FInal POst!

Making it Better

Rewrite

What makes photography great? Being able to see something more that what’s actually there. I have to have the more creative eye. It seems like over the last year there have been more and more independent photographers emerging. Competition is getting fiercer. Finding the passion in your heart to discover beauty no matter where you look is the key to an amazing photograph.

A photographer is an artist. My art is shown in many sizes and colors. I do full color, black and white and sepia tone. I take pictures of anything from still life to the action sports and anything in between.

I take a lot of pictures of people and places. Taking pictures of kids and families are my favorite. I love to do outdoor photos. The natural lighting and atmosphere make a solid photograph. Photographs bridge the gap between cultures, landscapes, and generations. There is something truly amazing with a photograph of a 90 year old man and an infant or the way the trees make a jagged line against the sky at sun set.  

A truly talented photographer must have patience. This to me is kind of funny. I have no patience on an everyday basis but the second I do a photo shoot I have more than even the most patient person.  I have to wait until the exact time to capture the shot that I am looking for. This may be the smile of a six month old baby or that deer to look you in the face. With the patience also comes the ability to be quick. To pay attention and as soon as that smile or look happen you snap quickly.

Photography is my passion. I enjoy it so much. Freezing memories and keeping them forever warms my heart and soul. Photographs are people's lives. It is making connections with the time that they lived in and whatever may be lying in the background.   Through photographs, we gain the ability to remember, and that is a powerful thing.

Ok, so because I am so passionate about photography I wanted to make this shine. I think its better but still feel like it isn’t that amazing. I am not sure why I can’t write about this. For a minute I thought maybe a person can’t write about something that they are this passionate about, but then I remembered you writing about your dogs. Anyway, It has been a great 2 semesters’. THANK YOU!

Review

Where the Heart IS Review

Written By Billie Letts

 Novalee Nations was left at a Wal-Mart by her boyfriend when she was seven months pregnant. She had only $7.77. Seven had always been her unlucky number. Even with this tiny bit of information on this story the reader can already relate to it in many possible ways. Everyone has been to Wal-Mart. Everyone has an opinion rather 7 is lucky or unlucky. From the very first pages of the book it is interesting enough and easy to relate to that it pulls you right in and you feel the need to continue. It’s almost spell binding.

With no money and no friends in a strange town she stayed at the Wal-Mart. She hid in closets during closing time and slept in sleeping bags. She even ate their food until one night she woke up in labor. This part of the story was very intriguing. You wonder every time she hides, is she going to get caught? Maybe she will wake up and an employee or police officer will be standing over her. This book has suspense hidden in every corner.

When Wal-Mart found out her story they didn’t punish her. Instead they reached out to her and gave her a job. They never asked to be paid back for all that she had used. This book almost seemed to be a publicity tool for Wal-Mart. I often wondered if they had paid the writer a fee to make them look so good and noble. It was almost as if they wanted to say, “Homeless? Live in Wal-Mart and then we will give you the world.”

During this story she had met some local people who have heartfelt stories of their own and who reached out to her with kindness, love and religion. These characters were made specifically to be able to relate to them in the readers life? I know that I have friends who seem to have never found the love of their life and get heartbroken time after time. Or what about those friends that seem to have nothing go right and tragedy hits their lives constantly. Then there is always your crazy over religious friend or relative that wants you to believe as strongly as they do and if you don’t it is surely a sin. The strong community values that this book expresses makes this story another have another great aspect.

This story is an intriguing tale of someone who is left in a desperate situation and finds support, encouragement and love from local people who are far from selfish. The characters and the situations are humorous, mysterious, sometimes heartbreaking and very easy to relate to because it seems so real. I connected to the book because of feelings from abandonment from a long term boyfriend who just all the sudden decided to move to Florida. It grabbed my heart because of the strength she had which I feel that I have lacked. I am sure that this book could grab the heart or the mind of any reader.

This is one of those novels that you can read over and over again and never get sick of it.  Your mind begins seeking new visions as you read along their life’s hardships and triumphs. This book is written so well that you really can visualize it. So they even made a movie about it which was an amazing addition to a fabulous book!

my book

Where the Heart IS

Written By Billie Letts

 Novalee Nations was left at a Wal-Mart by her mean and uncaring boyfriend. She was seven months pregnant and had only $7.77. Seven had always been her unlucky number. So when the cashier told her that $7.77 was her change she knew something was wrong and she ran to the parking lot to find that her boyfriend has left her abandoned.

With no money and no friends in a strange town she stayed at the Wal-Mart. Perhaps she hoped that her no good boyfriend would return. She hid in closets during closing time and slept in sleeping bags. She even ate their food until one night she woke up in labor.

When Wal-Mart found out her story they didn’t punish her. Instead they reached out to her and gave her a job. They never asked to be paid back for all that she had used. During this time she had met some local people who have heartfelt stories of their own and who reached out to her with kindness and love.

This story is an intriguing tale of someone who is left in a desperate situation and finds support, encouragement and love from local people who are far from selfish. The characters are humorous, mysterious and very easy to relate to.

This is one of those novels that you can read over and over again and never get sick of it.  Your mind begins seeking new visions as you read along their life’s hardships and triumphs. This book is written so well that you really can visualize it.

Interstate 95 Secrets

Interstate 95 Secrets

It was a sun shining morning. Early around 7 am. I was the passenger of a F150 bouncing down the highway. My husband was driving and my two children buckled in the back. The DVD player was playing Kung Fu Panda and the kids were content.

The quiet was very enjoyable and I sipped on my coffee. Dunkin Donuts coffee is simply the best, but it never tastes the same if you try to make it at home. My husband listened to country music on the radio very softly trying not to bother the kids watching their movie.

I was in my own little world, as a mother time to even think happens seldom. I couldn’t tell you what they were saying on the movie or what song was on the radio. I just gazed out the window. I counted bottles and cans for a while thinking I wish I had all of those. The money added up so quickly and the amount of garbage that had been exposed from the recent snow melt looked horrible. The road crew sure had some work cut out for them.

