You never know what we'll churn up in cleaning a stall
As glimpsed at the mostly takeout Vietnamese restaurant in Bangor, Maine, the token offerings to Buddha and his buddies are a reassuring nod in many Asian food retailers.
Jesus and all the saints, on the other hand, are typically left in fasting mode, East or West.
It’s not quite like the Victorian mansion with the witch-hat tower that I envisioned in my novel What’s Left. This one sits along U.S. 1 in Milbridge, Maine, rather than near the university campus in the fictional town of Daffodil, Indiana.
Dig back in the archives on this blog and you’ll find dozens of other examples, usually in other colors, unlike Big Pink in the book.
I didn’t ask if a multigenerational Greek-American family lives here.
A first attempt to photograph the northern lights using my cell phone. It does look like a sunrise except in the north. Next up is time-length exposures using a tripod and remote shutter. That’s when much fantastic color that isn’t seen at the time by the naked eye is detected.
I’ve even bookmarked the two-day forecast to keep me posted.
Carved in stone in Trout Brook cemetery, Weston, Maine, this portion of the deceased’s name makes its own statement. Can we adapt this as a motto for the New Year, with a sense of zest?
I do suspect that gravestones can be a great source of first or last names when it comes to writing fiction, not that I did that in crafting my existing novels.
It’s made a huge difference, cutting our pricy fuel oil usage roughly in half.
Clyde joined us for Pirate Festival and then Halloween and has just stayed around. Remember, too, it’s still Christmas till the 6th.
Campobello Island, New Brunswick, viewed from Eastport, Maine.
Ours doesn’t come indoors until the day before Christmas and rarely is it decorated before dark. Long ago I learned the price of pushing the tradition to get the job done earlier in the day. Nope, it’s not a task to be done more efficiently.
Last year, we cut ours at Moosehorn National Wildlife Refuge with a permit. You’d be amazed how few natural trees measure up. We’d see a good one only to find two growing close together. Separated, they were lobsided and had bald spots. This one caught our eye but we then passed, thinking it might be too open. A mile or two or walking later, we returned and decided to give it a try after all.
Here’s to the wonders of the tradition of sitting in a mostly dark room early morning or evening and enjoying the lighted branches.
It’s that foot-tall wall of compressed flakes at the end of the driveway that concerns me. The stuff the city’s snowplows leave us in clearing our streets.
Not that I don’t appreciate having cleared pavement once I get out.
The hat makes all the difference.
Jnana's Red Barn 