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Our big boy was back the other day.
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He’s the son of the truly impressive 14 point buck that lived here for many years.
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Junior has a weird antler pattern this year and is standing at 9.
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Though the fact he still even has his rack in early March is bizarre.
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He currently leads a harem of 7 does and 5 youngsters. Big boy has been busy.
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Invisible exercise is my favorite kind! Yes, I did 100 sit ups and 75 squats… didn’t you see me?
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I saw this on my town’s Facebook page and must investigate further. There are emus in the vicinity? Why was I not informed!
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Traumatize children and ruin Easter in one easy step. Yikes!
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I’m not sure a photograph was an entirely necessary accompaniment to this headline, but what has been seen cannot be unseen.
You’re welcome.
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Mother Nature can’t make up her mind and we woke up to a late winter wonderland again.
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The weather report predicted a dusting, we got 8 inches.
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The rhododendrons had horns.
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The bird feeders, hats.
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Even the kissing ball Mainers leave out until April had some white frosting. Clearly spring is a long way off..
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My husband has a weakness for health food stores. Does he eat healthy? Not unless I force him, but he loves to stroll the weird item laden aisles all the same.
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Whipped cream or whipped rice? That’s a no brainer for me, but I suppose someone might buy that sorry excuse of a substitute.
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I really wanted to buy this bizarre looking fruit… But the husband balked at the price. Good grief, it’s named after a hand.
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If that isn’t worth a little extra scratch I don’t know what is.
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He’ll bitch about high prices but then go get a ridiculously small container of freshly churned peanut butter. Probably because he knows I won’t eat it.
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Worst waste of money that day? This cleverly marketed bag of dried fruit. I love kiwi, so I bought it.
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They weren’t lying, it’s ugly. And completely unpeeled. Who the hell wants to eat that!
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After a verrrrry long day at the antique mall from Hell my husband came home with relatively little in the way of treasure.
I was all for buying an antique wall phone to hang in the man cave and a vintage steamer trunk to use as a coffee table, but no. He wanted none of that.
His final purchases?
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An old wooden egg crate. Do we have egg laying chickens? No.
Moving on…
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The seven pieces of ephemera it took him two and a half hours to find.
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Did we need this classically decorated snake oil salesman’s card that claims to cure cholera?
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I think not, but we own it anyway.
Since my barn phone and steamer trunk were vetoed, I only came home with a handful of vinyl.
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Though one of my selections has a specific purpose.
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My husband went to Woodstock. The largest, greatest rock and roll event in history… he was there on day one.
For about half an hour. He walked around, didn’t like what he saw, and left. (If I had known this before we got married, it would have been a deal breaker.)
So because he turned his back on that once in a lifetime experience …. and kept me in that often cold and dark chicken barn antique mall all damned day…. I bought the original Woodstock album and will force him to listen to it. Over and over again, while I slaughter him in Scrabble.
It only seems fair.
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My neighbors are the helpful sort and with the whiplash weather we’ve been having lately, everyone’s been posting ice charts.
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Mainers love to test the ice, but knowing your limits is important.
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Very lucky indeed. He’s a gorgeous fellow.
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A tarp wrapped plywood circle in the woods. But look, it has a porch! What a deal.
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The owner lives two doors down and says Junior here goes wherever the belly rubs lead him.
❤️
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Onward… through the never ending stalls of useless crap timeless treasure we went.
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Box of 1950’s risqué playing cards?
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Check! There were two.
Vintage hi fi speakers?
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Check! Two as well.
Absurd 6 legged patriotic corner table?
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Yup. That was there as well.
Because I don’t spend nearly as much time examining the junk unique items on sale as the husband, I’m always far ahead of him in the store. So when I see an area I think might be trouble?
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Like an entire room of rust…
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I try to steer him clear. But this time he surprised me and passed by the tool stall of horrors with nary a glance. We were halfway through the store by this time and I was lulled into a false sense of security that we would exit before dark.
