July 8, 2020--Trump's Fish Story

Back in Washington Trump keeps his eye on the Dow Jones average. Though it doesn't at all, he claims it is the best measure of how well the economy is faring.

Up here in Maine we keep an eye on other things. For example, the wholesale price of lobster. It is thought to indicate how well the local economy is doing.

Trump was up in Maine a couple of weeks ago, visiting a factory that manufactures swabs that are used for coronavirus testing.

Of course he refused to wear a mask and thus after he left the swabs manufactured that day had to be thrown away.

At a meeting with lobstermen there was a lot of talk about the crustacean and the sorry state of the fishing industry. In response Trump told lie after lie.

No matter the subject, he obviously is incapable of telling the truth.

With the wholesale price of lobsters hovering at record lows, Trump blamed the collapsed market on Barack Obama and Joe Biden. Conveniently ignoring the fact that he has been president for almost four years and during that time the price has been declining precipitously.

Trump bellowed, "President Obama destroyed the lobster and fishing industry in Maine. Now it's back bigger and better than anyone ever thought possible. Enjoy your lobstering and fishing. Make lots of money!"

Fact checking reveals that Maine's lobster industry reached its peak in 2016, the last year of Obama's second term with 132 million pounds caught at a value of $540 million. But during the first three years of Trump's presidency Maine's fishermen sold less that $500 million worth a year.

At the end of the day, there is no evidence that Trump stopped on the way back to Washington at a lobster pound to pick up a couple of shedders. 

May 29, 2020--Maine: From Away

This is from Jill Davenport, another good Maine friend. She is writing in response to what Mike Stevens said the other day about people "from away" returning to Maine for this virus-infected "season."


Hi Steven--

I just now read your blog and saw the picture of our Maine friend, Mike Stevens.  He lends the same sort of perspective about us summer residents as do some other friends of mine who live year-round near Pumpkin Cove.  They, too, have offered help during the two-week quarantine which we must all live through if coming from out-of-state.  

And they, as do Mike and Mary, have a friendly acceptance of us cottage dwellers and have given assurances that we are missed and welcome to return.  

Perhaps all of the caveats rolled out by the state apply to those who could be transient and careless, like the beach-goers on the southern NH beaches or the fools who crowd together in bars.  

Our Maine friends and acquaintances need us and the economic boost we bring.  Though no beaches for this girl.  

Think about Thrumcap Island in Johns Bay.  Think about Rona's honeysuckle and clematis and the pot holes in the road and then think about the sweetness of the simple life and the pleasure which this brings.  

We need Maine but Maine needs us too.  The effort to get there will be worth it.  Just ask the clematis.   

Love to you both.

Jill

April 22, 2020--Our Friend Ken Longe

We had been having coffee at the diner in Bristol, Maine with Ken Longe for the longest time before he began to show inordinate interest in our fireplace.

"You have a fireplace, don't you?" he said.

The first time he asked we didn't pay much attention. We were still sharing growing-up stories--his in Andover, Massachusetts ours in Brooklyn. Though we had been renting a place for the season in Pemaquid and had known Ken for three or four months and a friendship was emerging, there was a lot remaining to share.

"Is it a big one?" He spread his arms to indicate the fireplace's possible width. 

"That's about right," Rona said.

"And does it draw good?" Ken asked.

"Yes," I said, "We can make quite a fire."

We moved on to other subjects. Labor Day was approaching. 

"We're starting to get ready to leave," Rona said. "You know how much there is to do. Though we're just renters and since we've been here three or four months we really got settled in and now have to restore the house to the way we found it."

"It's been cold," Ken said. "Have you been comfortable?

"We have a couple of electric heaters and as I mentioned we get pretty good heat from the fireplace. It warms most of the living room. So we're OK."

"Why then don't you stay a little longer? Though you might not be able to make it all the way to Thanksgiving, it would get to be pretty cold, that would be nice. You could do fine the month of September and even October. It's my favorite time of year. The leaf-peppers show up but otherwise its real quiet. And it's interesting to watch the seasons change."

"Maybe if we come back next year," Rona said. "I wouldn't mind being here to observe that." The house was for sale and we were thinking seriously about trying to buy it.

We drifted on to other subjects. That morning might have been the one when we had our first tentative discussion about political things. It was well before there was Trump to talk about. It was more than ten years ago and Obama was president. From some earlier tentative probings we all knew we weren't on the same page about him and politics more generally. Without discussing it we knew to stay off the subject. At least for a time.

A few mornings later, at about 5:30, with the sun in pastels rising over Johns Bay, with Rona still sleeping and me reading about Abraham Lincoln and the history of slavery in the  U.S., I was startled to hear what sounded like serious thumping on the roadside porch. I thought it must be some large animal. We had seen deer on the water side of the cottage. Could it be that one was wandering around probing to see if there was anything in the vicinity good to eat. 

Or, was it an intruder? We rarely locked any of our doors even when sleeping and so the big-city boy in me tensely began to make plans to scare away or perhaps confront whoever or whatever it was. 

I debated if I should wake Rona and get her to a secure place before dealing with what was going on out there. I made enough noise putting on my pants and shoes to wake her. In an instant she too was alert and on guard. This was not what we wanted to be happening a few days before leaving and while simultaneously negotiating a potential sale price with the owner. 