I looked at every building and in the ditch. I saw what looked like a dead road worker laying down there. It was in fact when I got closer, a garbage bag with an orange piece of plastic that had flown up against the bag making it look like a flagger vest. “Phew” I thought. It made my heart race at first glance.

Fifty miles down the road or so I saw something else disturbing. It was a decaying large deer. I wondered how long it had been there. Was it hit by a car or by a snow plow? The deer no longer looked brown it looked light grey almost white. I wondered if it really had been as large as it appeared today or if it has soaked up water from the snow that laid on top of it for weeks or maybe months. The vision stayed it my mind for miles past that deer. I felt many emotions about it. Disgust because it just looked gross, sadness for the loss of a beautiful creature and anger that it was just left there to waste.

As I passed by the many papers that were flying through the breeze I wondered what they said. What information was on those papers? Were they bills with social security numbers, receipts with credit card numbers or maybe just plain old trash? Maybe it was people mail that had their names and addresses on them. This is a risky thing these days to just let fly around the world. The possibility of any personal information landing in the wrong hands is too high for me to let my trash fly.

Along the interstate there are some homes that were built too close in my opinion. Or perhaps the interstate was put too close to those houses. Either way I wouldn’t want to live that close to a busy loud road like that. In my opinion neither would that man that I witnessed standing in his back yard.

I can still see him plain as day. It was a chilly morning the temperature only read about 46 degrees. He stood outside of his back door. His hair was to his shoulders and kind of wavy like. It looked messy but it blew in the wind so it was hard to really tell if it has been brushed or not. He has scruffy facial hair not really long but not trimmed and taken care of. He held a cigarette in his mouth without using his hands. His hands were both busy holding his man parts as he relieved himself. I could even see the stream of urine that his was passing as he stood there bare assed naked.

This totally shocked me. I couldn’t believe that he would stand there naked in the cold for all the people on the interstate to see. Things like this really make you wonder what a person is thinking, or if they are even thinking at all. Was he still drunk from the night before? Maybe he was on drugs. Whatever it was I will never know the answers to any of the secrets of the interstate and the land surrounding it. I just happened to get a glimpse into someone else’s life for those 10 seconds that he was in my vision as I passed.

It amazing what small things can be seen on a peaceful ride. When a person opens their eyes and just looks around, they see so much when they are not really looking for anything but seeing everything.

Rewrite

What makes my photography different from the next persons? Being able to see something more that what’s actually there? I have to have the more creative eye. It seems like over the last year there have been more and more independent photographers emerging. Competition is getting fiercer. Finding the passion in your heart to discover beauty no matter where you look is the key to an amazing photograph.

Anyone can go to the store, pick out a camera, buy it and then take some photos. As a photographer I did months of research on different cameras before I bought one. I knew exactly what I want in the camera and the specifications that I expected the one that I purchased to have. The big thing for me is flash. I wanted a special flash that was a no fail flash. Sometimes with digital camera there is a lengthy delay on the flash especially right after you have taken one picture. I bought a NIKON I also bought the $200 speed light flash that hooks on to the camera. The flash is ready every time I want it to be.

A photographer is an artist therefore I am too. My art is shown in many sizes and colors. I do full color, black and white and sepia tone. I take pictures of anything from still life to the action sports and anything in between. I take pictures of people and places. Taking pictures of kids and families are my favorite. I love to do outdoor photos. The natural lighting and atmosphere make a solid photograph. I take pictures of everything. Ninety nine percent of the time if you see me, there is a camera attached.  A great photographer can take a picture of absolutely nothing and it becomes a master piece. I have won many awards at the local fairs for my work. My art has become a show piece or a memory. Photographs are something to cherish and as a photographer, I know that.

When I take a picture, I automatically center things. I take time to focus, make sure my flash has fresh batteries and can do all that within seconds. I want every photo to be perfect. Each photo can be perfect in its own unique way.

On a road on the out skirts of town sits a little old shack. People pass by it constantly. One time some old ladies that lived near buy decorated it a little. They put up curtains where the windows were broke out and fake flowers in the window boxes that were dangling in the wind. Some old wicker chairs were placed outside the door that was in as bad of shape as the little house, but it looked perfect.

As a photographer I passed by one day and decided to take some pictures. They came out beautifully. They were entered in contest and photo shows and won first place. This is simple beauty seen within the eyes of an artist. This is the ability to observe in a creative way. I have had several people and members of our family ask for copies to hang in their home.

A truly talented photographer must have patience. This to me is kind of funny. I have no patience on an everyday basis but the second I do a photo shoot I have more than even the most patient person.  I have to wait until the exact time to capture the shot that I am looking for. This may be the smile of a six month old baby or that deer to look you in the face. With the patience also comes the ability to be quick. To pay attention and as soon as that smile or look happen you snap quickly.

Photography is people's lives stirring or mixing with their world that surrounds them.  It is making connections.  Photographs bridge the gap between cultures, landscapes, and generations. There is something truly amazing with a photograph of a 90 year old man and an infant or the way the trees make a jagged line against the sky at sun set.  Each photographer adds something different. Through photographs, we gain the ability to remember, and that is a powerful thing.

Photography is my passion. I enjoy it so much. Freezing memories and keeping them forever warms my heart and soul, plus I think I am really good at it!

Photography

Being able to see something more that what’s actually there. You have to have the more creative eye. Finding the passion in your heart to discover beauty no matter where you look.

Anyone can go to the store, pick out a camera, buy it and then take some photos. A photographer does months of research on different cameras before they buy one. They know exactly what they want the camera to do and the specifications that they expect the one that they purchase to have.

A photographer is an artist. Their art is shown in many sizes and colors. They take pictures of anything from still life to the action sports and anything in between. They take pictures of people and places. They take pictures of everything. A great photographer can take a picture of absolutely nothing and it becomes a master piece. Their art can become a show piece or a memory. Photographs are something to cherish and a photographer knows that.

