Offsides

Dear House Speaker John Boehner,

Let me ask you a simple question, and I think you can handle this inquiry without consulting your 10-man staff to come up with a two-sentence answer. I also understand brevity is not part of a politician's lexicon, but try not to disappoint me as you have done in the past.

Why do members of congress take SIDES when deciding the fate of this country's future? Aren't we all Americans seeking common ground when it comes to making decisions for the Greater Good? Aren't we all covered under the umbrella of the American flag - or is it just the rich?

Can you answer these questions, Mr. House Speaker, or is a simple explanation beyond your comprehension?

Let me help you out, sir, because you and the rest of the Keystone Cops obviously require hand-holding when it comes to making a tough decision and doing their job. 

The duty of ALL 435 officials, who could easily double as the Marx Brothers, is to conduct the people's business! That's what you were all hired to do. You were not elected to work for special interest groups or your party. You are living proof that George Washington was ahead of his time when he admonished his countrymen that political parties would impede the progress of this infant nation.

Sir, you have the privilege of working inside that great big marble dome because your constituency believed in you, but I know I don't — especially the way congress has conducted itself for the past month.

America's leadership is becoming an embarrassment to the world and congress has the look and feel of the latest episode of "Jersey Shore." Right now, I would put all my money on "Snooky" to call the ball on the debt ceiling.


Your trademark is your insincere and incessant crying. In just a few days, we will be balling our eyes out when America defaults on its loans. Of course, you will still be getting your paycheck, but seniors and veterans won't be receiving their benefits.

I thought we are all on the same SIDE? Apparently not! Forget this polarization nonsense or America is a divided nation. 

No kidding! 

But that didn't stop the framers of the Constitution from hammering out a document that guaranteed "all men are created equal." Our forefathers had the temerity to work around their differences and create a nation from scratch.

Today, thanks to poor leadership, greed and stupidity, the nation is looking like a ghost town as businesses vanish and the growing poor line the streets.

What would Jefferson, Washington, and Franklin think about all this shenanigans?

I do know that you have gone out of your way, along with the rest of your party, to sideline a nation with party politics, back-biting, arrogance and insolence. I know the other side has done the same.

Do you understand what is at stake here? All of you are making decisions that will affect the quality of heath of Americans and their future for generations to come. You are messing with the world's wealth. Schools are crumbling, and local budgets and good paying jobs are drying up while of you babble on —about nothing. We are back to the year 1933, and all we are missing is the Great Depression, Hitler, Mussolini and a global conflict.

You are a sad lot with axes of grind instead of helping America stand on its own two feet again. We are involved in three conflicts in the Middle East, poverty flourishes, education suffers and we are all indentured servants to foreign governments while congress prolongs our agony with its adolescent behavior. Good men are dying on battlefields and citizens are losing their homes as our leaders engage in daily finger pointing.

Do you really understand what is going on around you. You are supposed to be making decisions for the Greater Good. You work for us — not the GOP or the DNC.

How can any of you be taken seriously!

Thanks to both parties, I have become an independent who is hoping someone with a sound mind and the ability to lead will suddenly materialize in the nick of time to resurrect a floundering nation.

But I do have you and the GOP to thank for helping me make the switch to independent. I just hope those of you who vote won't forget these leaders with feet of clay when the next election rolls around.

I know my memory will serve me well when I cast my vote. 

Border-ing on insanity

They are closing the book on Borders.

It is not a happy chapter for employees or a book lover like myself who enjoyed the company's vast selection of publications, music and dependable customer service.

Borders' smorgasbord of fine coffee and food was worth spending a few bucks, too. And if a Borders' customer specialist couldn't help you find a book or CD on the shelf, they would order the item online.

For this family of three — all voracious readers — Borders was worth the excursion to hang out at its Brunswick and South Portland stores. We made a day of it and it gave us an excuse to nurse a strong cup of coffee while my son perused books, and there was always the $5-and $10-pile of discounted kids and cook books. 

We often met kind, well-read people who ignored their laptops, IPods and television sets for an afternoon of browsing through hardcovers and paperbacks. We talked face to face with other book lovers instead of communicating online or sending mundane text messages filled with misspellings and acronyms.    

Borders was paradise for a library lover like myself. I know Borders was wired for the Internet, allowing college students to commandeer cafe seats and sip coffee for hours in front of their personal computers.

No thanks! I was there for a good book. 