If we were in some sort of danger there is no way we would be comfortable being in the house, even with the doors locked. We had enough anxiety living in New York's City. We were thinking about the possibility that Maine could be an alternative to that. With someone perhaps about to break into what would be our hideaway house, that sense of refuge was evaporating.

Rona whispered that I should back off and let the situation resolve itself. But recklessly oblivious to the danger, I ignored her, thinking I could scare away the deer or whatever by just making enough noise from inside the house.

So I stomped down the hall to where a window looks out over the front porch. Perhaps I could catch a glimpse of what was going on and raise a protective clamor. 

In the car park area there was an unfamiliar pickup truck. At least it wasn't a bear, I thought, and continued to made enough of a ruckus to be heard outside. I thought, hopefully, that would scare away the intruder. 

Rona in the meantime was moving to dial 911.

With that I saw someone, a tall, slender man in a blue windbreaker, trudging up the front steps. It was still half light and I couldn't make out who it was or what he was carrying. Though it was clearly something quite large.

It was Ken I then realized with a bundle of firewood cradled in his arms.

Relieved, I raced to the front door.

"Ken," I half-shouted, all excited and breathing again, "What are you doing? Let me help you." I saw firewood in the bed of his truck.

He waved me off. "I'm almost done," he said.

"Done with what?" I said.

He had already stacked what looked like half  a cord on the deck and neatly added those he was carrying to the pile.

"The other morning at the diner," he said, "I was asking you about why you were going back to New York so soon."

"I remember that," I said.

"Well you told me you had a big fireplace and I thought if you had enough firewood to keep things cozy you might stay longer." He said this, avoiding eye contact.

"That is incredibly generous," I finally said, "You've been so--" I didn't finish the thought.

"You can help me with the rest of the load," he said. With the two us working side-by-side we were done in five minutes.

"Can I at least get you a you cup of coffee?" I said.

By then Rona had joined us and she gestured toward the house. "I'll have some brewed in a moment."

"Better yet," he said, "Meet me later at the diner and buy me a cup," he winked, "I want to talk about that Obama fellow." 

Some months later, after completing the purchase of the house, when a few of our New York friends asked what motivated us to do so I told them this story. 

Some got it. Others, didn't. It nonetheless is the truth.

Ken Longe

March 17, 2020--George Lindberg's Straw Dog

George Lindberg, a very good friend from Maine sent me this and I thought you might like to see it--

There are a few more coronavirus cases here in Maine.  Folks hunkering down, staying at home. Schools preparing for homeschooling on line.  As you know all the kids in Maine have PCs.  Sure. But they all don’t have wi-fi at home.   

Our kids calling to shop for us and whatever else we need.  I asked for $$$ but they won’t . . .

Stores are having a run on toilet paper and paper towels.   

What?

Crazy stuff this pandemic. 

I’m wondering if all this money earmarked for coronavirus relief will eventually be tapped for wall building.  I’m surprised Honduras hasn’t been blamed for it.  

Well, stay safe down there. We’ll get through it.  Our supreme leader is at the helm.  

Oh crap!  I just realized that must be the reason for the run on toilet paper.  

November 19, 2019--Jack: It's the Senate, Stupid

"How are things in Sodom on the Hudson?" 

I heard Jack's snickering laugh. We were back in New York City and, unlike in Maine, I was enjoying not running into him.

I put the phone on speaker, set it on the end table, and went to make myself a cup of decaf. I thought I'll just listen to what he has to say and not engage him directly. It's crazy enough in the city and I didn't want to make it worse.

"I'll bet you've got MSNBC on day and night and are enjoying the impeachment reality-TVshow. I can only imagine what Rachel is saying. She must be having a  field day.''Trump did this and then he did that. Impeachment is not good enough for him. Blah, blah, blah.'" 

He ranted on, "The Dems must be drooling over the prospect of impeaching him. I bet half of you are having dreams where he's perp-walked out of the White House and, in leg irons, shipped north to New York where he'll be prosecuted and hauled before a firing squad."

Then he said, "Tell the truth, you and your New York friends are getting your jollies from the so-called hearings. By now you must be in love with Shifty Schiff running things with an iron hand, cutting the mics whenever a Republican raises a point of order or wants to have witnesses of their own. Admit it. It's a done deal, right? Wired? Nancy Pelosi's counting the days before calling for a vote. She wants to get it done before Christmas so her people can run home to their districts and tell their constituents what good boys and girls they've been.

"They must be all puffed up, convinced that the things they're uncovering is the truth about Trump's corruption though most of the testimony is second and third hand. All of it hearsay, which is not admissible. Yes, I know, this is not a conventional trial and trial rules do not apply. But one could say that what they're working on--trying to turn a president out of office--is a bigger deal than almost any trial. So shouldn't Schiff use only the most legitimate tools and processes?

"But your pals are forgetting one thing as they race ahead." I almost broke my vow of silence to ask him what that might be. But it wasn't necessary as Jack said--"It's not about the House which the Dems control, the House can only bring charges. The Senate is the ballgame. They hold the real trial if Trump is in fact impeached. And if this happens the process moves across the capitol, to the Senate, which the Republicans control and where they make all the rules. I should say, Mitch McConnell runs the show. And what do you think he'll do? Nothing that will make you feel good. It will be a full bore, all out assault on the Democrats. They'll be the ones begging for points of order. As good as you're feeling now, that's how bad you'll feel when Mitch is running the show.