When a photographer takes a picture, they automatically center things. They take time to focus, make sure their flash has fresh batteries and can do all that within seconds. They want every photo to be perfect. Each photo is perfect in its own unique way.

On a road on the out skirts of town sits a little old shack. People pass by it constantly. One time some old ladies that lived near buy decorated it a little. They put up curtains where the windows were broke out and fake flowers in the window boxes that were dangling in the wind. Some old wicker chairs were placed outside the door that was in as bad of shape as the little house, but it looked perfect.

A photographer passed by one day and decided to take some pictures. They came out beautifully. They were entered in contest and photo shows and won first place. This is simple beauty seen within the eyes of an artist. This is the ability to observe in a creative way.

A truly talented photographer must have patience. You have to wait until the exact time to capture the shot that you are looking for. This may be the smile of a six month old baby or that deer to look you in the face. With the patience also comes the ability to be quick. To pay attention and as soon as that smile or look happen you snap quickly.

Photography is people's lives stirring or mixing with their world that surrounds them.  It is making connections.  Photographs bridge the gap between cultures, landscapes, and generations. There is something truly amazing with a photograph of a 90 year old man and an infant or the way the trees make a jagged like against the sky at sun set.  Each photographer adds something different. Through photographs, we gain the ability to remember, and that is a powerful thing.

~

Two Different Paths to the Same Life

The alarm clock beeps, beeps, beep and finally he hits the snooze button. I think to myself “Boy I hope that doesn’t wake the baby up”. Ten minutes later, beep, beep, beep and he reaches over and hits snooze again. I think to myself “Why can’t he just get up when it first goes off?” then I start to get annoyed.

As a stay at home mom I am, for the most part, the primary care giver to these children. I even do all the work when he is home.  He has told me that when he is home it his day off. I often wonder, when do I ever get a day off?

The alarm has gone off for the last time and he grumps his way out of bed. I am awake but still have my eyes closed as I hear Anna start to stir. He makes no effort to be quiet. He goes into the bathroom and closes the door much harder than need be.

Anna called out to me so I got up and took her out of her crib. I changed he diaper and go her dressed. She is always so cute first thing in the morning.

Toby came out of the bathroom dressed and ready for work. He made his coffee and sat down at the couch. Anna was playing quietly and Andy was still sleeping. I made my coffee and sat down at the computer.

As I sat at the computer, I caught up on emails and did a little homework. As he sat on the couch he talked and played with the kids. They watched little bear together,

Five minutes before he had to leave I got up and made his lunch. He got up and put his pen and light in his pocket and got his jacket on. Every motion was the same morning after morning.

He kisses me, then Anna, and then hugs and wrestles Andy around. He says good bye 3 times as he is walking out the door. Then he is gone.

The next 9 hours of my day goes on with laundry. You wash, fold, and put away off and on all day and every day when you have two kids. Washing dishes and sweeping floors. In between all the house work, a mother/wife has to fit in feeding, bathing, clothing and playing with two young kids.

All while Toby is at work in the garage tinkering with motorcycles and joking with the men. He thinks that I have it easy and I think that he does. This is something that the two of us will never agree on. The grass always looks greener on the other side until you cross the fence!

The afternoon is quiet. Anna slept for two hours while Andy and I did a craft then I did my homework and he worked on writing his ABC’s. I was still folding laundry and doing other little chores in between.

Meanwhile Toby has finished all his appointments for the day and he has nothing to do. Toby is a hardworking man who likes to stay busy the entire time. It bothers him to stay still. No appointments come in the rest of the day. He’s already annoyed when he gets home.

Anna woke up on the wrong side of the bed. She has been crying for forty-five minutes straight. I tried every trick in the book. I got out her favorite book and tried to read it to her. She slapped it out of my hand. I tried to get her a drink and a snack thinking that she was hungry. She threw it on the floor. Now I had yogurt and juice to clean up.

Toby had spent the last 3 hours of work looking up motorcycle jokes with the men. They stood around laughing and having a good time. He told me from his cell phone when he was on his way home. When I find this out I am jealous as the afternoon has not gone smoothly and had made me frazzled with a headache.

When the kids hear the door they run screaming for daddy. All the attention is now on him. I excuse myself to my bedroom for 15 minutes of quiet. Sometimes I just need to regroup.

“What is your problem?” he asked

“It’s been a rough afternoon, I just need a minute.”

“You’ve been here all day it’s not like you had to work.” he said

Tears filled my eyes and I said “I work my ass off all day, you try doing what I do”

I walked away. This could turn into a huge argument real fast and honestly I didn’t have the energy. I went in my bedroom and made my bed. Then I returned to the kitchen to get dinner served. After dinner we all get our coats on and have a little outdoor time. Upon returning inside Toby takes Andy to our bathroom and gives him a shower and I take Anna to the other bathroom and give her a bath. Then Toby tucks Andy in and I tuck Anna in. Then we switch. We are crossing different paths and barely getting a chance to see each other in the same life that we share.

Problem situation question explanation

It was Feb 3, 2006 and my first child had been born. His name was Andrew. I was determined to breast feed. My breasts were hard and lumpy they seemed to have enough milk. He wasn’t a big eater. The lumps didn’t seem concerning. I figured that was what it was suppose to be like. Either that or they had just been there my whole life and I had never noticed it. I never told anyone, but it haunted me in the back of my mind. One March 6, 2009 I had my second child Adrianna. The lump was still there. It seemed to have grown a little. I kept my eye on it. There wasn’t much change over the time that I breast fed Anna. I wasn’t really worried about it, well until I thought about it. I stopped breast feeding in November of 2010. I made doctor’s appointment to have my annual checkup and to be put back onto birth control. I kept telling myself I was going to mention it to them. Then I would convince myself that it wasn’t necessary. The first appointment had to be cancelled due to sickness. I finally got into see them the first week of December and by that time I had found another lump in the same breast. This lump felt entirely different. Now I was scared. This had become a problem. Two different lumps couldn’t have a good outcome.

