Do these 'jeans' make my butt look big?

 

     I have decided that if, for some strange reason, every pair of jeans in the country and the world, for that matter were to disappear, there would be 'a lot' of  people walking around “butt naked.” I came to this conclusion as I sat in the parking lot of the local grocery store waiting for my wife to pick up a couple of items.  

   It was late afternoon, bitterly cold and the store was very busy as people rushed home from work.  As I watched the people raced in and out of the store ( it was cold!) I realized that almost all of them were wearing some form or manner of 'jeans.” Many pair were old and tattered. Some were new, Christmas gifts I might  assume. Even gentlemen with shirts and ties were wearing 'jeans'. No black or gray slacks here. The clothing and dress trends have changed.

     The story goes that the term 'jean' comes from the word 'Genoa' and refers to a clothe that came from Italy. Originality it was used to make pants for sailors, being a thick blend of linen and wool. The problem with linen was that it needed to be pressed in order to look neat.

     Years later jeans were being produced in England and were made primarily of wool. And the year? It was the 1700's. Later a new fabric was introduced, denim and the rest is history.

     By the late 19th century America got into the 'jeans' business and the most well-know maker was a gentleman by the name of Levi Strauss. And along with Jacob Davis they would change the industry forever. (It was Davis' invention of the metal rivets to keep the pockets from coming off.)

     'Jeans' hit the beginning of their everlasting popularity by the 1950's . New companies emerged on the scene and as usual, the media played a major role in their success as the rebels on the movie screen all wore jeans as a statement of rebellion. 

     I can remember my fist pair of 'jeans', dark denim blue and stiff as a board. But I could only wear them around the house, never in public. 

     'Jeans' were made for the 60's and 70's and the hippy movement They were to become the symbol of individuality and an independent character as they took on new shapes and designs. And by now, the dark blue had given way to the new look of “washed-out” and well worn.

     From the early 1980's to the present day, 'jeans have continued to expand their roll into high fashion and design. There are very few who do not have at least one pair of jeans as a major part of the wardrobe whether they be designer or regular, distressed or destroyed, ultra low  pencil thin.

     I have several pairs of 'jeans', now that I am retired. I have a “dress pair” to wear with a nice shirt and sport coat, several pair that I wear when working around the house, one pair with the mandatory tears and worn out knee and one pair spotted  with paint. ( I personally like the shirt, sport coat and 'jean' look with boat mocs. 

     The future of “jeans” looks sound and secure, regardless of 'how big your butt looks.' And besides, if 'jeans' were to all of a sudden disappear, what would people have to look at? 

It's not always 500 words...

   Panic. Disappointment. There has got to be something out there to write about, but I just couldn't come up with anything. For many weeks I have always had something to say. And there were the  2 ½ years  of writing for the newspaper before that and there were many weeks when  I  managed to write about something. 
   Admittedly, some has been good and others, well, not so good. But I always had something to say. But  for many weeks now  I had really disappointed myself. Nothing!
   Some of the time I get my ideas and 'inspiration' from the news, whether it be world, state of local. But it has been  a terrible week in the news. I am so tired with this election stuff.
   No question about it. The news has been terrible and maybe really affected the way I saw the world last week. I'll admit it. Perhaps I need to turn off the television or turn down the radio for a few days, weeks, even months. Even the Red Sox are having a terrible year. 2020. Uck!!!
   But then, while riding in the car, there was a very heart warming story on MPR about a small town coming together to help a family struggling with the serious illness of their young son and the financial toll it was taking on the family.
    I don't always get my ideas from the news reporting. I could have written about the scene in the parking lot at the local food store, where a teenage boy, and I assume his mother, were engaged in a loud,  verbal and quickly moving toward a physical confrontation, loud enough that it attracted a great deal of attention from those walking to and from the store to their cars. Someone must have called the police, for at that moment a police car came around the corner. Just as the officer got out of his car, the mother got into her vehicle and drove away, leaving the boy standing in the parking lot. (My suspicion is that the police may already know the family.)
   One of my favorite spots for inspiration came from the local auction. Each Sunday from March until December several hundred people from near and far gather to talk, spend money, brag about their latest finds and to share in the joy of one of Robin's egg, cheese and ham breakfast sandwiches. But now....with the virus.
   I don't remember where it came from or who gave it to me, but on the corner of my desk sits a wooden block, the size  a child might use to build a fort or castle. But this block has pictures and author's names and partial titles of many of the classic, squeezed onto the 6 sides of the two inch  block. Yes...it's a writer's block! And despite how  firmly  I held it in my hand, there was no inspiration or Steinbeck or the others.
   I really feel as though I have let myself down. and my readers too. I had set some goals, but.....something has changed.
   I have two choices. I could sit around all day and fret, frustrating myself even more or...I could get outside in the fresh air, under a bright late summer blue sky, and work in the garden, pulling a few remaining weeds. I opted for choice number two. And besides, the Red Sox games just don't have the excitement and enthusiasm without fans in the stadium.
 

