Music at the Museum

Sail, Power and Steam Museum

 

September 27, 7:30 pm

Seats $15

Living in the Rainbow Village

Recent events and recent media articles have caused me to stop and reevaluate my own racial feelings, possible discrimination on my part, and how my racial education over the years has given me a different view of our world and the people we live with day to day.

I think it was Jesse Jackson in the days of the African-American struggles of the 60s who dreamed of a country, and even a world, where we could live side by side like all the colors of the rainbow. I believe he meant not just black, white, Asian; but also all the religious and ethnic backgrounds that may separate us one from the other.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. reiterated the same feelings in his “I Had a Dream” speech. We celebrated the 50^th anniversary of that speech this year. The dream has yet to fully come true.

In fact, what most people don’t remember is that his mother, Alberta Williams King, was herself killed while playing the organ at Ebenezer Baptist Church in Atlanta in 1974, just six years after her son, Martin, Jr. was assassinated.

Her killer, Marcus Wayne Chenault Jr. was from a middle-class black family in Dayton, Ohio. He had just been welcomed to the morning service, when he stood up in the front pew, drew two pistols, and started firing.

Sound familiar? When will the killing end?

Another fact non-Atlantans don’t know is that even though Coretta Scott King, wife of Martin, Jr., continued to live in Atlanta, running the King Center and staying true to the cause, she would not give out her address to anyone. She, unlike Jackie Kennedy, did not leave the country, but chose to stay and fight for her husband’s dream. I used to see her through the window of one of the small studios at the old CNN headquarters on Techwood Drive in Atlanta when I worked there. She did a weekly show, presumably to further the cause.

I have visited the King Center, Ebenezer Baptist Church and the family home down on Auburn Avenue. The house is an historical site and is lovingly cared for by National Park Rangers. Stepping into the church was like stepping back in time as I looked to the front and saw the familiar setting so often seen on TV in the 60s.

It’s ironic that the ultimate symbol of freedom and equal rights that sits in New York Harbor, the Statue of Liberty, does not always live up to the poem of hope by Emma Lazarus:

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses, yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore,
Send these, the homeless, tempest tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.

My Ethnic Education

As far as my ethnic education goes I must say that growing up I heard not just a few slurs against the Jewish folks in our midst. It’s true; we didn’t always treat our Jewish citizens in a nice way. My Jewish religious and ethnical knowledge increased drastically, however, when I took a job at the Atlanta Jewish Community Center in Atlanta. I wrote a story about that experience which I posted here in January of 2012. See the archives. The greatest thing I learned in that eight-year experience is the quote I used from Deuteronomy 5:14:

You shall treat the stranger as one born among you.

You shall love the stranger as yourself.

For you were strangers in the land of Egypt.

I was the stranger in this case and I was never treated with anything but respect while I worked at the AJCC. During my tenure there I was also fortunate enough to hear some of the stories of the Holocaust victims. It forever changed my feelings for those of the Jewish faith.

My African-American Friends

I never laid eyes on a black person, except for the occasional worker at the Samoset in the summer, until I journeyed to Washington, D.C. with the Drum Corps to march in the second inauguration of President Eisenhower. I remember seeing them from the window of the bus as we came into D.C. I actually remember someone close to me saying a remarkable thing: “I wonder if the women have periods like we do?” Can you imagine how ignorant we were as teenagers in the 50s?

As we were growing up in Maine, the only image we had of black people or “Negroes” as we called them, was what we saw on the movie screen. At that time you never saw a black person depicted as anything by a maid or a janitor or other such low-paying job. They were either lazy, ignorant, or the good-natured shuffling slave character or all of the above. Over the years that followed and my move to the big cities of Hartford and later Atlanta, my views of African-Americans has changed.

I have met many very intelligent and professional black people. Some were my boss at one time or another. I think fondly of the black people I worked with. I miss seeing them on a daily basis, Bernetta, Shavonda, Sharyea, Neferre, Bilal, and many others. I see some of them on Facebook though.

As I understand it from a recent story in the Courier, there are now more black families living in Knox County than there used to be. Hopefully as they interact with the rest of the folks up there, a lot of these misconceptions will disappear.

My Racial Makeup in Six Words

In a recent edition of the AARP Magazine, one writer did some research about racial feelings in America. She asked people to describe their racial experience in six words. I thought about that and came up with the six words that were probably the most embarrassing of my life, “My, you have a good tan.”