This situation was beginning to terrify me. With the family history of breast cancer I was convinced of a bad outcome. My Aunt Shelia died of breast cancer in 1980. I was three years old. She was thirty three. She was the exact age that I am now and facing this situation. My Grandmother has fought breast cancer twice. The second time she ended up having a mastectomy. If I found myself in that situation I would have mine removed as well, I thought to myself. I am not ready to get sick I am too busy. I hadn’t told anyone about the lumps. Not my husband, my best friend and definitely not my mother. I am a firm believer in thinking that it is unethical to withhold medical issues from your loved ones and I kept justifying my decision with the fact that we didn’t know if there was an issue or not.

When I woke up the morning of my appointment I was scared. I didn’t want to ask about it but knew that I had to. Sometimes just not knowing can be better that finding something out. I told my husband that I was going to have my breast checked because I had found a lump. “I am sure that it is nothing” he said. Which was great, however sometimes when you have a feeling that it is something, it’s at that time that you just want a hug and “I will be thinking of you”. My appointment was at 1pm. It was an hour drive from my house. I arrived and got right in. We talked for a moment then I burst into tears. The doctor performed a breast examination and then told me that I needed to go over to the hospital to have an ultra sound done. I waited, waited, and waited for nearly an hour for them to find out if I could be seen over there that day. They could so I went directly over. My whole body was shaking. I called my mother to tell her why I was running late as she had the kids. Now she was freaking out which made it worse for me.

The ultra sound revealed a definite issue. Surgery was required as soon as possible. I was scheduled to see the surgeon who would perform a biopsy and talk to me about the operation. I couldn’t get in to see him until the beginning of December. Grated it was only a week and a half away but for someone who was convinced that they had cancer wanted answers yesterday. During those days of waiting to go see the surgeon I realized that they had only done the ultra sound on one of the lump. My anxiety level seemed to have reached it limit and I told him about it the second I entered the exam room the day of my appointment. So another ultrasound was scheduled for three days later. He scheduled surgery for December 30. So much for my new years eve plans! The second ultra sound showed only normal dense breast tissue. This was the lump that I had originally found so that was a relief. They decided against a biopsy as they were going to remove it no matter what it was.

Christmas passed and I put on a happy face for my family. It was hard but I didn’t want them to see how scared I really was. My husband stood strong on his words. He was convinced that I was going to be fine. I arrived at the hospital at 6 am. I told them when the scheduled me to make it the first one in the morning. No way was I going to wait around and think about it for a few hours. Before I knew it the surgery was over and they were wheeling me back to recovery. Now came the even harder part. I had to wait for the results. Of course being a holiday weekend it would take longer than normal. So the question remained, do I have breast cancer?

I was patient up until 8 am Monday morning. I called the doctor’s office the second they opened and I wanted answers. The nurse informed me that they would call as soon as they heard anything and that she couldn’t give me the answers if it were sitting right in front of her. The doctor was in surgery and wouldn’t be in the office until tomorrow. The phone never rang until late Tuesday afternoon and there the answer was. The doctor had called to give me the explanation, I did not have cancer. They had removed what ended up being an absest and milk duct from my breast. This can be common in woman who breast feed. I was so happy that everything was ok, and my husband made sure to tell me “I told you so”

A small look at a simple man

His hair has all turned grey, well what hair he has left. His skin is aged and wrinkly. His steps are short and slow. He just celebrated his 70^th birthday. He still wears a t-shirt or a sweatshirt depending on the day. He is a simple man.

This man sits in his chair at the kitchen table and stares out the window at his garage. He has a glass of diet coke and a cigarette. Sometimes he looks at a book or tinkers with a radio or clock. His mind is not as sharp as it once was and his hands shake too much to tinker with those little parts.

As a young man he had little money but worked hard. He started with a trailer and then a large modular. He had a shed. It wasn’t a garage not car would fit inside, but all his tools would. His children’s sleds went in a special place to not take up too much room. When he wasn’t working he spent most of the day time hours out there tinkering and fixing whatever needed to be tinkered or fixed. Sometimes he tinkered with what didn’t need fixing. This was his play time and only to be done if the garbage was taken out and the lawns mowed. He even worked hard in the gardens. He never sat still. He worked on his own vehicles he was a jack of all trades. He could fix anything. When the day ended he sat at the head of the table with his diet coke in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

Years later two of his three daughters had grown and moved out of the home. Financially things were a little easier he could finally have a garage built. The garage would become the place of his dreams. He set up his woodworking equipment and his reloading system. Now when he worked on vehicles he could do it inside. He no longer had to lie on the damp ground. He was proud of his stuff and enjoyed his life. On his days off he would go to local gravel pits and pick up any empty shells that he could find. Then bring them home and reload them. He enjoyed talking to people and would tell them everything that was going on in his life even if he had just met them. He carried a bottle of diet coke and a cigarette in his hard.

When he turned 60 he was surrounded by family. He had recently had a major decline in his health. A stroke followed by a triple bypass. His diabetes had gotten a lot worse and he now had to take shots of insulin. His back issues from when he fell off a tank when he was in the Army had began to flare up a lot. He still spent time in the garage. He barely used any of his tools. Thousands of dollars just sat there. His tinkering focused to Anniversary clocks and radios. He found stuff that he could just do while sitting in the garage or at the head of his table. His family tried and tried to convince him to quit smoking. He had no part in it. He would always tell them that he didn’t fight for his country for nothing and that if he wanted to smoke he would.

A couple of years later he sold the house and land that he had since he was eighteen years old. The area had built up too much and it was getting loud. He went from a three bedroom one bath to a four bedroom 2 bath with just his wife and himself. He had seven grandchildren six girls and one boy. He loved spending time with them and showing them his toys. The new house had an even bigger garage. The garage had a whole upstairs too. He never went up there it was too hard for him. Now he was heavily medicated.  He took sixteen different pills a day, but he still enjoyed tinkering while telling stories as he smoked his cigarette and drank his diet coke.