Thing you don't hear any more.

Life has certainly changed over the decades and things that were said reflected the times and often the attitudes. It was very different back in the day... 

•        Be sure and refill the ice trays, we are going to have company later this afternoon

•        Watch for the mailman, I want to get this letter in the mail today.

•        Quit slamming that screen door! ( I missed this one so much I recently installed an old wooden screen door on the back door of the house,)

•        Be sure to pull the windows down when you leave, it looks like it might rain -- and  bring in the clothes off the line, too.

•        Don't forget to wind the clock before you go to bed. (Don't you mean change the battery?)

•        Wash your feet before you go to bed, (you've been playing barefooted outside all day). Now who still plays outside in their bare feet?

•        Why can't you remember to roll up your pants legs? Getting them caught in the bicycle chain is tearing them up and I ain't made outta money.

•        You have torn the knees out of that pair of pants so many times there ain't nothing left to put a patch on. No patch, no patch!!

•        Don't you go outside with your school clothes on!

•        Hang up your Sunday School clothes, you know you need to pass them down to your brother in good condition.
 

•        Be sure and pour the cream off the top of the milk when you open the new bottle. I need it for baking and Pa's coffee.( I would bet there are many kids who have never seen cream at the top of a milk bottle, let alone a milk bottle made of glass.)

•       Take that empty bottle to the store with you so you won't have to pay a deposit on another one. See, returnables is not a new concept.

•       Put a dish towel over the cake so the flies won't get on it. (Someone still bakes?)

•       Let me know when the Fuller Brush man comes by, I need to get a few things from him. ( No he is not your father...)

•       You boys stay close by, the car may not start and I will need you to help push it to get it started.

•       There is a dollar in my purse, go by the service station and get five gallons of gas for the lawn mower. ( $.25 a gallon wasn't that long ago.)

•       You can walk to the store; it won't hurt you to get some exercise. Maybe you will learn to be more careful with your bicycle.

•       Don't sit so close to the TV it will ruin your eyes.

•       Be sure and fill the lamps this morning with lamp oil so we don't have to do that tonight in the dark.

•       Here, take this old magazine to the outhouse when you go, we are almost out of paper out there. (OMG! I found a magazine in one of those ports-potties. You don't suppose it......??

•       No! I don't have nine cents for you to go to the show, do you think money grows on trees?

•       Oh! He's an honest politician. (?)

•       Hush your mouth! I don't want to hear anymore words like that. I will wash your mouth out with soap!

•       Stop crossing your eyes! They will get stuck that way!

•       When you take your driving test don't forget your hand signals each turn. Left arm straight out the window for a left turn, and left arm bent up to the sky at the elbow for a right turn and straight down to the side of the door when you are going to slow down or stop. ( and put the cell phone down!)

•       It is "Yes, sir!" and "No, sir" to me and your elders young man, and don't you forget it.

•       I'm sorry!

•       And maybe my all time favorite..   if I hear you repeat one word of this to anyone I will ground you for the rest of your life. Do you understand me?!!

•       Life was so much simpler  then........;)

Just for the record......

   This is not an old post. I just wanted this to go on record today.
In the midst of a pandemic effecting the lives of millions of people around the world, and in the midst of a time when the government we elected to provide leadership and guidance, which currently is so deadlocked in political partisanship, and arguing about who should be allowed to live or die....
   Today is Saturday, May 9, 2020 and it is snowing. How fitting.😎
( OK, OK. I know its Maine and we expect snow in Maine. But this late in May. Can't wait to see what other records we set this year.)

Perfect…. Just Perfect

   


   Ten years ago I started writing a column for a small local newspaper. Eventually I became an owner of the paper until a few years ago.
   As I was reviewing the file of previous articles I had written, I came across this one. It caught my attention. Why? Because of the title and the word "perfect". Little did I know ten years ago this word would become one of the most popular words in the current President's limited vocabulary. The perfect this, the perfect that......
   I have tended to stay far away from writing political comments these days. There are enough other people doing that today. But I thought I might just dust this one off and laugh a bit.
   But in keeping with a tradition or two..."have a 'perfect' weekend", even while we are still 6 feet apart.


  

         As I sat down to prepare to write this week, I thought this might be a good time to say ‘thank you’ to those who have been reading my work by writing the perfect column. But before I began, I needed to do a bit of homework, because the word ‘perfect’ is used very frequently and has several different meanings.

          According to Webster’s New World Dictionary, the word perfect means ‘a state of excellence’ or ‘faultlessness’. Completely correct! One only needs to listen to hear the word used with common regularity today. Does that mean that everything is perfect, like the weather?

           We have all hoped at one time or another for the perfect date. Every bride and groom dreams of the perfect wedding. We search endlessly for a restaurant that will serve the perfect meal.