Those words were spoken by my great-aunt in the mid 60s who lived all her life over on Dutch Neck. Before I brought my good friend, Beryl, who was a light-skinned black, home to visit, she probably had never seen a black person in her life and she was up in age by that time. I stumbled over an apology to Beryl later on and she assured me I need not worry about it, but boy was it embarrassing at the time.

It made me think about what Beryl must sometimes have to put up with though. She was from New Orleans. Her parents were both doctors. Her father a medical doctor; her mother a Doctor of Social Work. Beryl had a beautiful singing voice and later followed in her mother’s footsteps and obtained a Doctorate in Social Work. She ended up working at Yale University Hospital in New Haven, Connecticut. I hooked up with her a few times when I lived in Connecticut.

During the late 60s, after we were out of school, she was involved in the racial demonstrations in New Orleans at the time and ended up in jail with many of her friends more than once. She moved back to New Orleans later on and I only heard from her through Christmas cards. A few years ago, I got a note from her cousin down there informing me that Beryl had died from complications of heart disease. I knew she had been sick, but I was devastated to hear this news. I always wanted to be in New Orleans during Mardi Gras and experience it all with Beryl at my side. Hopefully, I’ll do it in her memory some day.

My Own Discrimination

Believe it or not there is still discrimination against “Yankees” as we are called here in the South. The Civil War or as I was told not too gently one day, “The War Between the States” is still going on. After 30 plus years of living in the South I have been accepted by a lot of friends I’ve made here. It wasn’t always so.

I made a very bad faux pas when I first came here as I asked, “Where are all the mansions.” This was in Atlanta and I was told not too gently again that “Your General Sherman burned all of them!” There are still old houses in Savannah though. Sherman left them all intact as a gift to Abe.

One day I overheard a remark made by the same Southern “lady” who corrected me on the correct name for the Civil War. She said in reference to me, “That Yankee b#$##%%%.”

The Rainbow Village

These days I live in this big complex which is mostly occupied by black folks. Never have I been treated with anything but respect by any of them. The kids always say “Yes, Maam.” The only thing I don’t like is the loud boom boxes they load into the trunks of their cars. “Turn it down, brother.”

Atlanta has been known for several years as the “city too busy to hate.” While that is mostly true (we did host the Olympics and welcomed people from all over the world), there is still some resistance to the further expansion of MARTA, the commuter train system here. There are some white folks who don’t want it to come further North into their suburban communities because it will bring the black folks with it. I think that battle is being lost, however. There is still “white flight” to be found here as people try to find a less “ethnic” community to live in. As for me, I’ll stay put until such time as I move back to Maine. I’m almost a Southerner at this point anyway.

Thanks for listening.

Sail, Power and Steam Museum

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

September 21, 7:30 pm

Seats $12

Best Friends--Good Friends

          

Class of '59 friends at a monthly breakfast

 at the Brown Cow in 2012

 Front to back: Violet Karl, Faye Malloy, Lynda Goodnow

 and Dottie Childs (forgot Lynda and Dottie's married names)

 

 

 

 

A good part of the happy memories you have in life come as the result of the friends you have around you; or the friends you meet along the way. You have best friends and good friends and the line between the two is often blurred. I’m not going to label the friends I talk about here as a best friend or good friend. Both were always good friends to me. As Iggie says in “Fried Green Tomatoes” which I watched on TV yesterday for the thousandth time, The best thing you can have in life is good friends.”

 

The situation you find yourself in during your lifetime often dictates what good friend you have at the time. I have a best friend in Connecticut as well as a best friend in the work situations or school situations I’ve found myself in.

 

Let’s begin with the South End. I had girl friends as well as boy friends for playmates growing up in the South End. I remember Janie Ames, Dotty Childs, Janet Rackliff, and Madeline Post as the girls who lived closest to me on Mcloud Street and who I hung around with the most. It depended on who was available to play with. I also wandered over to Linden Street through connecting back yards to check out what Bobby Lord or Donnie Pomroy was doing.

My very good friend, Rose Ann Small moved into the neighborhood, down on the lower end of Fulton Street, when we were pre-teens. We lived on the upper end. Her mother and mine became good friends as did Rose Ann and I. I never would have passed bookkeeping in high school if I hadn’t copied her workbook and her balance sheet. They say you won’t know how to do something later in life if you copy someone else’s work. Very true. I will never be a bookkeeper. I couldn’t even balance a checkbook if my life depended on it. Somehow I muddle through though.