"For example, don't be surprised if they subpoena the Bidens. I don't see anything constitutional getting in the way of that. Or, for that matter, Hillary. Expect to hear about her emails."

So, I thought, now Jack is seeing himself as an authority on the Constitution.

"How do you think that'll go down? I know you're thinking--though you're clearly not talking--that it was wrong for Hunter Biden to get so tangled up in the Ukraine, making tons of money, while his father was Vice President. How else would he have been qualified for a job over there that paid him $50,000 a month?

"What I'm trying to say it that it's not always good to get what you hope for. Like the impeachment of Trump. Even Nancy worried out loud about how doing that might help him get reelected. The public would feel that the Dems are wasting everyone's time and spending millions of taxpayer dollars on a goose chase."

"You know, Jack, I agree . . ."

Before I could complete my thought, Jack had already hung up.

September 17, 2019--Garlic

For dinner we planned to make an apple and chicken sausage frittata and, among other things, needed garlic.

"Let's get an organic one," Rona said. "Frittatas are best with fresh tasting ingredients."

"Then Rising Tide it is." Our local organic food shop.

It's the height of the harvest season here and the store is a veritable cornucopia of root vegetables, many varieties of squash, greens of all sorts, and a bushel basket of locally-grown garlic.

"How does this one feel to you?" Rona asked tossing it to me.

"Perfect. Voluptuous bulbs and hard as a rock. Just what one looks for."

"And smell it," Rona said, doing so herself.

"Right out of the ground," I said. "Let's get one. It will be wonderful as part of the frittata."

"Can you believe it?" Rona said. "It's $15 a pound. And this one weighs about a quarter of a pound"--she had placed it in the scale--"and could cost four dollars. A little much, don't you think, for a simple garlic?"

"Maybe it's not so simple," I said. "The good news is that we only need a few cloves."

"I know they charge a fortune for anything organic but about this I don't know. How much less flavorable will your basic supermarket garlic taste?"

"Let's find out."

"So, we went to Hannafords and checked out their garlics. They looked pretty much the same as Rising Tide's. And cost only $5.25 a pound.

"That's more like it," I said. "It appears that they're from California. And though it costs a lot more to get here than the ones locally grown, it's still much cheaper."

"This has piqued my interest," Rona said. "Let's see what they cost in Reilly's." Our local family owned and run market. So we drove to New Harbor. Their garlic was also from California and cost about the same as the supermarket's.

"One more stop," I said. "The other food market back in town that's also family run.

With time on our hands and our interest aroused, we drove back to Damariscotta to check out the garlic at a small family-run market. It was a great surprise to see theirs cost $12.50 a pound. More than two and a half times what our supermarket and local market charge.

"I wonder why," Rona asked. "Maybe they're organic. And let's see where they come from. Perhaps France?"

"No way," I said, this is not a fancy store and their carrying imported or organic garlic is unlikely.

On the box that held the garlic was a shipping label.

"Can you believe it," Rona said, "It is imported. From China."

"iPhones and T-shirts I get, but garlic from the other side of the planet? Literally, we live in a world turned upside down. And I'm sure there's nothing so special about Chinese garlic. I suspect most of it winds up in modest pizzerias all over Brooklyn."

"You have to admit," Rona said, "That they make a lot of good pizza in Brooklyn. But here's one other possibility."

"What's that?"

"They cost $12.50 a pound because Trump's put a tariff on garlic."

"If true, and he's crazy enough to have done that, forget soybeans but do worry about the fate of Italian food."

June 21, 2019--Summer

In these parts summer arrives this morning, Friday morning at 11:57.

You'd never know it from the outdoor temperature. It's 57 degrees right now and our heaters are on as they have been for at least part of every day since we've been here. Nearly two months.

Probably in a week I'll be complaining about it being too hot.

As they say in Maine, "If you don't like the weather wait ten minutes."  

I'm waiting.

May 8, 2019--Welcome Back

After 10 years in Maine we have come to know quite a few people. Some have become close friends.

Whenever we return for the long season in Bristol, we informally keep a list of who, among these wonderful people, we have seen--often casually run into in the diner or supermarket--and how long, how many days it takes to see most everyone we know.

This year we arrived on Sunday afternoon and by Tuesday morning had encountered twelve of our friends.

The first was Deb who owns and runs the diner. Among many things, she filled us in about what one of her daughters had done over the winter in a new restaurant or her own. Things were quiet, as is to be expected, but to push the bottom line and provide a community service, she served dinner Friday and Saturday nights. It was not a surprise, she is very talented, that it was welcomed and she did very well.

John was next. He came to the diner, among other things to see if we were there. He looked very well and has been busy after returning from a month in the Florida Keys at his globally-competitive steel fabrication business. He was happy to report that all in his large immediate and extended families were doing well. Especially his mother-in-law who had not been herself at the beginning of winter.