It’s been almost a year since he has been in the garage. He sits at the kitchen table looking out the window at the garage, still proud of all that is in it. He takes apart clocks and looses the parts. He tries to put them back together and forgets how to do it. He tries to talk to people on his ham radio that he fixed but can seem to figure out how to get it to come in. He is a kind and simple man, still smoking his cigarette and drinking his diet coke.

A slice of my lilfe~ How i was brought up!

It all started in the 1950’s. My mother and my father both lived on Mount Desert Island in Maine. They met at Sunday school. In the mid 50’s they went to regular school together as well. They began dating when they were in their teens and off and on all through High school. As the story goes, my mother would break up with my dad every summer because of this boy who vacationed there. He still teases her about it to this day.

In June of 1967 shortly after graduating High school my parents Bruce and Sharyn got married. They got married at the same church where they had attended Sunday school. They had been given land by close friends of the family in Ellsworth and had a trailer put in that was already to be moved into.

Two months later in August of 1967 my dad joined the United States Army as an Air Plane Mechanic. My father made this choice because he knew he would get drafted anyways. This way he would have a safer position. He went away to basic Training in Virginia and then home for a short leave. He was called to duty and flew to Vietnam. He spent his 21^st birthday in the air. He spent a year there. A year of awful things he would say, but that is all he would say. My mother and father moved to Texas to work on a Tank Crew in 1969. They lived there for six months until he was called out to Germany. They were in need of an Air Craft Mechanic. He was there for about a year.

When my father returned home he was done serving his time. He came home to his wife and his first child a girl Kelley who was three months old. That was in 1970. In 1972 they had their second child, another girl Heidi and then in 1977 they had their third and final child, another girl me, Stacey.

My father was a hard working man. He worked as a mechanic for many years and they landed a job at Bangor Hydro. He worked there all of my school life and retired after I graduated High School. My mother stayed at home taking care of us children and the home. My father not only worked hard at work but never sat still when he was home. He worked on the vehicles or the lawn he did a lot, but not much time spent playing with us, same with my mom.

            My husband and I were both brought up in homes like that. Our mothers stayed home. Our fathers worked hard. We decided that this is how we wanted to raise our children too.

I had two older sisters. We played a lot together but there was quite the age difference between myself and them. The age difference became harder the older they got. We had a close family. We had cousins to play with. We were expected to entertain ourselves and find something to do.

We never went to daycare and only had a sitter a few times. The sitter was always a relative. The sitter was never anyone that we didn’t know. The couple that were the family friends that gave my parents their land we pretty much our only neighbors. I was closer to them, Edie and Raymond, then I was my own grandparents. Perhaps that was only because they lived right next door and not 30 miles away on Mount Dessert Island.

I grew up being a Baptist, as that was what my parents both were brought up as. I was taught to believe in god, have faith and be honest. My husband and I even got married in the church that my parents had met at and got married themselves. A tradition that has influenced me and I hope carried on. I was also taught that to do this you didn’t have to go to church every week. My parents always encouraged us to try anything and never discouraged us, but when we wanted to quit, they never tried to talk us out of it. They brought us up to make our own decisions from a very early age. I think that this helped our cognitive development grow strong. I always felt safe, protected and loved. Our emotions were never pushed too hard or too soft. Our needs were always satisfied emotionally. Socially my parents needed to interact with us a little more. Sometimes find myself getting wrapped up in keeping house when I should really be playing and teaching my own children. I don’t want to place blame on my parents for that action of mine, but it was a learned behavior that I observed. However, I always knew if I needed them they were there. If I wanted to talk to them they always listened.

When it came to discipline my parents didn’t seem to have any set rules. There seemed to be different consequences on different days for different things. There was nothing that was consistent. They didn’t raise their voice much and didn’t show much feeling about things. They set rules and we mostly followed them. I never got in trouble really as a child. I think my parents just let a lot of the little things slide.

My grandfather was totally different. He believes that a swat on the hand or butt was to happen the second that he thought that you might just be beginning to mis- behave. Just to stop it from occurring. His discipline was harsh and his tone was stern. I found that that type of discipline was more effective because I knew exactly what would happen if I did something I wasn’t suppose to do.

Edie, our neighbor who was very kind used positive reinforcement with everything. Even for discipline. For example if I fought with my sister she would make us say nice things to each other. Sometimes this annoyed us, but most of the time it ended quickly and with us all laughing. The laughter and happiness was the positive reward.

These different techniques affected my assumptions by knowing what you could do with each caregiver and get away with it. I would assume that if I was with Edie and pulled my sisters hair that we would be corrected but not slapped on the hand like we would if we were with my Grandfather. I would make sure that when I was around each caregiver I would behave accordingly.

            Growing up in an inconsistent environment when it came to discipline has made creating my own style difficult. I find myself being a mirror image of just that, inconsistence. I do see that my only strength would be positive reinforcement. Reward with laughter or a chart system. For example, if you would like to do/have this, then this is what is expected for you. My weakness in managing children’s behavior is patience. I have little and really wish I could gain more.

Over Time

Moto vs. the Checkered Flag

I had wanted a Dalmatian my whole life. Maybe it was a little girl thing. You sit there watching 101 Dalmatians over and over and of course you are going to fall in love with them. How could you not, they are one dog that can be pure bred and all look totally different, labs, rotwilers and most other breads have a pretty common resemblance but not Dalmatians.

I started looking locally. I looked up breeders, called every veterinary office and pet store in the state of Maine. I had no luck. I turned to the internet, something that I thought that I would never do.

Petfinder.com and Puppyfinder.com seemed to be the most common places that came up in my searches. There were a few adult Dalmatians and a lot of mixed breed Dalmatians, but that wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted a pure breed Dalmatian. I wanted one with black spots, not brown and certainly not lemon. I didn’t even know until my recent search that there was lemon spotted pure breed Dalmatians. I checked the site every day, sometimes twice a day. I even signed up for email notifications if someone posted a new ad on Dalmatians.

