Goodfellows52: Cry uncle and let slip the fiscal fools

Goodfellows52: Cry uncle and let slip the fiscal fools: AUBURN, Maine — I am in the process of negotiating a truce with Mother Nature. I refuse, however, to offer the O...

Cry uncle and let slip the fiscal fools

AUBURN, Maine — I am in the process of negotiating a truce with Mother Nature. I refuse, however, to offer the Old Lady unconditional surrender.

No matter what the Old Girl has thrown at me this winter, I refuse to capitulate to this guiding force of creation. After all, the Old Gal has been more of a friend than a foe to this master gardener. Her feisty ways can make or break a garden. She was real good to me last season, allowing me to harvest nearly 300 pounds of vegetables.

But the Old Girl sure has it in for New England this winter. She backhanded us with another weekend storm that produced another foot of white gold for the skiers. 

I have really gotten to know my snow shovels and roof rake this winter. We have become close thanks to Mother Nature's winter whims. Couldn't do it without these handy tools and the generosity of several of my neighbors, who are like the Green Berets when the Old Gal lays down a barrage of heavy snow. They come heavily armed with snow blowers that move mountains of snow. In just minutes, five-foot walls of white stuff is cleared away, liberating me from shovel.

I will always be grateful to these good souls.

If it wasn't for their kindness, I would be entombed in my own backyard until spring.

The week before Mother Nature's latest production was a blizzard that dropped nearly 25 inches of snow and featured 50-mile-per-hour winds.

I don't want to jinx all of New England, but weather prognosticators are saying we should miss the next weekend snowstorm. 

I want that in writing!

But here is the trade off: Mother Nature will be serving up another snowstorm on Wednesday that might last for three days. They are talking about another foot of damn snow.

The Old Gal's fury apparently won't let up this winter.

But I am hoping the Old Lady honors our truce and goes easy on us this spring even though she has a mind of her own.

Fiscal fools

Sequester — to isolate or hide away — or a general cut in government spending.

Let's use the first definition and sequester Congress. Put them all in a convention center and keep them there until they can act like responsible adults who can make responsible decisions — and that goes for both parties.

Sure, the budget is a mess thanks to protracted wars in the Middle East and irresponsible leaders. But cutting off your nose to spite your face means a sequester might be the coup de grace to United State's fragile economy.

According to the New York Times, the sequester law requires President Obama to impose $85 billion in spending cuts to the military and domestic programs. That means federal employees would take a hit along with numerous education programs.

Just what the economy needs — more people out of work, and those job losses will cause a trickle-down effect that will be felt by all of us.

Perhaps Wednesday's next New England storm is just another omen for Friday's main event — sequester.

Goodfellows52: Super blowhards

Goodfellows52: Super blowhards: AUBURN, Maine — And so it begins — the endless, mindless chatter about Super Bowl XLVII. For those of you who live and die with the S...

Trench warfare

"You don't raise heroes, you raise sons.  And if you treat them like sons, they'll turn out to be heroes, even if it's just in your own eyes."  

~Walter M. Schirra, Sr.

AUBURN, Maine — I am fortunate to have a strapping 16-year-old son who has a strong back and an admirable work ethic.

He didn't flinch when he picked up a shovel and took on Blizzard Nemo, which roared through the Northeast on Saturday. For a small fish from Disney, Nemo sure had a lot of bite, dropping over two feet of snow on most of New England. This bastard of Northeaster lived up to all the hype and buried Auburn over a period of 36 hours. Nemo rivaled the Blizzard of 1978 when Boston was shut down for weeks. 

They say snow is a poor man's fertilizer. Then I guess I am set for the upcoming growing season.

But there was no hemming and hawing from a young man who didn't mind helping his dad clear away two feet of snow from two driveways. He didn't demand money or an IPod for his services.

He did it for dear-old dad, and I was proud of him for the way he braved the elements in a storm with whiteout conditions.

Anthony is a responsible young man who went the distance for his father the day before the storm would intensify. He helped bring in a half a cord of wood so we could keep the home fires burning in the event of a power outage.

He jumped right into the fray with three neighbors who should be canonized for their help with their Tiger-tank snowblower. Dan Levesque's two sons, Ryan and Mark, are two rugged brothers who treat mountains of snow as a mere annoyance. Dan, the patriarch of this good family, is an amateur geologist who appreciates the Earth's natural artworks — rocks. His collection is something to be admired. He is a smart guy with a kind heart. God don't make 'em any better and that's a fact.

Dan and family can look forward to fresh vegetables this summer from the guy next door, and that would be me — the master gardener of Valley Street.