Al drifted in, also thinking he might find us. It was his birthday and he was happy to let Rona buy him a cup of coffee. She tried to treat him to a full breakfast but he had had something already and was wanting to control his eating and continue to lose weight. He looked slim and fit but wanted to keep it that way. So coffee was all he wanted, though he promised to let Rona pay for his biscuits and gravy (a dietary splurge) when he and Mary join us for breakfast on Sunday. We tend to meet them Sunday mornings for a week of catch-up news. Much of it this time I am sure, will be political as they are both politically engaged. In fact, Mary is a County Commissioner and prior to that had been Lincoln County's first female detective.

Barbara and Barrett were making their way to a booth when they spotted us and came to visit at our table. As with our other friends who we were seeing for the first time in six months they filled us in about how they have been (exceeding well) and how their children and grandchildren were faring. Again, we were happy to hear only good news. They were in for a quick bite as they had a tee time set at the local golf course. Though they have lived in Phoenix for 31 years they are as intrepid as if they were real Mainers.

We saw Phyllis and Danny as we were leaving. Always, generous, Phyllis told me she follows my writing and generally likes what I have to say. She is all graciousness and has the capacity to make me feel appreciated. She also reported that she and Bobby had had a good winter. 

Phil is quiet, perhaps a bit shy, but he did smile and wave when he noticed us as he headed toward the door. He did look exactly as we last saw him back in October, which in itself is good news.

Outside, Danny was all smiles and his dog Coco almost jumped out of the car window when he spotted Rona. She pretty much every day has a treat for him but even without one he is quite smitten by her.

Back in the car, sounding concerned, Rona said, "I wonder where Ken is. Don't you think he would have stopped by by now?"

"You know he doesn't come in every morning. I'm sure he's fine. If he wasn't I'm sure we would have known about it."

We headed to Hanniford's supermarket to begin the process of restocking the house. We needed at least one item from every aisle since when we leave in the fall we empty the house of anything that might freeze or otherwise spoil.

Before we could put anything in the shopping cart, from over by the organic vegetables, waving and smiling, were Deb and Mike. They moved from Virginia to Maine full time three years ago and last season bought a new house. We were happy to see them and eager to know how their first winter in the new place had been. Fine, they reported. They too have quickly become Mainers in spirit and vigor if not genealogy.

By the time we were finished shopping it was nearly 2:00 and we we looking forward to being back at the house and perhaps stealing a nap.

"Isn't it amazing," Rona said, "how whenever we arrive it only takes a day or two for us to see so many of our friends."

"Small town reality," I said. "I do love it."

Early the next morning, when we arrived at the diner John was already there and was holding two seats for us. He always makes us feel welcomed. We slid in across from him, but before we could even say hello, Deb the Waitress (as distinct from Deb, the Owner), who had overwintered in her mobile home in Florida, still full of boundless energy, raced to where the three of us were and in less than five minutes offered a summary of all the many things she had been involved with in Naples since we last saw her, including her work with organ donor organizations. She has boundless energy and enthusiasm for the many things with which she is involved. In earlier years, for example, she had been chief administrator for Portland's special needs children's' educational programs and is about the biggest hearted person anyone is likely to encounter.

And then Tuesday afternoon we ran into Joey, who had been a drawbridge tender and painting contractor for a number of years before meeting and marrying Jen. He was looking fit, having lost some weight over the winter and was feeling good about that. We agreed that having dinner together was long overdue and promised to do better this year than last.

As he was leaving (we were in the Dollar Store) he turned back to us and said, "I forget to mention that I ran into Ken the other and he's doing well. He knew you were back in Maine and said he'd be looking for you later this week."

March 4, 2019--My Former Maine Governor

Thanks to term limits, I thought that since Mainers had the good fortune to finally be rid of their hateful governor, Paul LePage, I would never again hear about him. At least until his obituary.

But, no, he's still making noise. This time reported in a story that appeared in the New York Daily News. Excerpts are below--

Maine’s former governor Paul LePage, who left office last month, argued the Electoral College is necessary to keep white people in power. 

“What would happen if they eliminate it? White people will not have anything to say,” Paul LePage told a WVOM radio show Tuesday when asked about abolishing the system currently used to elect presidents. “It’s only going to be the minorities that would be elected.” 

LePage, who left office Jan. 2 and now lives in Florida, said making every vote equal would give too much power to states like California, Texas and Florida, where larger numbers of nonwhite people live. 

The 70-year-old Republican served two terms as Maine’s governor and had one of the highest disapproval ratings among governor’s nationwide during his last year in office. He’s no stranger to racial controversy. 

In 2016, LePage complained “guys by the name D-Money, Smoothie, Shifty” come to Maine from New York and Connecticut to sell drugs and “half the time they impregnate a young, white girl before they leave.” 

Later that year, LePage called Latinos the “enemy” during a bizarre press conference where he tried to explain why he’d hurled homophobic remarks at a reporter. 

“The enemy right now, the overwhelming majority of people coming in are people of color or people of Hispanic origin,” he said. 

On March 1, a proposal to elect U.S presidents with a popular vote rather than doing so through the Electoral College process will be considered by the Maine legislature. 

LePage called the bill “insane” and worried that white people, who make up more than 61% of the nation’s population and have accounted for all but one of the nation’s presidents, are “gonna’ be forgotten people.”

Spending six months a year in Maine, he was my part-time governor and a major embarrassment. While residing in Florida I am sure he will continue to be welcome as he has been at Mar-a-Lago.

