Ice, ice baby

“Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.” ― Edith Sitwell

“What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.” 
― John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley: In Search of America

AUBURN, Maine — Those demented souls, who are still holding out for a white Christmas or want to go walking in a  winter wonderland should visit the Pine Tree State, which is now freeze-dried thanks to a three-day ice storm which has pulled the plug on 100 hundred towns across the state. 

There is nearly an inch of ice on wilting limbs, and we all know how that goes — badly. 

If you want to take your chances on I-95 and don't mind bouncing off guard rails as you slide up the interstate, bring your skates or a dog sled. Everything has been coated with dangerous, solid ice. You can take in spectacular views of trees bowing to Mother Nature and electrical fires as limbs come crashing down on droopy wires. For more spectacular views, you might see transformers bursting like the rockets red glare and witness neighborhoods descend into darkness.

The police scanner is alive with mayhem. Numerous reports of limbs and downed wires are keeping police and fire departments rushing through the snow on eight-cylinder cruisers. There is no rest for weary Central Maine Power crews who have the nerve to repair power lines in the cold, damp dark.

Right now, there are 30,000 of us sitting in the cold dark and shouting obscenities that can be heard for miles around central Maine. A passing Central Maine Power truck brings us to the window and hope. The F-word is the  adjective of the day. Sentences contain three or four of the most reviled word in obscenity's lexicon. We have been stuck indoors for nearly 48 hours as we tend to our wood stoves and generators. 

You take your life into your own hands when you walk to the car or go shopping. My walkway is a miniature ice rink without a Zamboni.

If you are driving, keep an eye for downed wires and remember no power line is safe to touch — ever! Central Maine Power has been reminding Mainers of the dangers of touching a power line for years. 

No kidding! Thanks for the tip!

I am witnessing my second ice storm in the Pine Tree State. In 1998, the rented house I was living in went dark for nearly five days. This family of three was offered a place to stay in front of a warm fireplace at a friend's home for the night. We woke up early and returned to our house, which now resembled an igloo surrounded by sheets of ice.

My son was two years old, and I wasn't about to risk his health. It was time to retreat and live to fight another day with my shovel and rock salt.

That's when we decided to abandon the place and headed down a dangerous I-95. We were like refugees as we fled the cold and ice. My mother, who is no longer alive, opened the door that morning. Her jaw dropped and her eyes nearly popped out her head when she saw us on her doorstep. This family of three was seeking warmth and a hot meal.

That night, I was called back up to Maine to put out the Sun Journal. For the first time in the paper's history, we could not get the newspaper out the night before when the ice storm got its icy hands around the Pine Tree State.

In just 18 hours, I traveled back and forth to Maine to get the edition out on the streets, logging some 470 miles. 

Two days later, the landlord had the rented house up and running with generator. There was heat in the building.

Today, the ice storm of 2013 is like '98's kid brother. It isn't spectacular and we have only lost power three times for about three hours. It is not a bust, though. The city of Bangor might not get power back for nearly a week.

We have been lucky in the Lewiston-Auburn area. Let's just hope Santa won't slide off a roof and hita tree during each rooftop landing. I hate to see the cherubic fellow injure himself on that special night.

The lights are on at my home in Auburn, but all that could change with the drop of a limb.

Another friend departs

"Why does it take a minute to say hello and forever to say goodbye?" — Author Unknown

"Why can't we get all the people together in the world that we really like and then just stay together?　 I guess that wouldn't work. Someone would leave.　 Someone always leaves.Then we would have to say good-bye. I hate good-byes. I know what I need. I need more hellos." — Charles M. Schulz

AUBURN, Maine — The corner deli was a hangout for lifelong gamblers, sports fanatics, coffee lovers and loyal customers who purchased  top-shelf salami or ham.

Conversation was just as important as making money at one of the best delis in the Greater Boston area.

The older gentlemen met at the corner of Broadway and Revere Street to sip a strong cup of Joe on Sunday mornings — and buy a pound of mortadella. 

The usual customers lingered long after they bought their meat to sound off about the Red Sox or Celtics. They were all arm-chair prognosticators and self-proclaimed experts on the future of Boston sports teams. 

But gambling was always the hottest topic of the morning. Everybody had a tip on a horse or dog in the ninth race. They talked about laying down their  bets at Wonderland or Suffolk Downs. I often referred to Suffolk as Suffering Downs, where hard-luck gamblers emptied their wallets looking for that one big score. The cliental at the Wonderland dog track was no different.

My father was the big draw at DiPietro's Deli. He was the high school baseball coach who  also served as  a spokesman for this unofficial brotherhood of sports nuts and gamblers. He would carry on in-depth conversations about the Patriots or that horse in the eighth race in between slicing meat and ringing up purchases

Of course, the owner, Carl DiPietro, would, on some occasions, make an appearance on Sunday mornings. Carl was a big man who could handle himself, but he was also a kind and trusted human being with integrity. He had the instincts of a  boxer and the brains of a college professor.  He was no stranger to colorful language , but the use of his ear-splitting adjectives made him one of the boys. 

Carl fit right in with the rest of the Sunday bunch. Like all of them, he loved to gamble and was regular at Wonderland. Revere is that kind of town where the action can be seductive.

I respected him for the respect he gave my father and me. He was a generous employer who took care of his help during the Christmas onslaught when hundreds of customers stopped in to buy expensive prosciutto for their pizza gainers. Old ladies would vie for the prosciutto bones to make their Italian soups.

When I worked with him, Carl would regale me with his exploits on the strip at Revere Beach. He was a regular at some pubs and enjoyed the Boston nightlife. He was not one to hold back or keep his opinions to himself. He was an avid listener of Elvis Presley and remained loyal to the King long after Presley was laid to rest in Memphis. Carl was also a fan of Roy Orbison and the Beatles because the guy really had good taste in music.

He also had a big smile and loved good jokes, and he was not shy about telling a few naughty ones when he was in the company of his trusted friends. I was  lucky  to be  included in his inner circle.

When I needed of $700 to pay off a student loan, and I didn't want to bother my dad, I turned to Carl for a loan. I was apprehensive, but Carl turned to me and said, "Just keep track of your hours and work it off." That was it. The deal was done. But I was always grateful to this man for that generous act of kindness and understanding.

Carl once told me this: "Don't ever steal from me. Eat anything you want, and take a sandwich to school if you would like. But just don't steal from me."

I never did.  Betraying this man's trust was simply out of the question.

But Carl was stolen from all our hearts when he died this week at 64 years old  — way too young for man who still had a lot of living to do.

English poet and priest John Donne once wrote, "Each man's death diminishes me, for I am involved in mankind."

Carl took an interest in me and played an important role in my youth, and in doing so, he became a friend for life

  He will eventually become a treasured memory of my past, but that's just not good enough for me.