          The coach who wants his team to win the championship encourages his players to play the perfect game or the conductor of the orchestra directs the musician with the wave of the baton to play the perfect concerto.

          Sales people must be taught to use the word ‘perfect’ as many times as possible. “That suit is perfect for you. It matches your eyes.” I don’t want a suit to match my eyes. I want it to fit properly! “Oh. This tie is a perfect match too.” Is it a perfect match to the suit or my eyes?

          Car sales people have the perfect car for you. How do they know? “This new minivan would be perfect for you,” sizing up a soccer mom. Actually, she had her eye on the little red convertible.

         We all want are children to grow up to be perfect. Do perfect parents insure perfect children or is it the other way around? Maybe you have heard someone say, “She is the perfect candidate to run in the election.” What makes her perfect? Maybe she knows the right people!

          We have all heard of the perfect fool or the perfect stranger. How about the perfect novel or movie. We search for the perfect gift for that special (perfect) friend. Chocolate is nice!

          Recently I overheard two friends talking. One was planning a party for her sister and her new boy friend. She wanted to make sure that everything was……you guessed it,  perfect! With that kind of pressure there are bound to be problems.

          I think I have figured out this word ‘perfect’, however. For something to be perfect, it must be measured against a standard of some kind. That standard can be real or it can be imaginary, like the picture in your mind.

          I knew a coach who taught his player to swing a baseball bat with their eyes closed. Picture in your mind the baseball racing toward home plate and just as it crosses the plate, swing the bat, sending the ball over the outfield fence. Basketball coaches often do the same for practicing foul shots.

          So for my friends, I bring this ‘perfect column’ to a conclusion and hope you each have the perfect weekend.

Take the left by the big oak tree and...

   For those of you not familiar with Maine, you can crisscross the state on numerous country back roads, roads that seem to go no where. Sure we have the major highways, at least running north and south. But to experience the true character of Maine one only needs to spend a bit of time touring places like T 16 R14 or Square Lake (T16 R5) to get the real flavor of Maine. I'm not talking about the sweet taste of a freshly cook lobster or clams direct from the ocean. I am talking about what you do when you are lost and have no idea where in the world where you are or how to get home.

   Now before you all suggest that I type my location into my cell phone, I need to remind you that there are still many areas in the back woods of Maine void of cell service and besides, it only works if I remembered to take it off the dining room table and bring it along. And what is that new expression.....'out of cell out of mind!'

   It started out as a beautiful ride on a cool Fall morning. The colorful foliage provided a fantastic contrast to the blue sky and puffy white clouds. A few left turns here and then a couple to the right and I was deep into the Maine woods. As it got closer to lunch time, I decided it was time to head back, but which way was back.

   Here are a couple of facts to remember. There are very few street or road signs in most of the Maine woods. Keeps the state budget down. There are very few houses and not much other traffic. And most important, regardless of which way you turn, everything looks the same...trees, trees and more trees.

   After driving for a few more miles in what seemed like circles, I was surprised to come upon a very small general store. The sign in the window said 'Wilson's General Store' for all you local shopping needs.

   Several men stood by the counter, drinking coffee and discussing the local politics and of course, the weather. The lady behind the counter was rearranging the boxes of shotgun shell and neatly folded blaze orange hunting vests. The vests appeared to be the 'one size fits all' model.

   I wanted to act 'cool' and not seem like someone from away so after pouring myself a cup of coffee and grabbing a Ring Ding off the shelf I casually said....”I spent a bit too much time taking in the beautiful scenery and I am running a bit late. Can you guys give me directions for the quickest way back to the interstate?” I think the word that gave it away was ' interstate.' They knew I was not a local.

   The first to reply simply responded by saying...”turn around and go back the way you came.” That was easier said than done and I confessed I had not really been paying attention.

   The second offered more detail. “Take a left out of the parking lot. Go about three miles to the big oak tree on the corner of the 'ole Warren place. Take the next right. If you pass the dead deah (that's deer for those of you from away) carcass on the side of the road, you've go too far. Turn around and take the next left. Follow that road to the next 'fillin' station.

   At this point the lady behind the counter asked...”Which way ya headin' on the interstate, north or south? There is an easier way to get there 'pending on which way you're going.

   “South'” was my response.

   “Figures,” was her's. “Could tell just by the brand new boots on your feet. L.L.Bean ?”

   For the next few minutes the three argued as to the best route to send me so I could get to where I was heading.

   The final directions included a turn at the local sand shed, keeping to the right at the twin forks, staying to the left of the old log cabin and keeping an eye out for the horse barn surrounded by the white fence. “When you get there, you're getting close.

   “Need a box of shells?” she asked.

   “Nope. Not this trip.” Like I could find my way back there!

   I “thanked” them for their help, paid for another Ring Ding and started out on the journey. Much to my surprise, within the hour or so I was back on the interstate and heading for home.