I opened an email that said there were a litter of pups up for adoption in Arkansas. I emailed the lady with a fast response she told me there were two males left and sent me a photo of the two. My husband and I looked and decided which one we wanted and emailed her back with deposit.

The pups were ready to go to their new home. The owner called me with the flight time. I would be picking him up at the Bangor Airport at seven. I never thought I would order a puppy through the internet. I had fears of a bad outcome, but had talked with the owners on several occasions and even though I was nervous I was also excited.

When I arrived at the airport I hurried to find out where I was suppose to pick him up. I finally saw this little crate that said “LIVE ANIMAL” well thank goodness it said live I thought. The security personal had me come into a little office and passed me the box. They had me sign a ton of spots on the paper work. Finally one lady told me that I could take him out of the box. He and I were happy to meet!

Naming him was hard. We wanted something unique but also cute. Spot of course crossed our minds as did Pongo. Then we wanted to stay with the motorcycle theme that we had for our other dogs. Harley my old girl and Fox our teen age boy. We liked the name Checkered flag. It was different and black and white, but try calling a checkered flag, just doesn’t sound right. So because my husband was a Dirtbike racer we decided on Moto, for motocross. I took him everywhere with me. He fit right into our home perfectly and the other dogs welcomed him. He was my baby and became my lap dog.

60lbs later he was still a lap dog. The minute I sat down in the evening to watch tv he jumped right up to cuddle. He was a needy do when it came to attention and exercise but he was adorable.

One morning I woke up to find him standing in the living room, leg was half cocked up and he was trying to pee. It was only a drip.

“What’s wrong buddy?” I asked him as I opened the door for him to go out.

I watched him through the window he stood there with just a small drip of pee going for 10 minutes or longer. He had a very sad look on his face. You could tell that he wasn’t comfortable. I called the vets office because when he came it he was just shaking all over. It scared me.

After dropping Moto off at the vets I returned 2 hours later like they had told me to. The results were a urinary tract infection and kidney stones. They removed what the vet called a gravel pit from inside his bladder. The stones needed to be tested to see what meds to put him on. He was in rough shape but feeling better now that the blockage was released and he wasn’t so full of pee.

A week later I got a call from the vets. Moto has a special case. He produces not only one kind of stone but two. He needs medicine and special dog food. This is going to cost you $96 a month are you willing to do this? There are other options they told me.

I gave him the meds and fed him his special food separate from the other two dogs. He didn’t seem to mind. He was a good boy. Of course I would do all I could for him, he was my baby.

Six months passed and it began all over again. The vet took him in removed the crystals that were blocking his urethra and home he came. He would jump right up in my lap and watch TV with me every night such a good cuddle boy.

Another two months passed and there I was taking him back into the vets. The Doctor wanted to meet with me this time. I wasn’t going to just drop him off and be able to come back and get him. This time was different. There had been so much damage and scaring from all the stones that he no longer could use his urethra. There were two options. Have him put to sleep or a major surgery. It was similar to a sex change and re routing his line of urine out a different hole. This would provide a larger passage for the stones to just pass.

After figuring it out financially and making a choice we went for the surgery. We were going to do all we could for this wonderful pup. He was barely 2 years old and should even have to go through this. He went in for surgery the next day. I waited by the phone. As soon as I was able to they let me out back to sit by his kennel for a while when he woke up. There was a lot of blood. They needed to keep him sedated for several days to help heal. I went in twice a day; I sat on the cold floor until they told me I had to go. I’d sit there poking my finger through the medal squares rubbing his beautiful spotted nose. His brown eyes stared at me and every now and then his tail would wag just a little.

The day arrived that he was able to come home. I was nervous. I took him out the car and let him pee before we left. I had never seen so much blood. I ran back into the vets. They said it was ok and normal and not to worry. Well I was scared to death.

We settled in and he slept. The other dogs just left him alone. It was like they knew what was going on. When he woke he ran for the door. He went out and peed and squirted blood all over the back yard. It was terrifying. It literally looked like a murder scene.

Time had passed and he had finally healed everything seemed wonderful. The only complication that he had was once and a while he would have a dribble. I didn’t care he was worth it.

The sun had just started to come up and I was restless. I felt the bed shaking and looked to see what my husband was doing. He was sleeping soundly. I looked around and found Moto shaking on the floor. I burst into tears. Why is this happening again? I let him out and there he was trying to pee. Since the surgery he peed like a female dog his legs were shaking so badly. I called the vet. They told me to put warm wt wash cloths over the hole to help release the crystals. It worked in less than an hour’s he was fine.

It was almost his 4^th birthday when he began peeing blood. I kept my eye on it as he seemed fine other wise and that it might just be a stone that had caused problems. Two days went by and it was still happening. I feared the worse and was heartbroken. I arrived at the vets a little before noon. My husband was with me. The vet informed us that he could clean out all the stones and give him more meds but reality was it was going to keep happening. Moto looked up at me like he knew exactly what the vet had said to me. It was like Moto was telling me to let him go. He couldn’t do it anymore and he wanted peace. I could see it in his eyes. His eyes always had so much expression. My husband and I made the hardest decision that day. We kissed his nose and I held him tight around the neck while they gave him that dreaded injection. I cried so hard I nearly fell to the ground. I could even hear my husband sobbing. Moto didn’t put up a fight he licked my ear and then he was gone. It was the middle of winter but my husband was determined to have him buried at our home. With a pick axe and some other tools he buried him that cold winter day. It was the end of his race he had reached the checkered flag.

Childhood

13^th Birthday

It was my 13^th birthday. What a special occasion. I was having my first huge slumber party. I was excited and couldn’t wait. We would start the evening with homemade pizza and lots of soda. After dinner Steph, Jen, Kristy, Cathy, Liz, Hillary and I had to all pile in a tiny little bathroom to get ready to go bowling.