Rose Ann and I danced the afternoons away as we hurried home to watch Bandstand on T.V. She and I also worked out tap dance routines to perform at school. Along with Deanna Allard and Dotty, we had a lot of good laughs down at Rose Ann’s house.

The Rockland High School Class of 1959 (yes, the Lincoln Street School); have always been close. I count many of them among my lifelong friends.

The rotary memories when we packed the old DeSoto with giggling girls and “bombed the rotary” are among some of the best memories I have. At any given time there would be Sandra Sleeper, Violet Carr, Pat Graves, Patty Burch, or JoAnne Knowlton. All of whom I count among my good friends today. Some of the younger sisters like Reenie Sleeper and Marion Knowlton tried to get a seat in the DeSoto, but we rarely let them come with us. My younger sister, Sally, wouldn’t even deem to ask. I think we were too afraid they’d tattle on us or something if we got too rowdy up on Main Street. We lost Marion in a car accident, unfortunately.

Along with this group of friends in high school I also had friends in the band, on the girls basketball team, in girl scouts and in the drum corps. Once in a while a picture will come to light of one of those groups which always brings a smile to my face as well as a lot of good memories.

The friends you meet later on in your life are sometimes hard to keep in contact with. You know they were really good friends when one of them attempts to reunite with you. I’ve had that experience in the past few years with an old college roommate down in Machiasport, Sandra Prescott and Lucy Valiante, who became a roommate after college and whose wedding I was in. I’ve written about both of them in this blog.

I would like to get in contact with another college roommate, Diane Longstaff, who was a dorm mate my senior year. She and her husband moved to Alaska to teach and I corresponded with her for a long time. I’ve heard that her husband, who was a class above us in the same college, has passed away. I certainly hope that’s not true.

In another school I attended I became good friends with a girl from Belfast, Betty Ann Cobb. I also was friends with a girl from New Orleans, Beryl Segre, who I reconnected with when I lived in Connecticut and she was working at Yale University Hospital down in New Haven. Beryl had a beautiful singing voice and was also a pianist. We spent many nights standing behind her at the piano and harmonizing our favorite popular tunes. Her cousin sent me a note several years ago to inform me that Beryl had died from heart failure. I was very sorry to hear that.

Betty Ann introduced me to the sport of curling up at the Belfast Curling Club. Her folks were Scottish, from Canada, and used the club as a social meeting place as well as a place to play the game. I tried it one day and wasn’t very good at throwing the stone, but I was a pretty darn good sweeper. They used real brooms then. As far as I know the club still exists and I hope to reconnect with the sport later on. Maybe I’ll run into Betty Ann. We sure had some good times running around Belfast.

I had a wonderful experience one summer when I attended summer school at Gorham State, now part of the UofM. I met up with three girls who became quite good friends which extended beyond our brief time together at the school. Nancy, Newk (Shirley Newcomb), Bonnie, and I partied hard that summer. I don’t know how we ever got through exams but we did.

We took turns going to each other’s houses to visit. If I’d never met these girls I probably would never have learned about these parts of Maine which I had never visited at that point.

One week we went to Bonnie’s family’s beach house down in Biddiford Pool. The house was huge and sat almost on the beach itself. The family was quite well off I think and they belonged to a summer “beach club” which we all took advantage of. The most I remember of that weekend was Newk, who had a couple too many beers and ended up walking through some rose bushes in her bare feet and legs. We spent the rest of that night walking her through the salt water to try to heal up her wounds and then later pulling the rose thorns out of her legs. Ouch!

We also went to Newk’s family home which sat on a lake in Norway, Maine. Another good time.

Next I think was my house for the Lobster Festival. We all camped out in my parent’s vacant apartment which was attached to the main house on Fulton Street. Newk at that time had a boyfriend at Maine Maritime and arranged for all of us to have dates with a Maine Maritime boy. The guys were all camped out in a loft somewhere nearby. That was one fun weekend.

I also got to experience Presque Isle and Aroostook County for the first time when we all went up to Nancy’s house for a weekend. I remember we ate venison while we were there. The first time I’d ever eaten deer meat. I wrote a snow story about a later visit I had to Nan’s house which I posted here.

 

 

 

The Gorham Girls of Summer left front, Nan, Newk.

Other side top down, me with the glasses, Bonnie,

and all the boys from the Maine Maritime Academy. Circa 1963.