January 17, 2019--Dotty

Between June 2015 and now in hundreds of postings, I have struggled to understand the Trump phenomenon. 

As unlikely as his candidacy was, and how except on FOX and late night radio it was thought of as more a joke or an egotistical act of self-branding than a political force, the grinding process did reveal it had enough power to propel Trump to the White House where he sits as the nation's 45th president.

Though many of my friends and regular readers criticized me, often severely, accusing me of "normalizing" Trump rather than dismissing and deriding him outright, claiming that by taking him seriously I was contributing to legitimatizing him and his presidency. And, by doing so, I was overlooking his totalitarian, fascistic inclinations.

If we would wake up one morning with tanks in the streets and everyone in the White House wearing black shirts and jackboots, it would be because people like me were aiding and abetting his worst instincts, too casually certain he would be brought down by our mockery and constitutional system of checks and balances. We survived Charles Lindbergh and Joe McCarthy. So not to worry, they claimed I was saying. At least not too much.

I responded as over the months all the other Republican presidential candidates fell by the wayside--16, 17 of them--and Trump inexorably crept into the lead, got nominated, and, though a series of relentless one-man hate-filled rallies (Nuremberg?), defeated the inevitable candidate, Hillary Clinton. Observing this I said it was dangerous not to take Trump seriously and thereby ignore the opportunity to understand what was going on in that part of the country about which I and my friends and readers did not know enough about to take seriously.

I added, at our peril. If we don't figure out Trump's political power we will remain susceptible to him and other Trumps.

But, spending half the year in rural Maine, a part of fly-over America, I encountered many wonderful people who were enthusiastic Trump supporters and over many long breakfasts came to learn a great deal about Trump's appeal. 

Yes, much of it was fueled by fear and some of it, sadly, racism; but his appeal was also the result of his grim optimism. Many people believed that he and he alone could a restore an America where too many felt left out by professional elites who knew better than the people themselves what was good for them. For these people, and there were many, Trump alone would bring about a return to their lost America. With him as president they would no longer be looked down upon as deplorables. They would be in charge

No matter that his vision was mostly ahistorical fiction but it did tap into a stream of hope and belief. Both essential to successful presidential aspirants of all ideological persuasions. 

The differences are about what constitutes the hope--a white America or a socialist America. Then there is the belief, a powerful human propensity, belief itself, that affects us all. About this particularly we need to learn more. It above everything it drives our thinking and behavior.

That is what I was attempting to do. To learn from his followers. And to do so I needed to be genuinely inquisitive and respectful. I needed to do a lot of listening. Above all, I needed to be open to changing my views when that seemed appropriate.

This did not prove difficult as I liked my coffee companions so much. They were not defined by just their political views. And, hopefully, neither was I.

But many of my non-Maine friends found me to be a Trump enabler. I struggled with that.

Then recently, after daily revelations about Trump's felonious behavior--including the incredible speculation by the FBI, not cable news polemicists, that Trump may be an "asset" or agent of Russia's, everything changed. I no longer wanted to "learn" more about Trump and his appeal. I just wanted to see the end of him. And, as much as possible, his followers. I didn't want to discuss politics with anyone who could simply write that off as fake news.

When I saw something a Trumpian friend, Dotty, who tweeted that she didn't care that he might by a Russian operative--I was distraught. She wrote, "I don't care what he says or does He's the president we need now to assure our survival." When I saw that I thought there is no hope of reaching any understanding with someone like that--fortunately maybe only 25 percent of the population--there is nothing any longer worth learning from Dotty. But I know I have to search for a way to remain her friend.  

October 15, 2018--Male Privilege

"What was that all about?" We had just had a half dozen homemade donuts and coffee at our favorite local general store.

"I also was a little confused," Rona said, "He seemed to be talking about an incident that he probably heard about on Fox News where some guy stoped a bus and threatened the passengers."

"My hearing isn't good today," I said, "But that's what I think I heard. And then did he say they should have taken him out and shot him?"

'That's what I heard."

"Unbelievable."

"How he's a terrorist and that's how terrorists should be treated."

"That they should be taken out and shot?" Rona shrugged her shoulders and nodded.

This from an otherwise peaceful-feeling 70-year-old who sat next to us, eating his bacon and eggs at the counter.

"He said he's lived here for more than 30 years. That he grew up in upstate New York and moved when things there began to change in ways that upset him."

"Yes," Rona said, "He talked about how the thing he likes most about Maine is that very little changes. That he hates change. Including the smallest things. Like when a new owner bought the store, though he was quick to mention he liked that they kept making donuts every morning."

"I like that too," I said, wanting to move on to lighter subjects.

"He seems to live a version of the good life here and I don't understand why he's so angry about what's going on around him. And from the looks of him, including how he was dressed, he seemed to be OK financially. So I don't think it's that."

"We've been talking recently about why so many middle-aged white guys are so angry and how that's affecting our politics."

"Yes," Rona said, "I've been thinking a lot about how it's not primarily about race, but how these men feel threatened by demographics and the resulting browning of America. With their anti-immigrant views underscoring that. That is a big component of their anger, but the more I think about it the more I am concluding most of the problems these men have comes from gender issues. Their relations with women. How they used to feel empowered just because of their maleness, but in recent decades how that sense of privilege has been eroding."