Sitting in front of a damn computer screen to check out Facebook or view another useless video on YouTube at Borders was a straight waste of my time. Who cares what's going on across the Net. I was surrounded by books of literature, science and history. My phone was off. I was enjoying Borders' library-like atmosphere, thinking about my next muffin, and debating which history book I should read.

At home, technology takes a back seat to a great book. Our cable TV provides only 12 channels (there really is nothing on), there are no video games, and our cell phone costs $10 with no contract. We own a Mac and I love this bucket of bolts, but it is not a book. I don't need to be multi-tasking or checking my email every minute of my short life.

If you want to reach me, call or even better — write me a letter and I will include you in my will.

You see, Borders had it all — just like Bogie and Bacall in "Key Largo."

So what the hell happened here!

I realize there are a handful of reasons why Borders will go dark. There's the Internet, e-book readers (a real waste of money), computer notebooks, and people who appear more uninformed and find reading a book a chore. There are so many high-tech distractions that it has made it impossiblefor all of us — especially members of the point-and-click generation — to concentrate on devouring a hardcover.

My mother believed every household should be littered with books, newspapers and magazines. She knew there was pertinent knowledge tucked away in all those pages of type. She lived long enough to witness high technology take a foothold in our daily lives, and she lamented when newspapers put their stories on line. I marched right in step with her keen observations. She marveled at a book's clever jacket cover and its strong binding. She thought the Internet was a quick fix and lacked depth, and boy do I agree with her.

Books give you a handle on the Cuban missile crisis or the decisive Union victory at Gettysburg. When I read a book about a certain event or period of history, I know a writer has done his homework and put a lot of blood, sweat and tears into his work. To understand these moments in history takes more than a visit to Wikipedia or some obscure web site.

That's where Borders came in and sold great, big books chronicling great, big events in our brief lives.

I know you are reading this blog via the Net and wondering what the hell is this hypocrite talking about when it comes to the demise of Borders. Well, I write and edit for a newspaper. It is a real, honest to goodness broadsheet. I enjoy holding a newspaper and a book. I like the feel of these literary works in my hand and their portability.

And that is why I refuse to read everything on line or my eyes would bleed.

I will miss Borders and those Sunday afternoons chasing after my son, who often found himself lost in isles of books and magazines. 

I will miss the coffee, too.

For those of you who view my stuff on line, I thank you

Now you can go back to that literary work you were reading, but that book will no longer be available at Borders — and that is a travesty for book lovers who cherish the printed word — and good coffee.

They say it's your birthday

Our pride and joy. Happy birthday, big guy!

AUBURN, Maine - He turned 15 today and I am proud to say Anthony has surpassed me in nearly every way when I was his age.

He is wiser and smarter  — and we are not the least bit envious of him.  He is not a follower and marches to his own drum. He thrives on our unconditional love, and he  still doesn't mind having us around, although that will soon change.

He is growing up in central Maine and I was raised in the Greater Boston area, and they are worlds apart when it comes to the fast pace of life.

We both like to think we had something to do with Anthony's solid upbringing, and we don't take each other for granted. But we never take all the credit for his performance in the classroom and his wise choices when it comes to friends and doing the right thing. He has made those decisions on his own, but he also realizes we are his first phone call when life goes awry.

I have often told him this: 

"I am not your friend. I am your father, and I am better than any friend you will ever have. I am not cool and I will always hate your music because I am older. When it comes to sex, drugs and rock-and-roll, we are open 24 hours a day and the coffee is free — so come on in and talk to us."

If you are any kind of a parent, you want your one-and-only son to excel in this unstable world. We have always put his needs and interests first — and that is the only way it works in this please-and-thank-you family.

If you are an adult who doesn't share this philosophy about nurturing children, then do us all a favor and don't bring a kid into this world. Society doesn't need another horror story about a neglected child whose parents put themselves first.

That's why parenting is the best job in the world and why I enjoy holding the job title of "dad." But this family could not function without dear-old mom - Terri - who is the go-to person when it comes to compassion and understanding. 

Anthony is smart, but I have cautioned him about arrogance and indifference. He understands life is fickle and has a way of knocking you down no matter how many degrees you have earned in this brief lifetime.

He has been warned about the dangers of drugs and alcohol, knowing I have a zero tolerance for narcotics or the town drunk. He is aware that we have never used drugs and drink very little. I was a bartender for years, and I can tell you from experience there is no good drunk.

Anthony now stands at 6-foot-1 and weighs 160 pounds. He is a damn monster who consumes milk by the gallon. I can no longer offer him one hamburger when we cook on the grill. He is good for two or three burgers.