 

 

It’s not possible to write about every friend I’ve met in my life so far, so I’ll just name a few more briefly. In Connecticut: Iris Mirles, my camping buddy; Steffie Nelson, a fellow proofreader at the Hartford Courant; Ann, also a HC proofreader who moved to NYC and who I swapped apartments with so she could visit her boyfriend in Hartford and I could explore the West Village in New York. Steffie was a former teacher who had retired. We sat side by side and tried to use big words no one would understand and make up words or mispronounce words to boot. It was great fun. I also met many friends while I attended Fairfield University and did some grad work at the YWCA in Meriden; and our good friend and neighbor in the trailer park in Meriden, Barb Hamilton, who always invited us to breakfast of a Sunday morning. She had two boys named Scott and Todd and her husband’s name was George.

One summer, Iris and I camped out over at Sandy Shores. We set up a flimsy nylon tent in “iffy” ground. We weren’t sure it would hold. Come the middle of the night and a downpour, causing the tent to collapse. We grabbed our sleeping bags and ran for her Volkswagen Beetle and turning on the radio, we discovered that Elvis had died. We spent the rest of the night listening to Elvis music.

I have many friends on Facebook who I’ve never met. Here’s a shout out to these friends who I hope to meet some day: Ruth Wade, Scout Tisone, Becky Brobst, Robin Robinson, Deborah Szmauz, Janet Bennett, Raymond Harrington, Laurel Pierce, Mary Madison, Susan Groder, Susan Kelly, Jill Bean, Norma Lande, Jane Karker, Danielle Burgess, Pat Wentworth, Randall Achorn, Dorothy Burns, and Shirley Main.

Here in Georgia are many more friends, not the least of which is Dian and Debbie who graciously allowed Nanci and I and the cats to live with them for six weeks until we could get relocated after the flood.

It is my dream to someday arrange an event where all the friends I’ve met in my life could convene all at the same time.  I would be the only one there who knew everybody, at least if I could recognize them at this age. Wouldn’t that be something? But that’s another story.

Hang on to your friends. Keep them close. Try not to lose touch. Above all, keep the memories alive in your mind or by writing it all down like I’ve done here.

Thanks for listening.

Sail, Power and Steam Museum

 

FREE Lecture

 

Sept. 20, 7 PM

 

No Macs for Me

From Wikipedia

It’s almost time for apple picking and homemade cider up north. I always visited my favorite cider stand up in Connecticut during this time of year. Some grove owners will let you go in and pick your own apples.

I have a problem however. I cannot find a good eating Mcintosh apple here in Georgia. I prefer Macs for eating as I find all other types of apples to be too bland or too mushy or just too hard to chew.

I used to be able to find them once in a while in my grocery store, but not in the last year or so. I don’t know why that is. Maybe I should ask them. I suppose if I went up to Whole Foods or Whole Paycheck as we call it, I might find one decent enough to eat, but I’d leave all my money there at the same time by picking up other stuff I don’t think I can live without.

Anyway, I still have good memories of some good eating Macs and can’t wait till I can renew that memory for real. Funny thing, though. My Dad couldn’t stand the smell of an apple once you bit into it. I think it was because there was an apple orchard on the farm where he lived as a youth and he remembers the smell of rotting apples on the ground.  I suspect that he probably was made into an apple picker during the season also. So if we bit into a good Mac inside the house and he was home, we had to take the core and put it into the outside garbage barrel when we were done.

Green apples

What did your mother tell you would happen to you if you continued to eat green apples? Worms, right? Did any of you ever get worms from eating them? I bet not. Besides Mcintosh apples, we kids used to like to raid the nearest tree that still had green apples on them. They were usually small and easy for us to put into a pocket to eat later on. It was an easy snack and one we didn’t have to beg our mother to buy for us. Later on, as teenagers, we used to load up the old DeSoto with them on a Friday night; then head for the rotary and throw them at the cars of any boys we came across. It was a great game. That was the closest we ever came to being the dreaded Juvenile Delinquents everyone was warned about.

The Fulton Street House Tree

We had an apple tree at the Fulton Street house. They were small apples of an unknown variety and they were often wormy. However, if you peeled enough of them and made sure there were no worms left, they made one terrific pie. Once anyone ate a slice of one of my mother’s apple pies (with home-made crust by the way), everyone wanted to know what kind of apples she’d used. She then invited them to go out and gather up a bag of them for themselves, which they often did. In fact, they would sometimes make a special trip to come visit just so they could replenish their supply.

I don’t think that tree is there anymore. Evidently, the legend of the magic apple tree didn’t get passed down to all the successive owners of the house. We sure missed those apples when we left.