For two hours on a wind-whipped Saturday afternoon,  Anthony and I plowed through snowdrifts to get to the car and cleared away a five-foot drift blocking the back door to our deck.

What really unnerved father and son was a five-foot high, six-foot wide wall of snow blocking both driveways. It would take hours with two shovels, but Dan headed toward my house with his monster blower and made mince meat out of the two Great White Walls of China.

And when all of New England embraced the warm sun on Sunday, Anthony and I were back at it, borrowing through 25 inches of snow to make paths around the house. We cleared the rest of the deck and driveway as temperatures soared into the upper 30s, which is considered to be a heatwave at this time of year.

It was spectacular storm, but what was more impressive is my 16-year-old who gave his old man a helping hand without giving it a second thought.

Goodfellows52: Super blowhards

Goodfellows52: Super blowhards: AUBURN, Maine — And so it begins — the endless, mindless chatter about Super Bowl XLVII. For those who live and die with the San Fran...

Super blowhards

AUBURN, Maine — And so it begins — the endless, mindless chatter about Super Bowl XLVII.

For those of you who live and die with the San Francisco 49ers or the Baltimore Ravens, you will hang on every word for the next eight hours leading up to the game in The Big Easy — New Orleans — a city that has just about put Hurricane Katrina behind itself.

By the time 6:30 p.m. rolls around, most fans will be half in the bag and bloated from comfort food loaded with salt and short on nutrition. At that point, fans in your home will become annoying, tempting any host throwing a party to call the cops on spectators with slurred speech and loss of coordination.

The analysts will analyze every useless detail about the outcome of a football game that just might determine world peace or bring prosperity to a nation still caught in the throes of an economic debacle.

Well, not really.

CBS began its coverage of the Super Bowl at 11 a.m., when most people were having their second cup of coffee. This family headed for the gym to ignore the nonstop, verbal nonsense that can cause concussions that lead to serious brain damage from announcers who don't when to be quiet.

We will hear from the experts who will tell us: "The team that scores the most touchdowns will win the game. They have winning on their minds. The Ravens have only one shot to win the title."

No kidding! Such insight!

At home this afternoon, we turned to PBS World for the documentary, "For Love of Liberty: The Story of America's Black Patriots" who fought with honor for a nation that spurned them for decades.

You can't tell me that Jim Nantz's run-on thoughts about the Super Bowl are more profound than a documentary about black Americans who served their nation with pride. Look, these guys on CBS are good at what they do, but seven hours of blah, blah, blah about a sporting event sends me to the medicine cabinet for a dose acid reliever or Advil.

Years ago, I turned the sound down of the TV to listen to the raspy voice of Johnny Most, the ultimate homer, announce Celtics games because the guys on the tube put me to sleep. He made no apology for taking Boston's side when the refs called a foul against the Green Machine.

For two unbearable weeks, we have lived with 24-7 coverage of an event that, in truth, will not affect our lives in any way.

Some of the stories about the athletes have been touching and absurd.

I enjoy the stories about players who enjoy the serenity of knitting, crocheting or attending an opera. There are articles about athletes' favorite pets, meals, political affiliations, girlfriends, wives, daughters, sons, hair stylists, mechanics and their favorite movie. This compilation of needless information is as important as when I broke my favorite "Cheers" glass this morning.

I wept for hours over a glass that meant so much to this kid from the Greater Boston area.

And with the Patriots out of the picture, Super Bowl XLVII doesn't weigh heavily on my mind. I will take a politician's way out and root for both teams so I won't offend millions of ravenous 49ers and Ravens fans.

Will I watch the game tonight? I will, but I will do it on an intermitten basis.

But you can bet I am skipping all seven hours of this pre-game epic and a halftime show that will probably make my ears bleed from poor music. 

Goodfellows52: Cold heart

Goodfellows52: Cold heart: AUBURN, Maine - For those of you who have watched from afar, the good people of New England have been freezing their buns off for...

Cold heart

AUBURN, Maine - For those of you who have watched from afar, the good people of New England have been freezing their buns off for the past six days.

If you live in a warm-weather state or are enjoying summer down under in Australia, then you can smile all you want because, baby, it's damn cold up here.

Winter is slapping New Englanders around for the moment. We are wearing 40 layers of clothing and saying prayers when we start our cars.

Car-battery killing winds have swept across Maine and turned this climate into a frozen tundra. The f-word can be heard from miles away when Mainers turn over their stubborn cars in below-zero morning cold. 

For six mind-numbing days, the cold has taken our breaths away and made oil companies rich. And even on the seventh day, the Arctic cold did not rest, leaving Mainers longing for humidity and 80-degree temperatures.