   With the advent of the 'garmins' and the cell phones, provided you are within reach of a signal, the need to be able to ask and be given directions is quickly becoming a dying art, especially if the directions include a bit of the local flavor, whether it be a bit of “down-east' or southern Aroostook county humor.

   And as I climbed into my car, I could hear the three of them laughing. “He probably has never held a shotgun and doesn't even know what a box of shells is used for!!”

A Quilted Past

 Several years ago I started to write a story. Life got busy and I put it aside. But looking to keep myself busy these days, I thought I may attempt to finish it or at least add to it.
I have included the first couple of chapters on my blog and hope that you might read it and maybe make some comments.
                                 
                                                              Quilted Past

                          “Quilt (n): a bed cover made of two layers filled with down,

                           wool, or cotton and stitched together in lines or patterns.”

                                              Webster’s New World Dictionary

     The evening rays of sun disappeared behind the mountain tops, casting long shimmering knife-like daggers across the rippling water. The water was dark, deep and very cold, even for this time of the year at Moosehead. A breeze blew in from the north, offering up fair warning as to what was soon to come.
    A fish broke the surface, looking for that last bite of food before total darkness. There were no birds, no loons with their haunting cries, just the sound of leaves rustling in the trees. The silence was deafening.
   The smell of freshly lit fires to fight off the evening chill from neighboring camps filled the air. Music from a radio played quietly in the background. The hits of the 70’s, I think. I took one last gaze across the lake. Dark now. Peaceful.
   Only kerosene lamps were available, no electricity. This was deep in the Maine woods. I turned up the lantern, picked up a book, settled back in he musty overstuffed chair and prepared to amuse myself at least for a few minutes. It had been a very busy day and I was tired. I needed something to help unwind, but was not sure Steven King would do it.                                                                              
                                                                ***********
    I woke with a start. I must have dozed off and fumbled to find my watch. What time was it? The wind howled through the trees and branches slapped against the roof and sides of the camp. The lamp had gone out.
    “My God, it was dark, I mumbled. “I forgot how dark it can get here.” The hands on the watch pointed to 1:30 . A sudden pounding on the door brought me back to my senses. Tripping over furniture, I stumbled my way to the door to open it.
   “ Ouch! That'll leave a bruise,” I shouted, knocking over a chair.
    Opening a door during the night in the middle of the woods can be dangerous and risky at times. But this was Maine, not the city. There was nothing dangerous out here except for a bear or two, maybe. I reached for what I thought was the shotgun, just in case. The knocking had stopped. I opened the door and quickly looked around, peering into the dark woods.
    Whatever or whoever must have changed their mind. Good thing, too. It had been awhile since I had taken a shot at something with a broom handle, much less a shotgun. The wind suddenly subsided Perhaps no one had been at the door after all and it had been just the wind slapping the screen door..                      
                                                      ***************************
   The early morning sun reflected off the mirror on the wall, hitting me sharply between the eyes. Stretching and turning, I freed myself from the mass of blankets I had used to protect myself from the creatures of the night. Coffee and food would be good. I had not eaten since noon yesterday. After putting a pot of coffee on the old camp stove, I went to search the car for the groceries I had forgotten to bring inside. I was sure nothing had spoiled, though.
   The air outside was unusually clear and fresh. Another beautiful day and today I was going to enjoy it. As I turned back to the house I noticed the figure of a person shrouded in what appeared to be a quilt, on the ground propped against a tree. My calling resulted in no response. I moved closer.
   “Dead?” I shouted not realizing I had said out loud.
   With no cell phone service I drove into town to notify the police. I told them where the camp was located and they headed out immediately, with lights flashing, and arrived there well ahead of me. They examined the body, identifying it was an elderly lady and went about looking for clues and other evidence that might give some indication of what had happened. I retold my story at least five or six times about hearing the storm and the wind and thinking that maybe someone was at the door, but opening it, saw no one.. This was probably the most exciting thing that had happened for the local police in years. They continued to look inside and out in search of a clue.
   She carried no identification and was dressed in clothing that indicated she did not live locally, especially her shoes. No jewelry or purse. All she seemed to have in her possession was the quilt. Clutched in her right hand however, was a piece of note paper with the initials ‘JLM’ scribbled on it. Those just happened to be my initials.
   We all surmised that she may have been looking for me, but I did not know who she was and it could have been just a coincidence. But it was a bit of a puzzle as to how she ended up in the woods, with no immediate sign of a car or other transportation.
   The paramedics gently put the elderly woman’s body in a body bag, zipped it, placed her on a gurney and wheeled her into the back of the ambulance. With lights flashing, they began the short trip to the local morgue. One officer stayed behind and took one more quick look around the area, and confident he had not overlooked anything, packed up his equipment.