"We have been talking about that and agree that a lot of the things men depended upon to feel powerful no longer operate so automatically."

"There are many things in the larger culture," Rona said, "that have been delivering the same message--that their days of dominance are over. We've been making a list of some of the things that are undermining men's sense of their place in the world. How losing the war in Vietnam, for example, was a huge blow to men who felt that just being an American, American exceptionalism assured their invulnerability. How up to then we had won every war we entered and then we were defeated by little Asians wearing sandals and black pajamas!"

"These are the guys who are prone to chant 'USA, USA' at Trump rallies. As if that restores their sense of self worth."

"The women's movement didn't help. Calls for equity in the workplace--equal pay for equal work--in family life and the bedroom (there was the pill) deeply threatened so many men."

"How many people do we know, how many men do we know, including some in our families who found themselves with women supervisors and how they hated that. How some even quit their jobs to get away from female bosses. And how in a couple of instances doing so ruined their careers."

"Affirmative action also contributed, especially as many men believed it primarily benefitting women. Again in the workplace they saw women they felt to be less credentialed and less experienced getting promoted to positions they felt entitled to."

"And when the Great Recession hit in 2008," I said, "men became aware that women were able to ride it out better than they were. Ironically, partly because women were still not receiving equal pay for equal work they were more likely than their husbands or partners not to be laid off."

Rona said, "This came decades after tens of millions of women who had been housewives entered the work force, often not just in search of career opportunities but because their husbands' incomes were not enough to sustain the household. We know, again from our own families, that a lot of men felt inadequate because on their own they couldn't make enough money for the families' expenses. My father, your father had to send our mothers to work in order to maintain their lifestyles. Or just pay the bills. How did that make them feel?"

"Not good. Diminished," I said, "In quite a few cases the women wound up making more that their husbands and this alone disrupted the emotional balance within many marriages. And now there is the MeToo movement, which has some men thinking that their or their sons' lives can be destroyed by a false accusation of sexual misconduct."

"And so, here we are," Rona said, "Even in this peaceful place there are men so angry that they want to kill people who they consider to be terrorists."

"All that seems so far away from here and yet . . ."

September 13, 2018--Lobsta Rolls

Here's the first of the Midcoast stories. From 10 years ago--

Sharon said, when you get to Maine, be sure to look for those hidden-away lobster shacks. You’ll find them in most harbors in unexpected places. Not the fancy versions for tourists passing through or just there for a weekend, but the places the locals go to during the summer. To get away from the tourists.

That turned out to be good advice since this was the first time we were taking up residence in Maine, albeit for just three weeks, but we certainly didn’t want to either act like or look like tourists. In fact, even before settling in in the house we rented on Clark Island, not far from Thomaston, we drove around looking for the place the locals were likely to go to in the morning for coffee, a place not far from the lobster boats in the Thomaston and Rockland harbors which opened at 6:00 a.m., a sure sign, even though we would not be up and out at anything like that hour, that there we would be not be mixed in with the latte and cappuccino set.

We did in fact find what we thought was such a breakfast place but wouldn’t you know it that when we went there at 8:00 a.m. the next morning we wound up sitting at a table right next to Brian Lamb, C-SPAN’s founder and host of “Booknotes.” So instead of listening in on how the lobsters were running this summer (if this is the correct way to put it), I couldn’t resist pushing my way into his conversation about the future of books. What, he was wondering, would be their fate now that Amazon has come out with Kindle, its version of an online electronic book. 

I thought I was being quite clever when I said Kindle might be a convenience when traveling in that you wouldn’t have to schlep along a bag of books (though I didn’t use schlep with Brain Lamb—I was trying to blend in) without real books how would it be to take a nap with a Kindle on your chest. His wife quipped that the battery would run out. A bookbinder friend of his said that without walls of books insulating one’s house heating bills up here would double.

So you see, we quickly have found a version of a place for us to fit into. Until I meet some real fishermen, Brian Lamb will just have to do.

But back to the advice Sharon gave us: how to find the freshest, most authentically prepared and served lobsters.

It seems this will turn out not to be so difficult. This whole coast is of course lined with rock-bound bays and coves and harbors. It is Maine after all and that’s what the coast of Maine is all about. No such fishing harbors, no Maine. And yes situated in literally every one of them there are lobster shacks and places called Fishermen’s Co-Ops where local lobstermen bring their catch and I presume the women members of their families boil them up and serve them on paper plates on weather-battered picnic tables. They do include melted butter for dipping the delectable meat but no nutcrackers to shatter the shells. In their place, we discovered by observing a couple of regulars at the next table at Millers, they provide a rock. A hunk of Maine granite to smash the claws. 

With the lobster juice dripping out of our mouths and through the seams in the cobbled-together table and onto our pants, who cares? It doesn’t get any better than this. And the sunset over Norton Island quickly wipes out memories of the endless seven-hour drive from New York.

                                                        * * *

By the next day we quickly noticed that travelers who want the true Maine experience, the culinary part of which of course centers around lobsters, do not have to look far. Yes, getting off the main roads, such as they are, leads one to Millers here on Clark Island or Cod’s End on the wharf in Tenants Harbor or the Dip Net in Port Clyde, but if while inching your way up Route 1, the same one that passes near us down south in Delray Beach, Florida, you can get your lobster, usually in the form of lobster rolls, almost anywhere and in the most unexpected places.

