful job painting a picture of four boys who are forced to go it alone in life.

The writing classes were also a challenge. I gave sporadic lectures about how words start wars, bring peace and inspire people across the planet. We discussed one particular phrase: “All men are created equal.” I told them this sentence in the Declaration of Independence helped trigger America’s Civil War and eventually set the bar for all humanity for the past two centuries.

I did my darndest to make students understand writing is like being a sculptor. Putting words on a blank piece of paper requires thought, patience and creativity. I saw this process done well in many papers that reached my desk.

Several students asked me, that’s right — me — to help them to sculpt their college essays or write a recommendation. I considered charging $100 for each edited essay or well-written recommendation, but I knew that would be unethical. I was honored by students’ requests and would do headstands to help out any student who wants to pursue a college education.

Each student is unique and they all got under my skin. I came to appreciate them and their different and sometimes multiple personalities. I will miss their daily interaction with me. They are a fine bunch.

I make no apologies for how I ran the show. Teachers aren’t there to become good friends with their students. We are role models and mentors, and that dividing line between student and teacher should never be crossed.

I have nothing but respect for these students. I hope they feel the same about me and for the privilege of getting free education.

Burnin' Love

AUBURN, Maine - The 1905 red-hot wood stove has been working overtime while weathermen have been forecasting doom for the Northeast for the past seven days. 

This gives panicked New Englanders an opportunity to race to the grocery store to purchase food and scramble to find the local number to FEMA for a one-day event that will end life on the planet as we know it.

After all, the apocalypse is upon us as another ho-hum Nor'easter roars up the coast.

But this coast-hugging storm could also turn out to be a dud, too.

Ignoring the storm prognosticators has become a way of life for all sane citizens living in the hinterlands of the Pine Tree State.

But worrying about facing certain destruction from the latest coastal storm is fruitless, especially since my wood stove, a holdover from the Teddy Roosevelt administration, still provides heat and comfort. 

It is an iron monster capable of surviving a nuclear blast. The stove's warmth is a way to use less oil even though this cast-iron beast leaves a carbon footprint the size of Big Foot's feet. But rationing oil still remains an admirable goal. The price alone of this black gold is enough to make any homeowner shiver in these hard times. So for many of us, wood is our alternative energy source — for the moment.

So, let it snow and the cold wind blow!

I will watch New England's day of reckoning huddled around a small inferno, sipping coffee and listening to Mozart, Neil Young, Benny Goodman....well, you get the picture.

For the past five years, I learned how to burn things and light up a wood stove without burning my home down. There is a knack to building the perfect fire — and keeping it going for all eternity — or for at least for most of the winter. 

Mainers are experts when it comes to starting a wood-stove fire up here in cold country. There are tricks to heating a house without triggering a conflagration, and over time, I have become a well-trained arsonist who knows how to light 'em up with dry wood and proper kindling. There is technique involved here, and I have become an expert with fire as my Iron Hulk heats up the entire house from downstairs.

The glowing stove from another century takes the chill out of your bones and turns my unfinished basement into a sauna while winter's fury carries on.

Of course, I am always looking for consensus as a journalist, and that means asking wood-stove veterans to share some of their hot tips on burning wood. I learned from the best to keep the home fires lit without torching my home in the dead of winter.

The approaching storm did not send me scurrying to buy food or rent dozens of movies. We all know the power never goes out in a Nor'easter, our DVD players run on magic, and food never goes bad when the electricity disappears after branches snap wires across a state that has the most trees in the union.

Nah, that never happens!

I will just put another log in my fire-eating stove as another coastal snowstorm adds another blanket of fresh powder — and drink coffee, of course.