Another strange thing about my Dad’s dislike of apples. He sure would eat any apple pie my mother made. I guess the smell of cinnamon and sugar on the slices cancelled out the bad smell he remembered. Sometimes he’d put a chunk of cheddar cheese on top.

The Other Mcintosh

In case the computer fairy is listening and wants to grant me a wish, I could use one of the Mcintosh variety. I’d have to retrain myself in order to get good use out of it, but it sure would make it easier to put this blog together. Glenda, are you listening?

Thanks to all of you for listening to my apple story today.

Fall Foliage and Horse Chestnut Trees

If you are looking for information about fall foliage in Maine and New England please go to these sites: www.mainefoliage.com; from the weather channel, www.weather.com/activities/driving/fallfoliage/; or www.yankeefoliage.com/slides (Yankee Magazine)

All of these sites have up-to-date maps of the foliage season. Also see my story in the archives “Maine’s Fall Foliage Tour Season.”

Gardiner, Maine, by Shayna Palmer

Horse Chestnut Treasures

(Please see Bill Pease's comment below to correct my facts about the Horse Chestnut Tree. Thanks, Bill. I originally could find no information about the tree so assumed it was the American Chestnut, which it's not.)

Remember our favorite tree in the fall, the Horse Chestnut Tree. The actual name of the species is the American Chestnut. Here are some fun facts from Wikipedia about the tree:

The American chestnut, Castanea dentata, is a large, monoecious deciduous tree of the beech family native to eastern North America. Before the species was devastated by the chestnut blight, a fungal disease, it was one of the most important forest trees throughout its range. There are now very few mature specimens of the tree within its historical range, although many small sprouts of the former live trees remain. However, there are hundreds of large (2 to 5 ft diameter) trees outside its historical range, some in areas where less virulent strains of the pathogen are more common, such as the 600 to 800 large trees in northern lower Michigan.

 

From Wikipedia

 

The South End had its share of our favorite tree. We all hoarded our share of the shiny nuts we peeled out of spiny pods. Sometimes we made play pipes out of them, or strung them into bracelets with strings. I was always sorry they weren’t edible. I’m sure some of the kids were fooled into tasting them and soon spat them out in disgust. It was hard for me to imagine that there really was a chestnut you could eat and that they were sold warm on the streets of New York City.

I’m not sure there are any Horse Chestnuts left up home, but for those who remember them, here’s my homage to them:

 

To a Horse Chestnut Tree

My small hands have tiny cuts from your spines

As I free your shiny treasure from within your shell.

You make me work for my reward.

Look how shiny they are, but what do I do with them?

A bitter taste assails my tongue

If I dare bite into them.

Yet I hoard your special nuts—

Show them off to my friends

As we sit in a circle amongst fall leaves

We compare and sometimes share

Our Fall treasure—

The Mighty Horse Chestnut!

By TED SYLVESTER

Matinicus Navagation Light: A Blessing

 Excerpts: A Matinicus Flashback and an Inmate Project at the Knox County Jail begins. This column was dated December 24, 1971.

“It’s a Godsend to people coming into Matinicus Harbor,” and “It’s a hell of a good light” were two descriptions of a new marine navigational light that has been installed on the breakwater at the entrance of Matinicus Harbor.

Mostly through the efforts of islander Albert Bunker, operator of the Matinicus pilot boat, the light was put up about a month ago. The flashing light is Coast Guard approved and has been seen from as far as eight miles away.

Rockland Coast Guard Station Commander Kenneth Black said that some time ago officials of the island came to him seeking to have the light installed by the Coast Guard. However with governmental red tape necessary, it was figured that it would be at least a year before approval of funds would sift down through channels. Not accustomed to standing idly by when something needs to be done, Bunker sought and received permission to install a private light on the Matinicus breakwater.

The Coast Guard assisted with technical advice and supplied some surplus materials to Bunker. The islander told us this week that he has about $115 invested but that it was worth every penny.

Technically the light stands 30 feet above the water line, has 300 candlepower. It flashes once every four seconds with the duration of the flashes four tenths of a second.

Black commented that what makes the light so effective is the complete absence of any background lights which is a hindrance in some areas. Also noted by Black was that “there are some horrible ledges out there.” He said with the navigational aid seafarers will be able to chart their way into Matinicus Harbor much more safely.

Year around fishermen on the island 20 miles at sea from here number about 35. Bunker added that during the summer months there are a good many purse seiners operating out of the harbor. Also the island is a popular haven for the yachts in the summertime. It is not unusual to see eight or 10 yachts at a time tied up in the snug harbor.

