Few things in life are more likely to incite violence than a greased cod.
The other day, my friend Celeste and me were gabbing, catching up on things, and as usual, talking about our husbands. She says to me, “Ida, sometimes I just snap at Bud for no good reason. I feel bad after. Heck, I feel bad while I’m doing it, but I just can’t help myself.
“I know what you mean, Celeste. There are some days when every time I open my mouth to say something to Charlie, only frogs and toads come out. Nothing but frogs and toads.
“Why is that, Ida? They’re both sweet guys.
Otisfield is not the sort of community that lets a huge federal bureaucracy trample on its rights. Portland may fold whenever the feds show up. Bangor may bow down to Washington’s authority. Even Lewiston has been known to grovel before the government. But in Otisfield, the spirit that made this country great still survives.
In a weirdly mutated form.
Maine is losing its stones.
I suppose that’s about as far as I’m going to be allowed to take that joke, Down East’s Web site being a family friendly venue that doesn’t tolerate risqué allusions. I just want it noted that as a result of this dictatorial editorial policy, a lot of potential for off-color humor is going to be wasted.
Still, I’ll persevere. I don’t need to wallow in the gutter to be funny. Although, it’s a lot easier.
It sure has been a poor yard saling season here in Mahoosuc Mills, what with all the rain. Last week my sister, Irene says to me, “If you start seeing the animals pairing up, let me know. I’ll get Jimbo to put the paddle boat out on the lawn.”
But Saturday, lo and behold, the sun came out in time for our Fourth of July parade. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more enthusiastic crowd. We were all just so revved up to be outside without raingear.
The question on every Mainer’s mind this past week has been: Is there any chance the giant snake that’s allegedly roaming around Rumford will eat the record number of mosquitoes that are about to hatch before the little buggers suck up every drop of blood in the state?
The answer appears to be: no.
This is not one of those annoying, whiney postings complaining about how much it’s rained in the past month. That’s because I’m not one of those annoying, whiney people who can only see the gloomy side of the unending soggy weather. I’m the type of person willing to accept that there are definite advantages to the deluge.
We spent Memorial Day weekend in Washington County again this year. The sun was out pretty much all weekend and so, of course, were the black flies. This year the mosquitoes seem to be waging a major counter-offensive in their endless turf war with Maine’s infamous black flies. Think of it as a downeast, backwoods version of the Crips and the Bloods, only you supply the blood.
Big doings in the LeClair household! Charlie and me just got a fifteen-month-old miniature poodle: Scamp. The experts at Poodle Rescue think there’s a bit of Bichon in him, and after living with him for two weeks, I think they’re right. It’s not just the shape of his hind legs, it’s Scamp’s temperament, which can veer toward the stubborn. So he fits right in at our house.
How can you tell an endangered Atlantic salmon from Paul Bruneau?
There are several methods, but one of the easiest is wine selection. Bruneau, whose current address is the Cumberland County Jail, prefers a nice white wine with his seafood. For the most part, salmon are teetotalers.