And then….
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He found a pile. Actually he found pile upon piles of ephemera. For the uninitiated pickers among us, an explanation.
Ephemera –
items of collectible memorabilia, typically written or printed ones, that were originally expected to have only short-term usefulness or popularity.
There were boxes stacked on boxes, files stuffed in drawers and a floor to ceiling shelf full of ABSOLUTELY nothing worth a damn. But this didn’t deter my husband, oh no. The more he looked and found nothing? The more he was sure there was something. He just knew an undiscovered copy of the constitution or Abraham Lincoln’s handwritten will was waiting to be unearthed .
I walked the entire mall three times, sat down and blogged for half an hour, chatted with other customers and read two old Life magazines. He still wasn’t done.
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I found old shoes that made my bunion hurt just looking at them.
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And World War II German mountain trooper boots I wouldn’t want to hike the Alps in…. but still, the husband wasn’t through.
After 2 hours and 38 minutes…. ( That’s how long he stood there sorting and sifting through stinky brittle old scraps of paper. Yes. I timed it. ) I pulled him away and gave him an ultimatum. He could finish browsing the store before it closed or I was taking the car and leaving him there.
Since it was a 65 mile walk home? He deserted his giant pile of vintage grocery store lists and life insurance policies and resumed browsing.
To be continued….
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Have you ever given any thought to spaghetti? It’s not my favorite dish, but the husband loves it so I have to cook it more often than I’d prefer.
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Now I can’t stop thinking about all that back and forth. Ridiculous, no?
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Lord Dudley Mountcatten was cackling up a storm the other day. And no.. my windows are not normally that dirty, but the poor cat was positively drooling.
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That little red bitch is such a tease.
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The mere mention of Baby Shark has set that awful tune playing in my head again. If they’re going to roll out another equally as terrifying ear worm? We’re all doomed.
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We had lunch at the Muddy Rudder last week..
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Why the name?
Legend has it that many years ago the tugboat Portland slowly wound its way up the nearby Cousins River. Its destination was Yarmouth, and its purpose was to provide a place for good food, drink, and hospitality. A harsh nor’easter besieged the boat at its mooring and strong winds grounded and overturned her. The restaurant is built on that site.
But wait…. as we were sipping our adult beverages something was spotted outside.
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Do you see it?
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My iPhone camera doesn’t do him justice, but that’s one very chill seal slowly floating by on a chunk of rapidly melting ice.
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Wedge salad and clam chowder later…
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He was still floating. Though he’d flipped over on his stomach and turned to face foward.
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Fried scallops and a stuffed haddock with sherry lobster cream sauce later? He was gone, and we were full. Just another average day on the Maine coast….
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In an effort to amuse my recently retired husband, I took him to the largest antique in Maine. Five full floors of crap no one needs treasure housed in an old chicken barn. Okay, there was no heat in parts of it and the lights went out twice… but my spouse will tell you that’s part of the charm.
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To say this place went on forever was an understatement. Knowing I was going to lose the spouse over the course of the afternoon I made sure he had his cell phone fully charged and within reach. Many a “I’m standing in front of the walrus tusk, next to the embalmer’s table” calls were made that day.
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When you antique shop with my husband? It’s an all day affair. Each and every ludicrous piece of crap treasure must be thoroughly examined.
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And I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say this is where ugly lamps go to die.
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Good grief. That one looks like it has a tumor.
And since this is a northern Maine antique mall?
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There was the required Wall of Death.
Not being a hunter, these displays always make me cringe. Mounting trophy heads is barbaric as far as I’m concerned. I’m sure this poor fellow agrees…
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Taxidermy.
When it goes wrong? It goes really wrong.
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The juxtaposition of this World War II gas mask with the jauntily hatted little cherub defies rational explanation, but proves you never know what will be around the next corner.
To be continued….
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River's world..... 