With the amount of hairspray, eye liner and lipstick you would think that not just the one and only prince charming would be at the local bowling alley, but there was sure to be seven of them.

It took seven 13 year old girls only an hour to get ready. This was very fast and had to have set some kind of record. We piles into three different vehicle and headed down over the hill. The bowling alley wasn’t even a mile from my house.

A couple boys were meeting us. One of which three out of seven had already dated. Oh, the fun of sharing boyfriends that at that age.

The bowling was fun and by the time that we were done the group had about split in two. Steph, Cathy, Liz and I were made at Jen, Kristy and Hillary. They were being snotty and slutty all at the same time. They spent most of the night chasing after men with beers. Now that was just ridiculous.

We left and headed home we had rented scary movies and we determined to stay up all night. When we arrived at the house my Dad informed me that my sheep Bridget was nesting and acting different.

“She may have that lamb tonight” he said

“Really?” I was excited.

It was the first lamb to be born on my farm. I had started a farm of my own called Beckwith Hill farm the previous summer. I did this because I had joined 4-h and now owned 2 sheep and was showing them at the blue Hill Fair.

“You better go check on her. You and Stephanie, you guys have been learning a lot more about this than I know; you can check her better than I could.”

It was a very cold and snowy March 14^th. I didn’t ever remember a birthday that was getting this much snow. We all bundled up and trudged our way out the the barn. The barn used to be my club house. That was the sacrifice that I had to take as we didn’t have lot of money to build a little barn.

When we arrived out there Jen and Hillary were whining they were to pretty for anything like this. There was poop on the floor and now on their feet. I had to laugh at them. Sheep poop didn’t bother me and it smelled like hay!

“Well you’re the ones who insisted on coming out here, why don’t you go back inside and put on a little more lipstick and call those 21 year old guys.” I said this very snotty myself with my hands on my hips and shaking my head back and forth.

They stormed off and I didn’t care. I checked out Bridget she was showing signs of labor. The plugs in her teats were gone and she was leaking fluids. Stephanie told me to look closer it seemed like you could see a hoof.

Bridget was a very calm and friendly wool breed sheep. She was black and had a beautiful coat. There was silver in it as she was mixed bread and I had spinners calling me trying to get her wool every year. It went to whoever wanted to spend the most.
Stephanie got up in from by her head talked softly to her as I lifter her tail to take a closer look. All while using flash lights. Flash lights with batteries that my parents had been using for a year now. I could definitely see that something was happening and I was nervous. Bridget just looked stressed. This was her first time just like it was mine.

We all headed back in. I needed to call our 4-h leader and ask her for some suggestions. After getting off the phone with her I was mortified. I was about to do something that no girls should ever have to do on her 13^th birthday.

I grabbed a small bucket of warm water. Two towels and the whole container of DAWN dish detergent.

“What are you doing?” my father asked in his grouchy annoyed voice

“Well you see dad I have to go soap up my hand and arm and shove it up a sheep’s who haa! Would you like to do it instead?” I said it with sarcastic enthusiasm

“No, no you go do what you have to do, but hurry up and take care of any mess you make.

The five of us girls headed back out. Jen and Hillary were staying in to braid each others hair. Whatever! I would rather take part in the miracle of life than sits around braiding!

We re-entered the barn. I was nervous about what I had to do. The concern was that we thought we may have seen one hoof when there should have been two. My friends held all of the stuff for me. One held the flash light that barely gave off any light at all. One held the warm bucket of water and my best friend Stephanie held the soap. I think that she was really laughing at me on the inside.

Well I pulled my sleeve up as far as I could. I dunked it in the bucket of water and soaped up. I had to use a lot. Using DAWN dish soap as an anti bacterial lubricant was what a lot of small farmers did apparently. I thought it was strange but needed to check on this beautiful mama ewe.

I gently inserted my fingers she baaa’ed at me. I pushed in gently until my entire hand was in the whole time I was saying

“Oh my god Oh my god I am so sorry Bridget”

I still couldn’t feel anything so I pushed a little further and there it was one little hoof. I gently felt around for the other one. I checked all around nothing. At this point I felt like she wanted to get the lamb out but that it had gotten stuck. I now had to try to push that hoof back into the uterus and out of the vaginal tunnel in hopes that it would help the lamb re position itself and come out the right way. I pushed it back the best way I could then we waited.

Bridget dug in the hay and lay down. She stood up and circled and then lay back down. This went on for hours. We all sat there on a blanket huddled together. It was getting too cold to stay so we headed in. When we entered the house the clock read 3:26. We were tired. The other two girls were asleep so we decided we would show them for being party poopers.

We got a bowl of warm water and put their fingers in it. We were trying to get them to pee their beds. It didn’t work. Then we took lipstick and painted their noses red. That did work and those of us that were still awake laughed so hard we had tears streaming down our faces.

I think the rest of us fell asleep around 6:30. We were then woken up at 7:45 to my Dad yelling

“Bridget had her babies”

All of us, including the two party poopers who looked like clowns flew up out of bed through on our boots and coats and ran to the barn. My mom was already out there and put her finger to her lips to tell all of us load teens to be quiet. As she opened the door I was the first one in. There stood Bridget with not only one but two beautiful little black lambs.

“Awe twins” I said like a proud mama myself.

“Are they boys or girls” asked Stephanie?”

I open the pen quietly telling Bridget what a good girl she was as I scratched her nose. Sheep have a very loving personality if given a lot of attention. I sat down and waited for a lamb to approach me. After about ten minutes the first arrived followed instantly by the other. I gently picked them up. We had one boy and one girl. Perfect I thought.

“We have a ewe and a ram” I announced and everyone was excited.

It took me a few days to come up with the perfect names for them. Apollo and Artemis twin Greek gods. The two of them went on to be owned by 4-h children winning trophies and smiles at all the local fairs.

Travel

Beauty in Our Own Backyard!

It was the summer of 2007. I had lived in Maine my whole life. I was 30 years old and I had never been to Old Orchard Beach.