For example, in almost any convenience store. Or, no kidding, in the place where you have your hair done. For that matter, the sign at a nearby wine shop advertises a good deal on Maine wines, there are quite a few wineries here, and also for $11.95 lobster rolls. And if you are willing to shell out $4,19 for regular gas at the local Exxon station, you can get lobsta (sic) rolls there for only $10.99.

As a kid I always wondered why on its license plates the state of Idaho emblazoned Famous Potatoes. That is until I finally got there. Or why Florida, the Sunshine State, had an orange on its. But now, after just three days here, I know about the Vacationland state and why on its license plates a lobster is so prominently embossed.

September 10, 2018--Midcoast: At Moody's Diner

My Audiologist, Gary Schwartzberg, respected up and down the east coast, said the other day--"I really like your stories. I could go for some more." He was being indirect and gracious. I know he meant--"Enough with all these political pieces," though he's very political and well informed, "We need more stories."

So, here's one from about two years ago. Sorry, Gary, though it qualifies as a story somehow Trump managed to slip into it.

More stories to follow this week.

Down at the end there were two seats at Moody's counter. Moody's in Waldoboro is a Maine diner legend. In season, a slice of their blueberry pie is worth a detour.

And so is the turkey salad, at least according to Rona. I agree as long as we also order some well-done French fries.

It was perfect timing, therefore, to find ourselves in the vicinity when in the mood for a turkey salad on rye and maybe a slice of pie.

"Let me make room for yuh," a bulky man who looked about 45 said, "I'll move down one seat and cozy with Shauna here. My lady," he winked.

Excited just to be there, I uncharacteristically said, "No need for that. It's chilly out and you look like someone good to cozy with."

"You mean I'm fat?" he said, pretending, I happily saw, to be offended.

"No, only . . ."

"It's OK. I just playin' with yuh," he said to assure me, deciding to stay perched on the stool next to where I lowered myself. "Truth is, I am fat and a lot older than I look." He pulled his tee shirt up to show me his considerable belly. "Shouldn't be eating this corn bread." He held it up for me to see, crumbles falling onto the countertop. "But they give it to yuh if you order the chili. Which I recommend."

"We're here for the turkey salad," Rona joined in with an extra-friendly smile.

"And the French fries," I said, "Well done."

"And a slice of blueberry pie," Rona added to make sure he understood we weren't dieting and that he wasn't the only one eating a lot.

"I know what you're thinking," he paused then added, "A grease monkey."

"No, I . . ."

"That's OK. No need to pretend with me. 'Cause that's what I am. No shame in that." He held up his hands so I could see the full extent of the grease that covered his hands and forearms like a second skin.

"Workin' on his transmission," he said nodding toward another over-size person at the very end of the counter. He too was woofing down a huge bowl of chili and didn't look up in acknowledgment. He kept stirring the bowl to distribute the corn bread he had crumbled on the chili as a topping.

"Where you guys from?"

"From three places really," I said. But for the next five months we have a place down at the Point, Pemaqud Point."

"Nice out there," he said, "What about the other two?"

Rona looked at me as if to say, "You need to be talking about this over-privileged lifestyle to someone who's an auto mechanic?"

Picking that up, I stammered, "Well we . . . I mean . . ."

"I'm cool with that," he said with a wave, "Shauna and me are thinkin' about our version of the same thing. I'm doin' pretty well and we have a nice house here in Nobleboro and a little place not far from the water--a lake actually--in Kissimmee."

"Florida?" I said, "Not that far from Orlando."

"Right you are," he said, and slapped me hard on the back. "For the winters. It gets real cold up here and I have no love for snow. Never did, never will. But all my family's here. Been here nine generations. One of the first families. I mean of white people. When my great, great, great whatever showed up from England there were plenty of other families around. But not white ones, if you get my meaning."

"I do," I said, "There were lots of Indians around. From what I've read, they had no problem with feeding themselves what with giant oysters that you needed two hands to lift and, standing on the shore, fish you could scoop up out of the water. No need for nets or anything."

"There are lots of stories about that that were passed down in my family. Some been written down in dairies from the early 1600s. One so extensive and detailed that it's down there in the Smithsonian collection."

"Wow," Rona said.

"Pretty good for a grease monkey," he said thumping his now puffed-out chest. "And if you're wonderin', there are two governors, Maine governors in my family--Benjamin Ames and Joshua Chamberlain. You wouldna guessed that about me, would yuh?"

"I wouldn't have thought that about anyone," I said, feeling good about taking what he said in stride and not stereotyping him. "I mean, how many people have two governors in their families?"

"Mitt Romney's kids, for example," he said, "And to be fair and balanced, Mario Cuomo's."

"And that dopey Brown family in California," the fellow at the end of the counter mumbled, still shoveling in his chili. "Governor moonbeam."

"I guess it's not so rare," I said.

"You're being silly," Rona said, "Even though these are good examples it's still very unusual."