Speaking of Matinicus Harbor, we noticed an unusual sign affixed high atop a mast on the end of a dock. Hand written on a piece of cardboard it stated “That’s one.” Above the sign was some line, a pot buoy and toggle. Inquiries brought the information that a lobsterman had found that one of his lobster traps had been cut loose and he wanted to make sure that everyone knew about it.

While on the subject of signs and names we will try again to relay the name spotted painted on a punt at Owls Head last week--through a typographical error only the last six letters were printed here. Actually the name of the tiny punt is “Gluckseliegistgansebraten.” Wonder what it means?

Inmate Project

A woodworking project at the Knox County Jail has greatly improved the morale of those participating, Sheriff Carlton Thurston maintained this week.

Some of the jail trusties are making half ship’s models and mounting them on plaques. The response to the efforts of the inmates has been very favorable, Thurston said, with many made on order for Christmas gifts.

The money received for the articles will be waiting for the men who made them when they are released.

Kendall Merriam was born and raised in Rockland, Maine. He has a history degree from Gordon College in Wenham, MA and graduate studies in military and maritime history at the University of Maine at Orono and Mystic Seaport in Mystic, Conn. He also received grants to study historical research at Colonial Williamsburg and the National Archives in Washington, D.C. Merriam has been widely published, including in Katyn W Literaturze(Katyn in Literature), a Polish anthology of literary works about the WWII Katyn Forest Massacre by 120 international authors, including Czeslaw Milosz. Merriam has written more than twenty books and plays. Most of Merriam’s work has a definite muse – family, friends, and strangers – with life’s larger themes of work, love, loss and death. On April 29, 2010, Merriam was appointed Rockland, Maine’s Inaugural Poet Laureate, an honor from his hometown Merriam cherishes.

This month is the one-year anniversary of “South End Poet.” Congratulations to my good friend Kendall . I know you will continue to enjoy his poems. We are lucky to have him with us. By the way, as an extra bonus, Kendall has included his favorite recipe for brownies. Enjoy.

 ROCKLAND MAIN STREET

(For My Grandfather, Artie)

When I think of Main Street

I think of the frappe’ shops

Shoe stores

Where two of my brothers worked

People coming to town

On Saturday evenings

To shop, see a movie

And drink a frappe’ or a root beer float

My grandfather, Artie Blackman

Always had a quarter for us

In whatever hardware store he worked

But now the street has aged

Restaurants, galleries

And the boon of three bookstores

As I walk along Main Street

There are few people

I recognize from childhood

I wonder where they have gone

Many are resting

In the afterlife

To be replaced

By other beautiful women

Handsome men

People who have traveled here

To find a refuge

But in old Rockland

Many left by ship

Off to trade around the world

Or to war from which

So many did not return

Now we are glad

That people want to settle

From any part of the earth

Making a richer mix of people

Bringing a delight to the eye

And a satisfaction to the soul

A street of dreams fulfilled

Kendall  Merriam,  Home,  5/2/13  11:30 PM

                BLACK MOON

For the African Americans of Rockland

Now there are many citizens

Of Rockland, living, breathing

The salt air

Long thought to be the sole possession

Of whites

The choir director from D.C.

Aaron the chef

The young woman in dreads

To whom I gave a poem for my brother

And at a party thanked me

Jonathan’s Frost’s model

Shatema , exquisite

I think we owe them

An almost irredeemable debt

Our Gods and Goddesses

Tell us this

Giving a brilliant coin

That is free to everyone

It shines across the floor

Of this middleaged house

And shows us

The pain of the doorkeeper

I love them for their beauty

And work against the pain

I cannot love the President

For he has allowed so many

Black and white to be killed

Sometimes I weep

At this situation

And hope the black moon

Gives hope to the living and the dead

Kendall Merriam,  Home, 8/20/13  10:16 PM

Listening to a CD of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young  “So Far”

After seeing the film “The Butler”

MOONBIRD

For Kristen

Phyllis is a lovely Almond tree

I am a bear

But neither can fly

Something you do in sun

And Maine moonlight

How are you guided

By shadows or sounds

You race around mountains

Any time, any weather

With no fears

Knowing you are protected

By game wardens

You are so vital, so precious

The keeper of much wisdom

Both natural and poetic

I wonder how old you are

If you were here

As I said in “Sunbird”