He is not sports fanatic, but he knows nearly every warship since the 1700s. He is a writer, poet and history fanatic who doesn't mind watching "All The President's Men" for the umpteenth time with his dad. He is a skier and swimmer who loves hiking with his parents. In the summer, Maine's pristine's beaches and lakes are his playground. In the winter, he heads to the mountains with his skis.

He campaigned for President Obama when he was 12 years old, speaking with angry voters over the phone

He is heading for the high school, and I worry about him even though he is smarter than his old man.  I always worry about him and my wife. You do that when you are fortunate to be a member of a loving family.

I am apprehensive about the future, but I am looking forward to the next 15 years of my son's life — and I am sure my wife feels the same.

Happy birthday, son! You are a fine young man.

A day at the beach

Terri crosses

 another bridge with son, Anthony, in Brunswick.

Beachgoers take cover from the hot at Old Orchard Beach.

OLD ORCHARD, Maine - It wasn't the warm water, beautiful women, comfort food or the scorching sun that made Monday's family outing at a crowded Old Orchard Beach on July 4 so spectacular.

What made this such a banner day for the Blasis, besides celebrating the nation's birthday with thousands of tanned beachgoers, was watching my courageous wife swim again.

Anthony knows how to keep his cool at OOB.

It was worth the 20-minute drive around side streets and a fusillade of obscenities to find a vacant parking spot to avoid paying $20 to leave the car with the local shyster. I can't justify parting with 20 bucks when a quarter-of-a-mile walk from the car to the beach works for my pocketbook. I can cope with huge crowds, long lines and put up with messy public restrooms, but handing over $20 because I don't want to walk a few blocks is insanity.

While other men might have been checking out other women, I couldn't keep my eyes off my wife as she tackled wave after wave. 

Just seeing Terri swim without pain or fear was a damn miracle. 

Beachgoers avoid the heat and stay in the water at OOB.

Last year, my wife was recovering from six hours of life-saving back surgery - with no guarantees. The risks were high and we were still dealing with the death of my mother and the slow onset of my father's Alzheimer's disease.

For nearly four months before her surgery, Terri needed a cane or a walker to limp through the day. She missed six months of work. Her pain was endless as her failing back made it impossible for her to enjoy life. This is a woman who walks, swims, hikes and lifts weights. She is a ball of fire, but she was about to burn up as her conditioned worsened.

Eleven days after my mother's death and on her birthday - she would have been 74 on April 19, 2010 - Terri under went nearly six hours of back surgery for a disk that was about to sever her spinal cord in her neck. But there was more to this complicated procedure. Doctors also had to correct spinal stenosis in her lower back.

According to the Mayo Clinic's Web site: "Spinal stenosis is a narrowing of one or more areas in your spine — most often in your neck or lower back. This narrowing can put pressure on the spinal cord or spinal nerves at the level of compression."

Terri was terrified and my son and I were apprehensive about the entire operation.

We were fortunate to find a gifted neurosurgeon - Dr. Guillermo J. Candia, who works at Central Maine Medical Center in Lewiston. He is a dedicated doctor who is forthright and doesn't take the long way around the barn when explaining the pluses and minuses of any operation.

Anyone who has endured the high anxiety of sitting in the waiting room when a loved one is under the knife knows that hours seem like days. And when you see a nurse racing the down the hallway with a crash cart, you leap to your feet and pray it is not your wife who needs a jump start to keep her from leaving this world.

Well, the operation was a success and Terri survived thanks to the capable hands of Dr. Candia, who gave us back our lives and Terri's health. 

Back on the beach

The sweltering heat brought huge crowds at Old Orchard Beach. The traffic was mind-numbing, but the water was warm and clear and bright sun lit up this pristine beach and all its beautiful people.

Terri couldn't stand sitting in the hot sun and headed for the water despite a strong undertow and huge waves.

She wasted little time diving into the strong waves and came up smiling each time she surfaced. She handled OOB's powerful surf with ease, and that was a milestone for her.

A year ago she was using my late mother's walker to inch around the block, but on July 4, 2011, Terri Blasi didn't miss a step or a stroke when she splashed down at OOB and made her own waves.

Woodstock

Cut-and-dried wood awaits to be stacked

AUBURN, Maine — For those of you who swing a maul, wield an axe or mastered the use of a dangerous gas-powered chainsaw for a living, I have nothing but respect for all woodsmen, arborists, landscapers and the average Joe who heats his home in the winter with wood.