"No need to give him a hard time, ma'am. We're just getting to know each other. By the way, my name's Dana," he said, thrusting his right hand at me. As I reached to take it, he pulled it back, "Look at me, covered all in transmission fluid and I'm thinkin' to shake hands with you who are about to eat a sandwich." He began to wipe his hand on his shirt. I kept my hand extended toward him and finally he took it and we shook hands, smiling broadly at each other.

"I guess that makes us friends," he said looking me straight in the eye.

"I'm Steve," I said, "And this is Rona."

She reached across my chest with an extended hand and without hesitating Dana took it, saying, "Nice to be your friend, Ro, Ro . . ."

"Na, Rona," she said.

"Like Jaffe and Barrett?" he asked.

"Yes, but hardly anyone knows them anymore," Rona said.

"The novelist and gossip columnist," he said. "I seem to remember readin' some of her stuff. Rona Jaffe, I mean. Wasn't she ahead of her time? Wrote a lot of racy stuff from a female perspective?"

"I'm ashamed to say," Rona said, looking down, "that I've never read anything of hers. But, yes, I think you're right. Sort of a Helen Gurley Brown type."

"I think better than that," he said, "She was a real writer. More like an Erica Jong."

"Sounds right," Rona said.

"Changin' the subject," he said, "You folks followin' the election?"

By then our sandwiches and fries had arrived and rather than risk spoiling our lunch and the thus-far warm conversation, not wanting to get into a harangue or argument, we both took big bites to fill our mouths so we couldn't be expected to talk.

"Minimally, whatever you think, it's been entertainin'. Seems these days no one pays attention to anythin' serious unless it's entertainin'. I mean Trump, hate 'em or love 'em, is fun to follow. I mean, to tell you the truth, I'm more in the 'hate 'em category,' but almost every night when I tune in to Fox and MSNBC he's good for some laughs."

Releived, still with a full mouth, I nodded.

"He's like one of those fools in Shakespeare. He speaks his mind and because no one in the media at least takes him seriously but  have to admit that some of what he says is true, politically incorrect, he gives folks permission to laugh at things they don't feel comfortable saying out loud or in public. It's kind of embarrassed laughter. You feel a little guilty admitting you are paying any serious attention to him but can't help yourself and laugh at what he has to say. Which I suppose is what a lot of entertainment is about. Comedy at least."

"I agree with all of that," I said after swallowing my half-chewed turkey salad, "So, who . . ."

"Can't say I have a dog in that fight. At least not yet. Maybe never. Sad, but I'm feelin' I don't trust any of 'em. I mean, you can't believe a word Trump says. He sometimes contradicts himself twice in the same sentence. I've seen him do that. And, he's not wrong to call her Crooked Hillary 'cause that's what she is. I mean she's smart and all that and has a big resumé but tell me one thing she's said about herself that you believe?"

"She does have that problem," Rona said.

"Forget all the stuff when she was the First Lady. That's old news, though there's plenty of smoke from that time. I'm talking about where her and Bill's money comes from. Goldman Sachs? Give me a break. And all that hanky-panky with their foundation--forget her continuing to put up with his philandering--and the email business. To me that's a big deal. A very big deal. Everyone knows she's lyin' about that. She knew what she was doin' and put a whole lot a people at big risk. Then I fear if she wins she'd be looking' for an opportunity to show how macho she is once she's commander in chief. I have problems with all of that. Also what Trump would do with the military really scares me. So . . ."

"So what about Bernie?"

"Another liar. Different kind. I agree with him about the rigged economy and government but the lies he tells are about not being able to carry out any of his policies if by some miracle he gets nominated or, God help us, wins. He knows practically nothin' about the world. Less than Trump, and there is no chance of getting Medicare for all through Congress much less free college tuition. First of all the federal government doesn't have any power to tell the Univeristy of Maine what to do and even if he could get all he wants it would, what, double the deficit. I'm not antigovernment like most of the knuckleheads around here, like old Jim over there, but I do care about controlling spending and worry about the deficit. What is it, 19 trillion?"

Jim had finished his chili and was now listening to what Dana had to say.

"So, like I say, I have no one to vote for. If Ralph Nader was running' maybe . . . But he's a jerk. 'Cause of him we got George Bush. W, not HW. That puppy has a lot to atone for."

"At the moment, I'm with you," I said with a shrug and sigh, "At the moment, I'm not planning to vote in November. Maybe that'll change. Maybe there'll be a real miracle and Hillary will be indicted and someone like Joe Biden would get in the mix and somehow get nominated and . . ."

"Now you're talkin'," Dana said, "He's my man! Flaws and all. He can also be a jerk. But that sort of makes him authentic. And wasn't he right about the Middle East? Iraq for example? Let it become three separate countries? But that's for another day. Got to get back to Jim's transmission. Next time we're all here, I'll tell you about my meetin' Ronald Reagan."

"Really? Where?" I really wanted to hear about that.

"At the White House."

"Fantastic!"

"I was among a group invited there to get our Silver Stars from the president. I told you I'm older than I look. It was one of the highlights of my life. Not that I thought that much about Reagan. Irangate and all that. Hey, I'd love to hang out more with you guys but a transmission awaits. I'm here with Shauna every day. Down at the end of the counter. So if you and Miss Rona want to stay friends, you know where to find me."

With that, he hoisted his considerable body off the stool and shuffled toward the cashier. Rona and I got up as well and ran after him so we could get in a couple of more handshakes.