    “If you find anything, please let us know,” he reminded me in his best police voice.
   This time, with the siren screaming, he raced down the camp road scaring every bit of wildlife within a three mile radius.
    “Great,” I thought. “Every person in the north woods now knows that something had happened at the camp. That search for peace and quiet might have to wait just a little bit longer.”
   I slowly walked back up the steps of the porch thinking that if I had only answered the door a bit quicker the woman might still be alive. But then, maybe not.
   The faded rainbow colors of the quilt still lying on the porch caught my eye. The police officer had not been as thorough as he thought. They had forgotten the quilt. Maybe they thought it was mine and I had used it to cover her body. That’s why they left it here. I picked it up, folded it and went inside. I placed it on the chair with the intent to drop it off at the police station the next time I went to town.
    My goal was to escape the daily rat race for at least a few days. So far, events had not allowed that to happen. Perhaps now I could find a bit of peace and solitude. I needed something to settle my nerves. It was too early for a drink so with a book in one hand and a half eaten Hershey Bar in the other, I paced around the room for several minutes and then I settled back into the big overstuffed chair and began to lose myself in the plot of the novel.        
                                             *******************************
   Hours blended into days and days into weeks. The mornings were now very cool. The leaves, now past their peak of color were quickly falling to the ground. The water in the lake was too cold in which to bathe. The old quilt, which I had forgotten to take into town, was now part of the bedding that was keeping me warm at night.
   The weeks passed and the police were unable to identify the elderly lady. There were no missing person reports. The good news was they were not holding me responsible for her death, not that I had anything to do with it. The case was closed, at least for now. The body had been taken to the local hospital and now needed to be moved. The police decided to send it to Augusta.
   They had remembered the notepaper in her hand and initials matching those of my name and up to this point had considered it coincidental as well. Purely coincidental!
   Usually on the last night of my stay of the season I would make a list of those things I had accomplished while on hiatus, those things I did not accomplish, and toast it with a glass of very rare scotch. I spent time cleaning up and got ready to retire for that one last good night’s sleep. However, as I straightened out the pile of blankets on top of the bed I took an extra look. Shivers ran up and down my spine as I suddenly remembered that aside from my bedroom, the last official act performed by the quilt was that of keeping an elderly lady warm as she died.
   “Oh my! This quilt had covered a dead body!”
    I began to smooth out the wrinkled fabric in each of the squares. The quilt contained fragments of silks, satins, cottons, wools, a mass of colors, designs and prints. It was obvious, even with my untrained eye, that this was very old but still in remarkably good condition. Upon closer examination I noticed that within each square was a name, sewn with dark colored thread, just first names with two exceptions. Two of the squares had both a first and last name. Some of the stitching had worn away, but there was enough remaining to make out the names. Obviously someone’s family quilt having been passed down from generation to generation.
                                                        *************************
  I had to get an early start in the morning if I intended to get to home by nightfall. So as I had done the past several weeks, I brightened the kerosene lamp in order to read for just a bit and hoped to drop off to sleep quickly.
    But sleep didn’t come easily this night. The names on the quilt had piqued my curiosity and as I dosed, I dreamt of who those people might be. Was I sleeping with someone’s family history? And if so, whose family?
   The tossing and turning finally forced me to give up. I poured myself another drink and spread the quilt out on the floor. I walked around the rectangle as one might do in practicing for a dance. Each step presented a new picture of color and design that I had not noticed before. It was as if the quilt was being lifted off the floor to give it depth and richness.
    “Look at me!” it said. “Okay. No more scotch.”
   I woke to the sound of rain beating against the roof and windows. I had never made it back to bed but managed to find my way to the overstuffed chair. At least it wasn’t the floor. I finished what little packing I had, loaded the car, locked the door, said good bye for another year and headed home.      
   About a mile down the road I started to think about the quilt and the elderly woman. Both had caused me to lose a good night’s sleep. I turned the car around, headed back to the camp, unlocked the door, picked up the quilt and put it on the back seat. If nothing else, it would make a good dog bed or covering when moving furniture.                     *              
                                              *************************

You can call me a bit crazy, but...

   It's amazing what some folks will do to help speed up the transition from Winter to Spring, especially when this year the  weather seems to have arrived earlier than normal and still has not let go. We are several days away from March and the temperature  was -10 degrees at 7:00 am. The weather forecast  was for a 'slight' warming trend for the remainder of the week. I guess that means temps in the upper 20's and it may even hit the 30's by Saturday. Time to get out the shorts.

   Speaking of shorts, with the wind blowing at 'gale force' the other day, two young men entered the local grocery story wearing shorts, sandals and tee shirts. They were stocking up on chips, dip and beer. Why the shorts? It was the result of a bet and the two of them had lost. But the trade off was going to be …...free beer. They must have been college kids!

