In Maine.. of all places!

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I live in Maine. Land of lobster. We catch it, we cook it, we eat it and we promote it to draw tourists into our glorious state. A good portion of our economy is based on that (delicious with melted butter) bottom dwelling crustacean.

So really, the least we can do?

Is spell it correctly…

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Lobester.

I cringe every single time we drive by this farm stand/market and read their horrible sign. I shake my head, I roll my eyes, and I sputter.

It’s been that way forever… and it takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to grab a can of paint and drive an hour and a half back to fix it.

Lobester. In Maine.

WTF!

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Antiquing in Brewer… continued.

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While my husband doesn’t like those crafty, shabby chic types of antique stores… he does love the kind I hate.

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The ones with massive piles of disorganized, rusted and abandoned crap that are more suited to a trash pile.

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Veritable junk yards is what they are… kitchen sink and bathroom tub included.

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But he happily pokes around, just knowing there’s a buried treasure there somewhere.

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Thankfully he didn’t find any here.

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Though he did give that industrial bread rack a hard look.

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Let’s play.

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It won’t strain your brain, I promise.

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I love how’s there’s nothing unequivocal here. When, not if. Yay for me.

What will I never stop eating?

I won’t say burgers…. because there will always be wagyu beef.

I won’t say pizza… because there will always be artisanal pies with truffles.

So I’ll go with one of my guilty, rarely admitted pleasures.

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I confess, I’m all about the San Francisco treat. When the husband is away or eating elsewhere? I’ve been known to simmer up a package and eat the whole thing in one sitting.

But I do add freshly steamed broccoli, I’m not a heathen.

How about you… What aren’t you giving up after your bank account expands?

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Antiquing in the Brewer area.

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I can always tell when my husband isn’t going to like an antique store.

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You know the type…. filled with shabby chic and crafty things. He cruises through those stores quickly and rarely enjoys himself,

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Until he turned a corner in this one and saw the shredded wheat crate he’d just purchased for $25…

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(Yes, he collects wooden yard sticks. Don’t ask.) ….was selling for $125.

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Then? He was a fan.

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And chuckled at a few things.

Especially the creative way the owners of this old schoolhouse decided to deal with their roof leak.

New shingles? Not exactly.

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Indoor guttering.

Odd… but you have to admit, it is interesting.

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Antiquing in Bangor.

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* warning – photo of taxidermied deer to follow *

The search for vintage beer or whisky crates continues…

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And it’s not going well. Crates abound, but none of them are alcohol related… so boo to that.

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If these weren’t so expensive I might have grabbed them. Bound to be interesting reading.

And because you never know what you’ll find at antique stores?

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A bag of ducks.

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I’ve seen this type of taxidermy before and it always stupefies me. Did they only kill the front half?

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By all means, feed them. And do it immediately… before they suck out your soul while you sleep.

**shivers**

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I tried to talk the husband into buying this antique incubation table but he was having none of it. I know he won’t let me have chickens, but it would have been great for keeping hors d’oeuvres warm in the man cave.

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I examined this booklet and found absolutely nothing new.

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Hutch made of tree bark? Um… no. Lord Dudley would be climbing it on a daily basis.

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I have no explanation for this whatsoever.

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The finished product.

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After endless days of sanding, cleaning, oiling, staining and upholstery updates…

Voila.

Without the leaves –

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And with.

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The free on the side of the road table and chairs was ready for sale.

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The husband decided $250 was a reasonable price and within 15 minutes of listing it on Facebook marketplace three women messaged me. One wanted to cut the table 3 inches on each side because it was too wide, one wanted a conference table but said it was too narrow, and the third woman? Said she was on her way to pick it up, cash in hand.

And she did. Bye bye table and chairs.

At this point I’m not sure whether that was good news or bad. There’s no telling what my husband will come home with now.

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News you can’t use.

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And if you can use it? I’m sorry.

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I haven’t read it, nor do I have any intention of reading it, but damn. That doesn’t sound pleasant.

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Duly noted.

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I never understand people who linger there to read or play with their devices. I adore reading… but there are more comfortable seats in the house.

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That was one busy trio.

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Yes, you read that correctly.

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I’m proud to say my liquor consumption did not waver during the pandemic… and rest assured, I continue to do my part to shore up America’s potent potable economy.

😉

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Grunt … part 4.

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Continuing in the most ridiculous stories of warfare vein, let’s talk about stink.

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Stink bombs. Not just for 3rd graders anymore…

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Can you imagine being the researchers on this project? I wouldn’t want their dry cleaning bill.

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3 percent of white people wanted vomit perfume? I believe I’ve walked past a few of them at Wal Mart….

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Vomit snacks? I’m quite certain I’ve never been that hungry.

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Damariscotta Lake

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We ducked into Damariscotta Lake State Park recently for a quick picnic lunch. It was on the way to the motorcycle repair shop and we were hungry.

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Take out Italians always taste better by a body of water.

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Being after Labor Day we had the place pretty much to ourselves which was sweet.

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Bye bye tourists.

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I know we need your money, but it really is much nicer without you.

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