Making another delivery

I also depend on wood to keep warm during Maine's ferocious winters. Heating your home with wood is hard work and right up there with digging ditches, but the last thing I want to do is hand over more money to greedy gas and oil companies, which delight in robbing its customers.

Making use of the sawdust

I understand there are risks when it comes to heating with wood, and there is the feeling of guilt to being a contributor to air pollution.

Wait, there's more!

But for many of us, fossil fuels are too expensive to use on a regular basis. My thermostat remained at a balmy 62 degrees when the wood ran out last winter. We kept our bedroom at 58 degrees and simply added more blankets as our home was transformed into an igloo after another fierce winter storm. We take six-minute showers, wash our clothes and rinse our dishes in cold water. We live like owls in the dark and turn off every light off when no one is in a room. We recycle everything, including the leaves in my backyard in the fall.

The dread of listening to our furnace bellowing in the basement as it burns oil and a hole in our wallets has forced us to lower our consumption of costly oil and rely more on our warm and fuzzy wood stove.

Last week, my next-door neighbor, Don, told me he was taking down two ash trees in his yard and generously offered me the wood free of charge. Don is one of the most easy-going souls on the planet and is a master at do-it-yourself projects. He's got talent and possesses the common sense of Thomas Paine, and I am damn lucky he lives across the street.

For the last two weeks, I lugged nearly 4,000 pounds of wood from his backyard to mine thanks to Don's heavy-duty yard cart with the big spoked wheels. This task was not for the weak at heart, someone with a bad back or an aversion to manual labor. To sweeten the deal, Don also offered me a two-year-old cord of cut-and-split wood to make room for his new storage area.

I was sold on on his offer, but I also knew this was a project that would demand a strong back. And when Dan, another outstanding neighbor, offered to lend a helping hand with the heavy stuff on a smoldering summer day, I knew I was lucky to live next to such fine men.

Back and forth I went as I delivered 200-pounds of wood in each cart. Days later, I was still trying to straighten out my 6-foot-3 frame as my back muscles became rigid and sore.

Two weeks later and my driveway is littered with ash and elm, which now has to be cut and split. I mulled buying a chainsaw, which I have never used in my life despite being an avid gardener and landscaper. But Bruce, another friend, volunteered his wood-eating chainsaw. We agreed that he would cut up the big stuff and I would handle the small fry with my trusty bow saw, which runs on human sweat. I am also using Bruce's maul until I purchase one.

Watching Bruce use his chainsaw and seeing how quickly he cut threw each large trunk was like watching a surgeon make incisions with a sharp knife. I knew I was in the presence of greatness as his chainsaw chewed up the large pieces without incident. I had a hard time keeping up as I heaved the large hunks of wood out of his way as Bruce buzzed along with his reliable and loud saw.

Now I am left with the small stuff. I am building a reliable sawhorse. Dan showed me how he constructed his sawhorse, and I thought it was a great design and sturdy enough for me to dice up the rest of the wood.

I also received some sage advice from Randy, who cut wood as young boy to help heat a house us filled with eight siblings. He shared with me his tips on splitting wood and how to handle a chainsaw. It was all good advice from a good friend.

For the next month, I will be cutting, splitting and stocking wood to keep Old Man Winter at bay and the oil companies out of my pocketbook.


I am now in the swing of things as I learn the fine art of splitting wood, and it really is an art. I am a big man with a strong back, but there is a technique to cracking open stubborn wood. Brawn and might helps when you bring the 10-pound maul down on a log, but it is always about technique, and there is nothing like watching the maul pass through a log on your first swing.

But was all this back-breaking work and sweat during the hot summer worth it?

Talk to me in January when winter has its icy paws all over Maine.

Goodfellows52: Garden Party

Goodfellows52: Garden Party: " AUBURN, Maine — I'd rather reach for a rake or a shovel than a weapon when life goes awry. People are killing each other over the lames..."

Garden Party

 AUBURN, Maine — I'd rather reach for a rake or a shovel than a weapon when life goes awry.

People are killing each other over the lamest excuses, but I spend hours growing a garden and watching my son mature into a fine young man each summer.

When I am angry, I get down and dirty with a hoe, worms, spiders, and a handful of seeds. I experience paradise when I tune into a Boston Red Sox game on the radio while I weed the garden. Life doesn't get any better on a warm summer day - especially when Boston is beating up the Yankees.