At the very beginning

A woman with wings

A laughing voice so sublime

It is distilled

Finer than any water, spirits

You know how to charm

Donors of land and water

Paying only blueberries

And hawk’s breath

You are a guardian

Of a way of life

Making Maine

A Holy place, well loved

Kendall Merriam,  Home, 8/19/13  9:45  PM

Listening to almost complete silence

  

            EAGLE

            For Ezio

In the years ahead

after you have fledged

you will spread your wings

take in the world

at a glance

go to the places on earth

that most need your heart

of conscience

whether as doctor

or successful farmer

feeding the nations

now crying out in hunger

both your mother and father

will teach you

the duty, the pleasure

of serving people

making their lives

just a bit easier, more bearable

too far ahead

to contemplate

you will grow to marry

be a good husband, father

having had the lovely example

of your parents, brother

now you are starting out

in the relative cool of Maine

well blessed with

the heat of caring and honor

Kendall Merriam,  Home, 6/18/13  4:52  PM

Listening to Jimmy Cliff  “The Harder They Come”

A POEM FOR ALEXIS WRIGHT

An Apology from the Men of the World

I have women friends

Who were sexually abused

When they were children

Or teenagers

So frightening

So damaging to the soul

What you did

Is not wrong, not revenge

For what happened to you

As a child

What the judge, the prosecutors

Said about you

Was fallacious

Why they said them

I have no idea

Why they gave you 10 months

And a huge fine

Is not understandable

I think you are a good person

Suffering from the touching of men

I do not know why women

Are not defending you

If they, themselves, have been abused

Or have friends who were

A woman friend thinks

You should have a book, a movie deal

If you wanted to go through

It all again

But you may want

To go to the beach

And enjoy the redeeming sun

Kendall Merriam  at my brother’s house 6/1/13  3:33  PM

Listening to the cat eating

THE WORN DOWN TOOTH OF A MOUNTAIN

                  

                             For Phyllis

                             High blue water

                             Haze over the far islands

                             Strong breeze

                             Still enough sun

                             To keep us warm

                             Hundreds of people

                             From all the ancient countries

                             Did my cousin write from here

                             How did she carry ink and pen

                             Before the invention of ballpoints

                             Or did she visit

                             So many times

                             That the poem

                             Was in her heart

                             Long before she wrote it

                             In whatever house

                             Her mother could provide

                             I, being a man, am afraid

                             Of giant heights

                             Fear of jumping out and down

                             Phyllis climbs the tower

                             Stands gazing

                             Across God’s long handiwork

                             Penobscot Bay, Camden Harbor

                             With great joy

                             Never thinking this would be hers

   Kendall Merriam, on Mt. Battie, September 25, 2012  3:42 PM

   Listening to mountain people & the wind

A recipe to enjoy from Kendall

BROWNIES

         

These brownies were not written by Katherine Hepburn, but are certainly food for the stars.

Brownies were invented by a hotel chef during the 1893 Columbian World Exposition in Chicago. My recipe comes from an old Gourmet Magazine who claimed to have gotten it from the movie star, Katherine Hepburn.

Instructions:

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees.

Butter and flour a 91/2” X 13” glass baking pan. In a large saucepan melt 4 oz. 100% cacao unsweetened chocolate (Ghirardelli—if you can find it) and ½ pound butter (2 sticks) on low heat.

When fully melted remove from stove and add two cups white sugar, 4 eggs, 1 tsp. real vanilla.

Stir thoroughly with a rubber spatula. Add ¾ cup flour and ½ tsp. salt, stir. Add 11/2 cups walnuts (unless allergic to them), mix.

Pour all the batter into the prepared pan. Bake 40 minutes. Remove from oven wearing mitts.

Let sit overnight to firm up for cutting. Enjoy and share with friends and neighbors.

Sonny’s Sunshine Corner

This month I am still sitting among boxes. This Saturday, Nanci and I will wander up to the office again to see if we are go for moving into a cheaper apartment in this complex so that we can contact our favorite movers, “Two Men and a Truck.” I’ve packed all I can pack at this point and still continue to stay here. At this point I’m feeling like a red-headed step-child as they say here in the South. If you need me to explain that later, I will.

The men who are painting all the buildings in the complex have kept us amused this month and have terrified Butchie. He just gets settled down into his favorite chair out on the balcony and then some man appears over the railing to paint the porch and he once again runs and hides under the bed. I know he’ll be happy when his patio porch overlooks the woods in our new place. Should be a much less stressful place for him to veg out.