   Several weeks ago it turned into a sunny afternoon with the temperature hovering around 33 degrees. The driveway was clear so I decided to wash the cars. A quick wash and towel dry and the vehicles were sand and salt free for the next few days. It did feel pretty good being outside, involved in a 'spring-time' activity and I suspect the neighbors and those who passed by the house got a pretty good laugh. Maybe they were just jealous, because my cars were clean.

   Later that week, there was a fresh dusting of snow and the sand and salt trucks were busy again on the highway and by the time I got back from town....well, you know.

  The snow banks on the side of the road in front of my house are still2-3 feet high, mostly packed in ice, but the road is clear, except for the sand and salt from all the storms. Each time a cars goes by, it creates a bit of a dust storm.

   I needed “something” to throw on the ice that still covers several of the walkways around the house. Even Lucky has a bit of a problem as he slips and slides. The solution was simple. Sweep up some of the sand in the road and spread it about on the icy walkways. Recycle, reuse.

   I know its a bit too early to sweep, but it did cause a beep or two from several who drove by. Maybe, next time I'll go out under the cover of darkness.

   Can Spring be far behind if it's almost time to set the clocks ahead. If you are reading this on 3/8, you may want to make sure that you set your clocks ahead. It's ..Spring ahead and Fall behind or something like that.

   Truth be known, this week I have been pretending that daylight savings time was already in effect. See how light it is at 7:30 pm... I would say to myself. It must be Spring. (In reality, it was only 6:30 pm. until March 8 but I can always dream.)

   I had just finished opening a path to the tool shed and decided to take a peek inside. There, waiting for warmer weather were the garden tools and lawn mower. Perhaps if I straightened up the tools and start the mower, just to check it out, it may send a signal to Spring to arrive just a bit sooner.

   It got pretty noisy for a minute or two, the snow blower roaring on one side of the driveway and the lawn mower on the other. Now if that didn't get the neighborhood people talking, nothing will.

   Planting seeds, washing the car, rearranging the garden tools, starting the lawn mower, what else could I do? There was one more thing I could do. After a quick phone call.... yes, there was a time slot available in about an hour..... it was just enough time to get my summer hair cut. If that doesn't do it, nothing will!

 The forecast for tomorrow.....heavy snow, mixing with some rain and lots and lots of wind. Oh boy!

Hand Tools

   Every once and awhile I make an attempt to clean up the area around my work bench. This has been one of my indoor winter activities the past several weeks. (It's safer in the basement than out on the ice in the driveway,) There are tools, tape measures, rags and dried spots of glue that missed their mark. Let's not forget paint spills either.

   Now I have an assortment of power tools: drills; sanders, saws, electric screw drivers and more. But scattered among the power tools are the hand tools, those that require no electricity or rechargeable batteries.

   I can not remember the last time I purchased a 'new' hand tool. Most of my tools were either picked up at auctions or passed down from my father and grandfather. If tools could talk, I am sure they would have some interesting stories to tell. Maybe they helped repair the priceless dining room table at grandma’s house or were part of a mad Christmas Eve frenzy to finish putting the toys together.

   Some of the hand tools are true pieces of art. The crafted wooden handles and the delicate etchings on some the saw blade represent fine craftsmanship. . The handle on the crosscut saw is well worn and fits comfortably in my hand. Who knows the number of boards its teeth have cut?

   There is a well used screw driver, bent near the tip. Its handle is smooth to the touch from many turns I am sure. And although well used and a bit battered, the wooden handle remains rich in color from sweat and toil.

   My father must have really liked pliers. In his old tool box were at least a dozen pair ranging in size from very small to a pair that almost requires two hands to hold.. Pliers can be a very handy tool, not only for gripping things but also for scaring little children when a tooth is about to fall out.

   The true measure of a craftsman might rest with the quality of the chisels. From flat and narrow to curved and beveled, each has its own sleeve in the leather case. The ties to hold the case secure are long gone, but the faded initials of my grandfather are still visible.

   Anyone who has a tool bench knows you can’t have just one hammer. Now I know there are new hammers that are used by carpenters that can be quite expensive. But no metal handles here; just claw hammers of different sizes and shapes. There is a very small hammer that I remember as part of the “junk drawer” in my grandmother’s kitchen. I wonder if she ever used it on my grandfather.

   Part of my hammer collection includes a ball peen hammer. To this day, I still am not sure of its purpose, but it is fun to say. All I know is that it works nicely when removing glass from old window frames.

   With my current collection of power tools are my hand tools. But I hope that in fifty years from now my grandchildren will be looking at the old hand tools, wondering what they were used for or who used them. There truly is something fascinating about them.

Almost as bad and scary as a junk drawer, or maybe worse...

   Several years ago I wrote a blog about 'junk drawers', places we have in our homes where we put stuff, things we don't use any more but also don't want to throw away for whatever reason. Often my reason for not throwing something away is very simple. Who knows when I may need an extra 'this' or a 'red or blue that'. And over the years, as in my case, the draw fills up and every once and a while, say 8-10 years, it's time to clean it out and start again.