Growing vegetables is no longer a pastime. It has become a necessity thanks to rising fuel prices and shrinking natural resources. Buying food means taking out a short-term loan every week, and if you are trying to eat healthy, I hope your wallet is filled with cash. And if you don't munch on the right foods, doctors don't mind taking your money as you battle obesity.

The world is upside down, our leaders no longer lead, and people ignore each other as they bang out useless texts on their overused cell phones.

We've gone to hell in a hand basket, but there has been one constant through the years - gardening. The nation is ruled by it like an army of empty stomachs.

The garden is my refuge. All this patch of earth demands is water, natural fertilizer and a great deal of tender loving care. And what do you get from all this dirt? Big, beautiful vegetables free of chemicals. If you have a big yard, dig up a slice of it and plant vegetables. Life will be easier at the cash register and your health will only improve.

And your pallet and stomach will thank you for it.

While May was a cruel month thanks to eight days of cold rain, summer turned the corner when June arrived. I planted the last day of May, which is traditional in central Maine. The ground is no longer cold, the sun is stronger and there is less of threat of a late frost - a garden's arch-enemy. It's been known to happen here in the hinterlands.

I watch this annual experiment in my backyard take root as the warm sun strengthens my yearlings. I add natural fertilizer around each plant to give my vegetables a boost - and then I cross my fingers and think of one the greatest gardeners in the world - my grandfather - who arrived in the United States in 1904 from the old country - Italy. His tomatoes were second to none and my grandmother made an excellent pasta sauce out of the fruits of his labor.

It is late June and I am already consuming freshly grown lettuce. I planted 18 heads of the green stuff and it is doing well. I have two apple and cherry trees blooming and raspberries, blue berries, and grapes are ripening on the vine.

The lettuce is way out in front, but now my other vegetables are catching up as July makes its warm and welcomed approach. My cucumbers (I had one casualty) are crawling along the ground and my tomatoes (one KIA) are inching up through their iron cages. My zucchini and summer squash are blooming and it won't be long before they see the inside of my skillet. Broccoli is a picture of health and my carrots (I planted them by seed) have burst through the soil. I am now waiting on my melons and cauliflower to make an appearance.

I eagerly await for all my vegetables to come to fruition because you can't buy produce that is pesticide free - and there are vegetable casseroles to be made in my kitchen.

So stay away from the dollar menu and burn off a few pounds raising a garden. Your digestive track will be grateful and you keep doctors at arms length.

Goodfellows52: Modern Marvels

Goodfellows52: Modern Marvels: "SPRINGFIELD, Mass. — For these young engineers, thinking outside the box is mandatory. These cars do not come in a model kit box. There a..."

Goodfellows52: Winds of time

Goodfellows52: Winds of time: "AUBURN, Maine — The problem with living a long life is that you lose people along the way, and when they leave, you are only left with pow..."

Winds of time

AUBURN, Maine — The problem with living a long life is that you lose people along the way, and when they leave, you are only left with powerful memories and their sentimental things that eventually become yours.

I am bringing this old windmill back to life. I wish I could do the same for my mother, Louise.

I am restoring it to honor a mother who meant to so much to her family.

I took the windmill back to Maine months after her death. It fell in disrepair and was rotting away in her cellar, and I was no longer around to repair it and place it on on their front lawn every spring.

Nobody wanted the dusty old thing, but I wanted to spare the windmill a fate from wasting away in the cellar. My mother and I both loved the bulky ornament. It wasn't anything fancy, but someone in her family made it, and that made it special to her. 

I am resurrecting this windmill out of love, and I wish I could do the same for Louise, who rests under manicured grass and shade provided by three healthy trees at Puritan Lawn Cemetery in Peabody, Mass.

She would love to see me give the neglected windmill a new lease on life. I would like to see her apart of my world again.

My father is not interested in woodworking and wanted no part of it as the windmill's three pieces sat in a remote corner of their damp cellar. So this wooden creation was left abandoned as spiders made a home out it and dampness ruined part of the wood.

She loved this unique lawn ornament because it was designed and built by her Uncle Ted Davis, a true gentleman from Pennsylvania. I only met him once, and I often thought of him as a kind man.

Every spring, she asked me to drag it out of the basement and drive the windmill's two stakes deep into the cold ground and station the wooden structure in the middle of the front lawn.

She was proud it and I was proud of Uncle Ted's design.

It was a tradition that lasted until I began attending college and my thoughts turned to textbooks, sports and girls. We both ended up forgetting about the windmill as life took its twists and turns and my parents became surrounded by loving grandchildren.

