As a mature adult, I’m quite capable of having a meaningful discussion about beets without resorting to childish tantrums. Such as:

Beets suck, and I’m not eating them. I don’t care how you cook them. I don’t care if you coat them in chocolate. I don’t care if you send me to bed without supper. I’m having nothing to do with beets, because, as I may have mentioned, beets suck.

Christmas is less than a week away, and presents are piling up under the tree at Mahoosuc Mills Town Hall. See, every year, they put up a Christmas tree down there with stars on it. On each star is a request for a present from a kid in town. You know, a kid whose family needs a little help. Some of them will just break your heart: a Barbie doll, Play Dough, a new winter hat and mittens. I mean, these kids have nothing. Anyone can go down there, take a star, buy the present, wrap it and drop it back to the Town Hall.

Lewiston had an unusual election this week, in which the candidates were a dead guy and a brain-dead guy. Bob Macdonald, the latter, won by a narrow margin and promptly went into wacky dictator mode, threatening his opponents with revenge. 

 

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I don’t know about where you live, but up here in Mahoosuc Mills, seems like the minute Turkey Day was over, folks started flyin’ into Christmas! Big time! And it’s just been building ever since. We’re all scrambling to take advantage of this beautiful weather to hang lights and get our decorations up. It’s just all so festive, you can’t help but being swept up in it.

It is not nice to make fun of people who are struggling with a weight problem. In fact, it’s immature, insensitive and ignorant.

It is, however, also fun.

Which is in no way an excuse. I mean if this posting were only about me enjoying myself by blurting out hurtful comments about groups that I seemed to consider no more that fodder for juvenile humor, it would be, well … uh … pretty much the way it is now.

Now, I don’t know if you know, but the Women Who Run With the Moose, (Celeste, Rita, Betty, Dot, Shirley and me) are big into crafts. We just love to get together and cut, paste, and hot-glue. Then we put sequins on everything to cover up the boo-boos! We usually spend half the year trying out different ideas, see if anything flies. When we find one with potential, we focus on that for the last half of the year, in preparation for the Christmas Bazaar down to St. Hyacinth’s.

It is not the purpose of this website to unduly alarm the populace. Fomenting panic across the state would serve no useful purpose, and could result in riots, looting, and violence not seen since Occupy Augusta’s recent visit to the Blaine House. 

Charlie and me buzzed over to the Agway, Saturday. He was picking up his snow blower, which was in for a tune up, and I wanted to get some more bulbs to sneak into the ground. You know, before it’s too late. I got some assorted tulips and daffodils. Come spring, you can’t have enough of them, in my opinion. Those hopeful, green shoots pokin’ their way up out of the remaining patches of snow. Then, gorgeous flowers: red, yellow, pink, orange! It perks my spirit up, no end.

The Maine Department of Health and Human Services (motto: Helping the Needy by Requiring Them to Fill Out Lots of Forms That Nobody is Ever Actually Going to Read, Although That Won’t Stop the Bureaucracy From Finding Some Excuse for Denying Any Benefits) is running a big deficit. 

Ran into Pearl Plaisted at the A&P this week. She was doing a little pre-holiday shopping.

“Hi there, Pearl,” I says, as I’m ringing her out. “I see you’re gonna to be making some pies for Thanksgiving.”

“Yup! Desserts are my department. My daughter Sally cooks the main meal. Oh, and I’m responsible for the homemade cranberry sauce.”

“Yum! I bet that’s good. Where’s your side kick?” I ask, referring to her husband.