   In recently had a 'junk drawer' experience, but with a bit of a twist. Actually it was a somewhat scary twist because I didn't know what I might find or in this case, what someone else might find.

   A few weeks ago I bought a new car. More correct, a newer car. It was in good condition, low mileage, a nice color and appeared to be well maintained. I usually don't buy brand new cars any more. The depreciation one suffers after driving out of the showroom can be a bear. I'll let someone else take the hit.

   To make a long story short, I didn't have the opportunity to clean out all the storage areas of the car I was trading in, so... one of the service people at the auto dealer said he would do it for me.

   Jokingly I said to him...”If you find that $100 bill I dropped under the seat, I'll split it with you.” He laughed. I laughed. And then... fear gripped my body. What would he find tuck away in all those little storage compartment, the glove box, the consoles between the seats, under the seats, in the trunk and oh yes, those catch all areas on each of the doors.   Did you know there are four of those? Lots of space.

   Now don't get me wrong. I usually try to keep my vehicles clean, both inside and out. You won't find coffee cups or soda cans rolling around the floor. I have one of those little trash containers on the floor to collect the Dunkin Donuts napkins and bags. But, like the 'junk drawer' at home, things sometimes will find their way into the console along with the extra CD’s or the glove box or stuffed in the corner of the trunk.

   But what was really scary in this case was that someone else was going to clean out the car, a car that contained “my stuff.” What would he think. Those items in the car, were they a reflection of the type of person I was, how neat or messy I was? Was there anything really important tucked away in the glove box or under the seat?

   (For those reading this who do not know what a glove box is, it's a storage compartment traditionally in the dashboard on the passenger side. I can actually remember my grandmother putting her gloves in the glove box before leaving the garage. She always carried a pair of white gloves with her. Yes. A different time and different generation.)

   Yesterday Chris finally called from the car dealership. He had finished cleaning out the car and I could come over to pick up the two boxes of items I had left in the car. Two boxes.? That much?

   Needless to say, I did not delay and rushed right over, if for no other reason than curiosity. What had he actually found?

   There was the car registration, the insurance card, the E Z Pass, a pretty significant number of CD's, 6 very stale granola bars, all kinds of chewing gum, several key chains, and several of those small packages of tissues, most opened and half used.

   There were probably a dozen or so pens and pencils, a couple dozen business cards, pads of paper, three travel blankets, the pet seat cover for the back seat for Lucky, two ice scrappers, and several umbrellas. I think you get the picture.

   There was about $4 dollars worth of change. But much to Chris' disappointment, no $100 dollar bill!

   There were no year old sandwiches or half eaten hamburgers, moldy cupcakes, beer cans, bloody shirts or weapon. Bloody shirts? Weapons? Yes. According to Chris, I might be surprised by what people leave in their trade-ins. Knives appear to the weapon of choice.

   As I began sorting through the boxes, for reassurance Chris told me the things in my car were pretty normal. Thank goodness. In this case, normal is OK with me.

   With two full boxes and a couple of blankets, should I have car trouble in the middle of winter, it was a good time to start fresh, so with the exception of the CD's, some of the chewing gum, a flash light, a few pens and the one umbrella that worked, the rest of the items got tossed in the trash can. How many half opened packages of Kleenex does one really need.

   But before I left the car dealership, Chris reminded me that in my new car there was additional storage space under the rear cargo area, just in case I needed some extra room.    He laughed. I said “thanks” and off I went to enjoy my new ride.

Now I am sure it was my imagination, but the car seemed lighter than the other one. But then again why wouldn't it. I had just cleaned out all the “junk drawers.”

                                                    ***************

Addendum…..I wrote this several years ago. But full and far disclosure now. I recently just purchased a brand new car. Yes, a new car with less than 200 miles. I did not trade in an older car. I sold the old  one at the end of my driveway. The person that purchased it stopped by a day or two later with two bags, bags of things she had discovered in the car in the glove compartment and the the other storage areas.

“There is no use in crying over spilled milk.”

   The young boy has just spilled his can of soda on the floor and like many his age, he began to cry. His mother tried to console him by saying...”There's no use in crying over spilled milk.”

   “But is wasn't milk, Mom,” he sobbed . “It was soda!”

   Many of life's little lesson are taught through the use of idioms, brief statements, often with distant historical background and meaning. While most languages are rich with idioms, the English language seems to have more than its share, perhaps because many English words lack the color, richness and romance of words found in other languages. I have heard that there are at least 100 different ways to say “I love you” in Italian, but in English...

   Idioms often come from strange and unusual sources, the Bible, ancient fairy tales, folklore, different regions of a country or the world and are influenced by the local culture and tradition. The southern part of the United States has some real 'classics.'

