Life In Progress

I will not confuse my career with my life.


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Out Like a Lion

013113 snow pile & wizard melt1adj
The rain and wind have made it to Maine. The haughty Snow Wizard is melted down to a stump of its former glory. When we got a couple of inches of snow Monday night, I shoveled the deck snow onto the formerly fabulous and icy Cabin Fever Snow Pile, thinking that the snow in the tracks would protect the ice in the chutes. Against all odds, I had dreams of races this weekend. Now it looks like sulking will be my major activity.

As I took a few photos a little while ago, I heard a vivid rendition of the Wicked Witch of the West’s line run through my head: “I’m melting, melting. Oh, what a world, what a world.”

It feels so much like late March here. Late March is when Maine finally gets the legendary “in like a lion” aspect of the month. But, January — out like a lion?


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Glinda

Dramatic clouds lowered yesterday afternoon and I watched a rain shower progress toward the west in the southern sky. When I took this shot, police cars and fire engines were racing south on Rt. 202, their echoing sirens amplified by the Presumpscot River corridor. As I sat surrounded by the sounds of emergency vehicles and this dynamic vista, I sent out a prayer ‘for whom the bell tolled,’ so to speak.

Later there was a big bonus when I off-loaded my photos and saw that there were orbs in nearly every picture. Now, orbs fascinate me. Logically, I know that they are created by refracted light and camera lenses, but I love to ponder the alternatives. Plus, what about orbs in photos that aren’t taken in sunlight? Are they elemental beings or spirits of loved ones watching over us? Is Glinda, the Good Witch of the North in The Wizard of Oz approaching?

Maybe these were the results of my prayers. What do you think?


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Letting go

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Baguette dough tucked into the oven to rise, we clipped on our snow shoes and visited the goat barn for Beer:30. Along the way, I visited and documented the sad deterioration of my snow friends from this past week.

Ironically, the snow is perfect right now for sculpting. But it will be in the 50s here tomorrow, then a deluge tomorrow night. So all I can do is let go.

The turkeys can no longer walk on the crust with impunity. Watching them break through with every awkward step, I commiserate. Their generously scattered shit is being revealed rather ungraciously in the yard. Soon, they’ll be scratching in the fresh mud for cracked corn and making spectacles of themselves with their entertaining mating ritual.

And so the end of winter commences, giving way to …mud season. (You thought, maybe spring?)


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Winter is tardy.

It’s not officially winter yet, I know.

It is, however, the middle of December. And it’s 50°F outside!

Inches of rain scalded the house in the last 24 hours. What should have been a colossal snowstorm has gushed down the gutters and to the river. Such a waste. I’m actually getting the itch to ride around on the Deere, the grass is so long and green. Balmy weather like this after a cold snap brings spring peepers to mind.

The ice formations were so ethereal on Saturday. No snow on the ground, but it was cold enough for the spray from Gambo Dam along the Presumpscot River to form rime ice and water stalactites along the western bank raceway. This morning, the water was tumbling forcefully through the ledge, the ice replaced with rushing rapids.

In the breezeway, the snowshoes, boots and poles sit patiently, waiting for relevance.

For today, the practice of patience eludes me.