The steam rising from Casco Bay harbor in Portland was a site to behold. Slip, sliding away on my walkway will put a snicker on anyone's face.

A cold snap is not a rare occurrence in the six-state region. Winters are more famous than Gov. Paul LePage's outbursts in the Pine Tree State. Laborers make a living off the white stuff and bone-chilling temperatures.

A good deal of Maine's economy thrives on winter. The ski industry lives and dies with snowfall amounts. Snowmobiliers need a strong snow pack to race their loud half tracks on miles of trails through the backwoods of Maine.

Without snow and this tricky climate, well, Maine wouldn't be Maine.

But the Arctic air mass has modified, and on Saturday, it reached 20 degrees, making me wonder if I could slip in an afternoon swim at Popham Beach. By Tuesday, New England is looking at temps in the 30s - a heatwave for all of us wearing long underwear.

My son is a ski patrol candidate at Lost Valley. For seven hours, Anthony, an all-weather kid who loves the Great Outdoors, patrolled the slopes, making sure Lost Valley was safe for democracy in frigid temperatures.

As I proudly watched Anthony meander down the course to make sure all skiers were safely down off the mountain before it closed, it's didn't seem so cold outside anymore.

Goodfellows52: A letter to the president

Goodfellows52: A letter to the president: Dear President Obama, I couldn't care less about the pomp, celebrities or VIPs dressed in expensive attire that are the byprodu...

A letter to the president

Dear President Obama,

I couldn't care less about the pomp, pagentry, celebrities or VIPs dressed in expensive attire that are the byproducts of every presidential inauguration.

Sure, I enjoyed Maine native James Franco's "One Today" poem, but the rest of the hoopla was just a distraction from what is really important. I know parades and presidential balls go hand in hand with the celebration as Washington D.C. becomes an all-night block party, but for this American citizen, the swearing in of a president, and most importantly, the commander in chief's speech, are all that concerns me.

An inauguration is a key moment in American politics that often defines a nation's agenda for the next four years.

But the highlight of the inauguration for this family, who is fortunate to view this political event from a warm home on cold Maine winter day,  was listening to a speech that made me put down my morning coffee.

Not many things make me put down morning coffee, Mr. President, but it is rare when a politician writes a coherent and inspiring speech that makes me sit up and take notice.

Many speeches are snoozers or say nothing, which congress has mastered over the past four years. But your speech and delivery was just what the nation needed at this juncture in the country's history.

The speech's unifying theme and references to the preamble of the United States Constitution were encouraging to many of Americans who have been knocked around in an economy that is still running on empty.

You put the "we" in your speech, Mr. President, and it really is all about us, because you work for us, not for a lobbyists or party strategists. Party loyalty and polarization have held this nation back for four years. George Washington would be asking King George for a job with the Redcoats if he witnessed today's  lawmakers' moronic behavior and endless finger-pointing.

Mr. President, this was a wonderful, rousing speech on Martin Luther King Day. It was well constructed and I think your sincere words gave all Americans hope that we will remain a strong and peaceful nation.

Your words were indeed uplifting, but it will be your actions and accomplishments over the next four years that will give credence to your inauguration speech.

The best to you, sir.

Goodfellows52: The 12 Days of Christmas, Day 12: Merry Christmas....

Goodfellows52: The 12 Days of Christmas, Day 12: Merry Christmas....: “A merry Christmas to everybody! A happy New Year to all the world!”       - Ebenezer Scrooge from Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Car...

The 12 Days of Christmas, Day 12: Merry Christmas.

“A merry Christmas to everybody! A happy New Year to all the world!”       - Ebenezer Scrooge from Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol."

AUBURN, Maine  — Like the Cratchit family, we were making rather merry as we opened our Christmas gifts Tuesday morning.

We are both employed, consider ourselves lucky to have presents under the tree and a sturdy roof over our heads in an area of the world where there is no fighting in the streets.

I think we all cleaned up on Christmas. 

Anthony startled his parents with his good taste. We discovered he is a prudent shopper and purchased all his gifts at bargain-basement prices at church fair. 

My son gave me a copy of the movie, "PT-109," the first two seasons of "Combat," "13 Rue Madelaine," "MASH," and "Shane." Terri received episodes of "Murder She Wrote,"  "Agatha Christie," and the anniversary edition of "Gone with the Wind."

Anthony was on the receiving end of many gifts. He is a voracious reader of history so we surprised the lad with a copy of James MacPherson's  "War on the Waters."  MacPherson is an authority on the Civil War, and he has written another great book about the war's naval battles.