For some reason, the windmill wasn't that important to us until her death.

Last May, I packed up some of her treasures, and one of them was the windmill. I was numb as I rummaged through our dead parent's belongings for the first time. It was an unpleasant task and I felt like I as intruding on her personal life.

I didn't have much time to restore it last summer, and I kind of ignored it after carefully repairing one of its broken blades. But this year, my wife demanded that I get it ready for July 4th, and while the passing of time has not removed the nagging grief since her death, I began cleaning it and then painting it.

I painted the mid section a fire-engine red and applied white paint to the blades and the ladder that is attached to the structure with a hinge. I added a coat of blue to the sturdy base of the windmill, giving the restored ornament a "red, white, and blue" patriotic feeling to it.

I know Louise would approve of my work.

Over the years, I think it was overlooked as her four children were busy raising their children. I would see the windmill sitting in that lonely corner whenever I visited her in Revere.

So now the windmill has found a new home about 681 miles from where it originated - Waterford, Pennsylvania.

The 40-year-old windmill will sit in a flower bled in my manicured backyard and remind me of a woman who spent her youth wandering around her relatives' farms in the Keystone State during the Great Depression.

Modern Marvels

SPRINGFIELD, Mass. —  For these young engineers, thinking outside the box is mandatory. These cars do not come in a model kit box. There are no directions.

Students start from scratch, and they must come up with a game plan to construct their own unique solar-powered cars, which are also built for speed. Creativity is definitely a perquisite — along with patience and dedication.

Watching these students learning how to think on their feet and make things work when all goes wrong is astounding.

Even though money is tight, gas remains criminally high, and time is always at a premium, a sour economy didn't stop this family from traveling four hours to proudly watch our son, Anthony, compete in the Northeast Sustainable Energy Association's Junior Solar Sprint Competition at the High School of Commerce on a cloudy Sunday.

 

It was nearly a 500-mile round trip after leaving Auburn, Maine, but watching Auburn Middle School's two three- and four-man teams compete in this grueling, seven-hour event was worth the price of filling my gas tank twice as AMS's finest competed against their exceptional peers from all over the Northeast.

 

The designs were creative and eye-opening, and you could tell students put a lot of hard work into perfecting their solar-powered cars. Besides being judged on technical merit, innovation, craftsmanship, artistic merit, best reuse of material, best compartment, team spirit and sportsmanship, these cars were also engineered for speed.

 

Building sun-powered cars requires using a variety of lightweight materials, a soda can and a solar panel, to get the cars to run on a track. These teams gave up two afternoons a week during the school year to make their creations come to fruition.

 

The solar-power car teams from Auburn Middle School began their journeys to Springfield, Mass., from Owls Head, Maine, where two teams qualified to compete in the Northeast competition. AMS students went head to head against other Maine schools at the Owls Head Transportation Museum.

But every solar-powered team needs a dedicated teacher who has the ability to inspire his teams to create a sun-driven model car out of limited materials.

Jim Rowe is that kind of teacher who knows how to keep his students motivated. He has that special gift and infinite patience to point them in the right direction.

Rowe has been coaching aspiring engineers for over a decade, and it never gets old for this talented teacher. His students thrive under his direction. Under his tutelage last year, the Sun Ship, which was designed by my son and Damian Yoder, won for Artistic Merit at the Northeast competition and was the fastest car at Owls Head.

Last Sunday in Springfield, the AMS teams finished in the top 25 percent in speed even though Auburn Middle School did not receive an award, But kudos to the team of Anthony Blasi, Damien Yoder, and Cole Taylor for their "When Pigs Fly" creation, and to the team of Ben Knoblach, Erza Thomas, Jarod Cloutier and Harley Lombard for their car - "Cool Running."

"First I want to congratulate and thank you all for a successful year," said Rowe in an e-mail to his students and parents. "Although the teams did not win awards in Springfield, they did very well, from my experiences, finishing in the top 25 out of 108 for speed and doing very well in artistic merit and craftsmanship.

  "I was very pleased and proud to have so many parents in attendance. The most I have ever had the honor of participating with. It has been an honor to work with your children.  It truly has."

All six students found common ground to work together and make this competition a success as well as build confidence and pride in themselves. And, of course, Jim Rowe's input obviously had a lot to do AMS' strong showing in the competition.

For more information about solar powered cars competitions, check out www.nesea.org and www.meepnews.org.