This month, Ted’s column features Matinicus. By the way, this month marks Kendall’s first anniversary as the “South End Poet” on this blog spot. Congratulations, my good friend. See his seven new poems plus an added treat at the end.

I don’t have any plans for specific stories yet, but I’ll think of something to entertain you with, I’m sure. If you follow my loyal reader, Randall Achorn’s advice of last month and submit a story of the South End or of Rockland you’d like to share, I’d be glad to share it with the rest of the class.

I heard from a few people this month. My good friend Bill Pease of the RHS class of ’52 commented on the Courier site about my ode to summer, “Those Last Days of Summer.” See his comments at the end of that story.

I also heard from Harriet Sleeper Miles, a cousin of my good friend Sandra Sleeper Zimmerman. We reminisced back and forth a few times. She enjoyed my “Braids and Ink Wells” story, having been a victim of such an ugly deed. She was nice enough to order my book. Thanks, Harriet. Nice to hear from you.

I also was glad to hear from Kit Harrison, a columnist for the Courier regarding some questions I had about the state of education today. She explained her four Cs to me which is needed today as much as the three Rs were in my time. Her Cs are: Communication, Collaboration, Creativity, and Critical Thinking. Good things to consider for sure.

I hope you are all supporting your local pro team, the Rock Coast Rollers. They are not just a team but are caring individuals who look for organizations to do benefits for. Kudos to all of them and for volunteering to clean up the garbage left behind by coming last in the Lobster Festival Parade. WTG girls!

Health wise I just got two, count ‘em, two cortisone shots today. One in my right knee and one in the left foot which has some tendinitis in it. Doc told me to go ride the stationery bike and come back and see him in four weeks. Let’s hope things are better by then.

Wish Nanci and I luck as we make the transition with our buddy Butch to the new apartment. One good thing, if we have the same layout as this one, we’ll know where everything goes and it shouldn’t take us long to get settled.

Butchie says as long as he has his favorite blankie on his favorite spot on the couch he guesses he can stand the mess a little bit longer. Just don’t bother me when I’m trying to sleep.

Thomaston Library News

(There may be more than one entry for the Thomaston Library throughout the month. I will edit it when the event is over and date any new entry for you.)

Intergenerational Book Club to Discuss Breakfast with Buddha

On Tuesday, September 17th, at 2:30 PM, the Thomaston Public Library's Intergenerational Book Club will discuss Breakfast with Buddha by Roland Merullo.

Otto Ringling, a New York-based editor of food books and a religious skeptic, reluctantly goes on a road trip with Volya Rinpoche, a Siberian monk. This story, narrated in the first person by Otto, describes Otto's thoughts and beliefs, his conversations with Rinpoche, and his gradual acquisition of new perspectives on the world as well as his life, as a result of Volya Rinpoche's company.

On the third Tuesday of each month, the Intergenerational Book Club, a group of men and women of all ages, comes together to share their opinions and ideas about the book selection. Extra copies of the books are purchased by the Friends of the Thomaston Public Library from the Annual Appeal funds. We thank you for your donations. All are welcome.

Joanna Hynd is pictured reading at the Children’s Festival.

 

Read Aloud Comes to Thomaston

Starting September 25^th at 3pm, the Thomaston Public Library will begin read aloud time aimed at the slightly older 8 to 12 age group. “We would like to invite families of all ages to come and listen and draw story boards of the story as we read along,” says Assistant Librarian, Joanna Hynd. The Story Hour will be kicking off with The One and Only Ivan, the most recent Newbery award winning novel. The plan is to have every Wednesday after school be a time to read more of the novel and share reviews of other novels.

 

 

Submitted by Ann Harris

Saltwater Film Society Screening of Strictly Ballroom

Thursday, September 26, 6:30 PM

 
A 1992 film directed by Baz Luhrmann, this wildly off-beat comedy is about a male dancer (played by Paul Mercurio) who refuses to follow the accepted rules of ballroom dancing and creates his own style of choreography, which infuriates the ballroom-dancing establishment.

Before he's scheduled to compete in the Pan-Pacific ballroom championships, he's forced to take up a new partner (played by Tara Morice), a beginner who initially seems without promise. With his help, she turns into an assured and wonderful dancer.

Baz Luhrmann's visual style may be too bright, gaudy, and exaggerated for some tastes, but he treats his characters with compassion, which makes Strictly Ballroom an engaging comedy.

For more information about the Saltwater Film Society, please see their website, http://www.saltwaterfilmsociety.org/.