   Many of the present day idioms date back hundreds and even thousands of years, and while experts may not always agree on who, where or when, what they do seem to agree upon is that the 'saying' can often be confusing when it comes to their intended meaning and significance and their 21^st century use.

   For example, “Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears!” This expression is said to come from one of Shakespeare’s plays. Now I am sure that someone was not going to lend an ear as you might lend your neighbor a hammer, but over the years, the saying and expression caught on and is often used by many of today's political leaders... 'to get the public's attention!” Well, that may be pushing a point.

   When I asked a friend how he were feeling, he replied that he had recently “been under the weather' but was now feeling a bit better. With the weather being what it has been this winter, being under it may or may not be a bad thing if it meant avoiding it, but I suspect that was not the original intent. Believe it or not, the “under the weather” expression dates back to the early 1800's and is attributed to people becoming sea sick while sailing in stormy weather on the Mississippi River. Who knew?

   Often, after working on a project for a long time and not seeing success, I have felt like 'throwing in the towel.' Would you believe the origin of 'towel throwing' dates back to the early 1800's and boxing rings in Great Britain? I give up! Some of these idioms come from very unique places.

   Getting the facts about an issue is important. Getting the correct facts and truth is even more important. If you want to make sure that what you are being told is true, you might want to “get it directly from the horse's mouth,” especially if, for example, you are in the process of signing up for something important, like the new healthcare plan.

   So you are buying a horse and want to know its real age. Horse traders know to check the size and shape of the teeth to determine the horse's age...thus the notion of 'straight from the horse's mouth'. And purchasing health care? Try getting the facts about the new healthcare plans directly from a 'horse's …...'.

   Justin Bieber has been in the news a great deal lately. I am not sure how much talent he has or who may be advising him regarding an appropriate life style, but being a 'young man' with money to burn and a great deal of notoriety right now, he certainly is 'sowing his wild oats', wasting his time and money on reckless activities and life styles. My guess is that 'sowing wild oats' has been around a long time and a tradition with young men...as its origin dates back as early as 190 B.C. in Greece and Rome. Oh those young and foolish hooligans. When will they never learn?

   There are many idioms with origins coming from the Bible. “Seeing eye to eye” has several Biblical references, implying that different people, looking at the same thing may or may not have the same view or be in similar agreement.

   Putting your best foot forward to make a positive impression, putting your foot down to make a point, or being willing to support what you believe by putting your money where your mouth is have all become part of what makes our language rich in meaning and yet so confusing to those not familiar with it. Can you imagine the image of a person with ten $20. bills stuck in his or her mouth! And a number of idioms make reference to body parts? Why is that

   Without 'going too far out on a limb', idioms have become part of the way we communicate our thoughts and ideas, even if the original meaning of the words has changed over the years. It will be interesting to look back 50 years from now and see what new idioms we may have added to the list. Let's “stick it to them.”

The Value of A Handshake

              The recent outbreak of the flu has caused us to change our behavior. We are being discouraged from shaking hands for fear of spreading the illness. And if we do shake hands, the use of a hand sanitizer is strongly encouraged. This comes at a time of the year when shaking hands is part of the ritual at graduations and other events across the country. We watch as the world leaders and dignitaries shake hands to illustrate peace and good will among their nations. How many international conflicts have ended on the power of a handshake?

          But perhaps shaking hands is losing some of its true meaning. A handshake used to be as solid as a man or woman’s word. I remember moving to Maine and purchasing our first home. It was a private sale with no real estate agent involved. At the conclusion of the discussion my wife and I offered to have an attorney draw up a sales agreement. Being from away, that’s the way things were done.  The owner seemed somewhat offended by our offer and suggested we ‘shake on it’, our handshake being as binding as any piece of paper. “That’s the way my grandfather and father had done things and if it was good enough for them, it was good enough for me”, he said.  My handshake as strong as my word. What a novel concept.

          Shortly after purchasing the home, we began looking for a vehicle, something that would be more efficient in the Maine winter. We found one and much to our surprise the transaction was very similar to that of purchasing the home. With a simple handshake, the deal was done. No paperwork, just our word that we would return shortly with the money and the car would be ready to go.

          When you stop to think about the handshake, there are actually two parts to it. The first is the physical contact of grasping the hand. But the second part is the eye contact. The handshake has little or no meaning without the eye contact. We have often heard the expression that the eyes are the window to the soul. How many times have we shaken a person’s hand and looked to the ground or up the sky. The eyes often serve as a true reflection of the sincerity of the handshake and without the eye contact one might question the honesty of it at all.

          I know that over the years I have been part of hundreds of handshakes but probably none more important than the one involving the purchase of the home. It was my first real welcome to Maine and a lesson to a different way of doing business. The flu will pass and we will soon be able to return to the time honored tradition of shaking hands with less fear of spreading the illness, because if we don’t, perhaps we will be spreading a totally new kind of disease.