I enjoyed my coffee and added a little special something to it as we crowded around the tree to open gifts on Christmas morning.

I tried to keep memories of past Christmases from reappearing, but I couldn't stop thinking about all that has went before in my life.

That's what happens when you go on living. Those bittersweet memories will always get in the way as long as we remain above ground.

My two sisters called from Massachusetts, and I was grateful to hear their voices. I called my dad who is struggling to speak in complete sentences. Alzheimer's is winning and we are all slowly losing a father to this excruciating disease.

There are moments when I think I have forgotten to call my mother, but reality brutally backhands me when I remember she is no longer in her kitchen drinking coffee and listening to the news.

The exchange of gifts continued and I focused on the present. I watched the smiles on the faces of my son and wife when they ripped off the rapping of each gift.

We did something nice for someone else this Christmas. We invited an elderly neighbor, who has been knocked around in life like the rest of us, to spend the yuletide with us.

Who wants to spend a holiday alone? So we reached out to another human being because that is what this holiday is really all about.

We had just finished exchanging gifts when it began to snow hard.

I just added another spectacular memory of a wonderful Christmas.

That's what happens when you go on living.

Goodfellows52: Goodfellows52: The 12 Days of Christmas, Day 10: M...

Goodfellows52: Goodfellows52: The 12 Days of Christmas, Day 10: M...: Goodfellows52: The 12 Days of Christmas, Day 10: Mom and pop : “My idea of Christmas, whether old-fashioned or modern, is very simple: lovin...

The 12 Essays of Christmas Eve, Day 11: Christmas Eve

“Christmas is not as much about opening our presents as opening our hearts.”                                                                                                                               ― Janice Maeditere

AUBURN, Maine - I can point out the location of every bathroom on the Maine turnpike. That's important for a weary traveler to know after having a cup of coffee. 

I really do know every nook and cranny of this well-traveled highway.

Interstate 95 was the avenue I traveled every Christmas Eve to spend Christmas with my relatives in Revere for nearly quarter of a century.

We would spend an entire morning loading the car with presents and food. We sped off down the road for a two-hour trek, listening to Christmas music along the way.

Through the years, we battled snowstorms to reach our destiny. Nothing would stop us from spending the holiday with family.

Was it all worth it. Absolutely! I understand nothing lasts in this life, and every opportunity I got to be with the people I love during the holiday made our two-hour trip feel like two minutes.

But things changed. We brought a wonderful young man into the world, we got older, and people we loved passed away. We bought a house and established our roots in city located about 130 miles north of Boston.

We have been put through the ringer the last three years, with deaths and sickness that made our lives quite difficult. We haven't spent the last three holidays in the Boston area due to these tumultuous moments in our lives.

I was graciously invited to my sisters again for the holiday. She does a good job of entertaining family and guests, and it was kind of her to think of us.

But we remained at home again in the snowy foothills of Maine. My son wanted to wake up in the house on Christmas morning.

He is older and still enjoys our company. We are lucky.

I hope he continues to walk the strait and narrow without losing his balance. But if he falls, mom and dad will be there for him.

That's what parents do, and I like to think we do it well.

This Christmas eve, we continued on with one tradition, revived another, and started a new one.

I made the my mouth-watering shrimp linguine, but something wonderful happened in the kitchen — Anthony volunteered to help. And so we sat, the two of us peeling shrimp and talking about everything.

He worships my cooking and I enjoy watching my family enjoy my culinary talents.

After we had our fill of shrimp and pasta, we went out into the cold, dark night and lit a bunch of sparklers that had been laying around the house. We interrupted the quiet evening with our bright flares and endless laughter.

We do a lot of laughing and hugging in this family to preserve our sanity.

Later that evening, Anthony suggested taking a ride around the city to check out the Christmas lights. All of a sudden I was reminded of my parents who took us on a tour around the Greater Boston area see homes lit up like Roman candles.

My son came in the parlor to hug me and wished me goodnight.

I was watching the Mormon Tabernacle Choir perform Christmas music on Public Television.

"What about George Bailey," asked Anthony? "Aren't you worried about old George?"

"It's a Wonderful Life" was playing on another channel, but I switched it to listen to those angelic voices of the Tabernacle choir.

"George will be just fine," I told my son."And you will be just fine, too." 

Goodfellows52: The 12 Days of Christmas, Day 10: Mom and pop

Goodfellows52: The 12 Days of Christmas, Day 10: Mom and pop: “My idea of Christmas, whether old-fashioned or modern, is very simple: loving others. Come to think of it, why do we have to wait f...