My sister Heidi had been going camping their every summer for the last five years. This year I decided that I would take a day drive and meet her and her family at the beach for the day. I invited my Mom and Dad along for the ride. My son would be going with us too.

I left my house at 5 am. My 15 month old son was happy. He loved to ride. I picked up my parents and off we went. The ride to Bangor was quick. It was the ride from there to Portland that seemed to take forever.

My Dad sat in the front seat beside me.  He bitched the whole way. He was very opinionated on my driving abilities. Apparently he had forgotten who had taught me to drive in the first place.

“Slow down!” he complained

“Speed up!” he said in the same ten minutes.

I tried to ignore his suggestions. I let it go in one ear and out the other. I nodded politely as I took in the scenery of this beautiful sunny day. There were certain spots along the way that I loved to look at form some reason. Nothing special just things I enjoyed.

I loved going over the bridges. Reading the signs and looking for that camp that I someday will own. As you are driving along the interstate crossing a bridge if you look down the river to the left, if you are heading south you will see this little round island with this camp sitting right in the middle. There isn’t much more room on the island and there is something about it that I adore. I look for it every time I travel that road, but still couldn’t tell you what town it was in.

I like to look at the farms too. I was always amazed at how many cattle there are at some of them. I always try to count but it never works out. It must cost a lot to feed all those. I wondered if they were for dairy or meat.

I always know that I am getting close to Portland when I see the little gravel pit that sits off to the right. My husband and I always talk about it whenever we go by. It looks like a great place to ride four wheelers and dirt bikes. We wish that was our land.

We were just passing through Portland when my dad started in again. I listen respectfully when what I really wanted to do was tell him to shut up!

“Look out we are up to three lanes now!”

“I see that Daddy” I said while grinning with a clenched mouth.

“Look out for that big truck, hey switch lanes, you’re going to slow you’re going too fast.”

I was to the point of being completely pissed off. I wanted out of the car. It was hot and muggy. You would have thought that it would have been my son whining on the way down there NOT my father!

My Mom was telling me what way to go. They had been there a lot. I came to this weird intersection and I could see the crystal sparkle of the dark blue water. My stomach felt kind of woozy. I figure it was because I had wanted to go there for so long and finally was getting there. Woozy due to excitement!

As we drove straight down toward the water it reminded me of Bar Harbor. There were all kinds of souvenir shops. Every third business of so was a place to eat. Pizza, French fries, dough boys and ice cream. Oh yum, not a good day to be on a diet at all.

We drove down around the fountain where my sister Heidi said that she would be. Her husband Tim jumped in with us and took us to a very close parking lot. There was a sign that said $15 for day parking. It was worth it with as much stuff as we had to carry.

We parked and all made a bathroom stop. Our parking area also had a rest room and changing rooms for the people that parked there. This is another reason why it’s worth paying to park there.

As I walked the short distance to the beach I took it all it. I looked in all the store windows and Gazed up at the huge rides that were right along the shore. Every store has sunglasses and boogie boards.

My attention left the windows and became focused on the people. There were bare feet and bathing suits everywhere, even in the stores. I laughed to myself as I thought this only happened in Miami. There were people of all different shapes and sizes just strutting their stuff up and down the sidewalks and the beach.

I enjoyed this entertainment. There was a man sitting on a bench with a huge white parrot on his head. I later got pictures of the same bird on my niece’s heads. I watch the man sitting on the ground playing the guitar. His clothes were ripped and he was very dirty. It appeared to me that he might be homeless. He has a couple old dingy backpacks beside him and some empty food packaging. His musical skills were amazing. Listening to him play made me smile. He saw this and smiled back like it had made his day.

Standing right in the sand by the famous pier was a juggler. We watched for at least 10 minutes and he never messed up once. His arms must get tired. Is this how he made his living? I really wondered. All of these entertainers had coffee cans beside them. Donations Welcome they said. Being a Maine girl I thought that only happened in New York subways, I again laughed at myself.

The sand was hot and fine. Not like the sand that I was used to. I went to Lamoine Beach at least 2 times a week in the summer. There were more rocks with barnacles and muscle shells than anything else there. I could see my sister through the crowd waving. They were all set up with a canopy and camp chairs. They get there early and stay late.

Allison and Mackenzie my nieces were already in the water. The waves were pretty high and I was very eager to join them. My mom and Dad sat under the canopy with my son Andy as he played in the sand. I took off my shorts and shirt as I had my bathing suit on underneath and headed in.  

Wow it was cold. Just the way that Maine waters should be. I knew that I had better just get in fast so that my body would numb up. So I did. I ran and dove right in. One thing I was not used to in Hancock County was the waves we didn’t have those. So as I dove in a wave came towards me taking the bottoms of my tank kini straight to my ankles. I quickly struggled to pull it up and looked at my sister embarrassed as could be. She asked what was wrong. I told her and she hadn’t seen a thing. So hopefully no one else did either.

The waves came and splashed over me. I giggled like I was 13 years old. Heidi got two boogie boards and started teaching me how to boogie. This was more fun than I think I had ever had before. It was impossible for my smile to get any bigger.  I boogied and I dumped it over. I lost my bottoms at least ten more times which is not good for a plus sized girl but intense fun of the situation outweighed the embarrassment as I saw the same thing happen to a few others. Some even lost their tops.

I got so excited and even squealed in delight as I actually rode a wave all the way into shore. I had so much fun I didn’t want to get out of the water. I was in there for 3 hours I got out once to check on my son who was happily playing and then sleeping. The time was getting late and evening was approaching. Reluctantly I headed out to get dried off and packed up.

I left Old Orchard Beach that day with a lasting impression. The atmosphere, the people and the water were all so fun spirited. I had fallen in love. The following year I took my husband, son and baby girl. We have been back every summer since then and will continue to do so. The ride home was quiet everyone was exhausted. My mom and Dad slept most of the way as did Andy. I just listened to the radio and smiled about the day.