I don't think a six month hiatus is out of line.

And to top it off, it's really only an excuse to post a picture in response to his Bobness's query as to garage sales. And Mel's and Wendy's pokes to get back at it. And...well all sorts of stuff.










So I will get back into it soon.

The above picture,btb, is of the Weaselboy lo these many years ago. The sign in front of him says "Not for Sale."



Just a brief mention today about the Girlface. I was having a discussion about the grueling deposition I had to endure on Tuesday when my cell rings.

Cell: This is greerger facazzzzzcmwiiitfrm of the Portland Police.

Me: Hello, who is this?

Cell: This is greerger facazzzzzcmwiiitfrm of the Portland Police.

Me: What?

Cell: This is greerger facazzzzzcmwiiitfrm of the Portland Police. No one is hurt.

Me: Okay, what is this about?

Cell: Is this Stephen Parker?

Me: Yes (close enough for a guy who no doubt has a gun.)

Cell: Your daughter and another young woman are hitchiking.

Me: Yes. Is that illegal?

Cell: Well, no. We have them here on Forest Avenue.

Me: Okay. Were they on the highway?

Cell: No.

Me: Well thank you for looking after them, then.



It's always so nice to get phone calls from the police about your children.



An hour later I got another call.

Cell: Is this Mr. Parker?

Me: Yes.

Cell: This is the Brunswick police.


Sigh. They were only a quarter of the way to Winterport.



Here's a picture of Amina just because.

Aaron's Poem

It is a beautiful, cool, blustery day here in Maine. While we support the cast of the Out of Towners, I will post an old poem I had been looking for previously, thereby continuing my record of late-blobing.

The photo is Amina and Gertie on the couch.



Aaron's Poem

Throughout the Summer the questions came.

"Granddaddy is sick
and I am sad" said my son.
He then cried.

Who will feed the hummingbirds
at Granddaddy's house?" he asked.
Before I could answer his tears had started.

"What will happen to the Osprey
on Granddaddy's island?" he questioned
with great concern and sobs.

"Will the beaver come back
to Granddaddy's brook" he demanded.
What will happen to the fish then?
Will the tadpoles still be there?"

"When will Granddaddy leave the hospital
and go back home," he asked
in a quiet voice, no longer
quite daring to cry.

I was not able to answer,
afraid to say he may never go home.
Afraid the concerns of an almost
five year old boy would not allow him
to understand and forgive his beloved
Grandfather.

The next morning while still dark
as the long ride home began,
my son listened to the news
he did not want to know.

I was concerned how my son would react.
I could not take away his sadness
and hurt.
I could not take away his tears.
I could not take away my own.

At the end of the day
my son came to me and asked
where he could place a letter
so the wind would take it
to his Grandfather.
He missed him
and wanted to tell him
he loved him.

SP 1992

Belated 4th

Now that it is August it is only fitting that I tell of my fourth of July. Every year, a friend and fellow bicycle collector has a fourth of July parade with wild and well crazy bikes. Exactly at noon, or whenever the doors open Brendan unveils his latest creation. See picture above (or below depending on my blogger abilities.) It's not a great picture but there is a dancing monkey on the front and a twirling rubber chicken that passes through the jars of an alligator in the back. Brendan always does a great job.

A great time was had by all and following the parade was a BBQ and games. The highlight was the regional finals of the IBSR (International Belt Sander Races). I am sorry to say I forgot to record the names of the entrants but they wonderful (The Beltinator?) For your enjoyment, I present a picture of the Races

Afterwards at LLBean's Summer Music series I met up with Pierre, Shelia and some others to see the Robert Cray Band (insert photo here, hopefully) The Bean's Music series is a free series held out on the lawn at their flagship store. It use to be a very low key thing where you could come and sit and enjoy great music. As you can see, people have figured out there is some great music to be had and it has grown. Tonight, for example, I'm going to see Arlo Guthrie.

The music and company were great but we were constantly threated with rain. A little fell during the music but mostly held off. Afterwards I saddles up the motorcycle for a quick escape right after the fireworks. The rain still held off. The sparks hit the sky in all the requisite patterns and as the smoke cleared from the finale I roared off into the night and was IMMEDIATELY hit with a WALL of rain. A forty minutes later I arrived back home, throughly drenched, for what is normally a twenty five minute drive. I should have soaped up.

Changes

Something was been eating Girlface's garden. Or somethings. Or maybe just a very hungry and tenuous solo beastie but it has been causing a great deal of heartache to the girl, who has spent many many hours preparing, germinating, planting and all the etc.s that go along with a garden. I was called upon for a solution. I chose a final solution. The old picket fence, with its accompanying screens along the bottom had to go. In its place a new, steel, 2"x2" squares, not ascetically pleasing but ultimately practical.
If I can figure out this stupid picture thing, then this is a picture several weeks ago of the garden as it was being prepared. Otherwise the picture is above somewhere.
Same thing of picture of me showing how dirty I got from the oil on the steel fencing. It was nasty stuff. Picture is either her or above. (Stupid Blogger, looks like it's above...)

So, after putting the new fence up and burying the fence edges, it looks as if the plants are finally safe. Girlface had such an outpouring of generous contributions of new broccoli, brussel sprouts, cauliflower and other plants to replace the ones that were eaten she's had to take out two oregano beds to make room for it all.

The new fence should be better protection but the old picket fence was pleasing in its way. Just a little change.

Heard You had Snow

The photo: the backyard, April 2007
The poem: 80's vintage. Girlface saw it and said she liked it. It fits today.




Heard You Had Snow

Heard you had snow.

Oh.

Should I sing you a song?

Serenade.

Hi,

how ya’ doing.

Long pause.

Such a long pause

and with life so

simply

complicated

and New York’s so…

far away.

We’re in different worlds

it seems.

I heard you had snow.

SP

Hot Flashes on the Fourth of July

Tonight was another show at the barn. Someone should have told me. It went smoothly, no blue lights coming to bring complaints. The picture is of the back of the barn. I like to hang bikes from the trees.

And a poem from the past.

Hot Flashes on the

Fourth of July

Whirly gigs of sparks and colors swirl

on the surface of the zodiac in Gasworks

Park, staining the dark bronze; remnants

of children’s delights. The hillside

overlooking the bay is surveyed and stalked

to the inch, a patchwork of flesh, picnic

blankets, spent beer cans and burnt paper

from an arsenal of popping toys. The crowds

strain upward, crane, count the minutes,

elbow into position, re-evaluate the area.

It starts. Fire in the sky. The dark

screen of night brightly colored

with searing light, shades of victorious

war. Liberty passes through the crowds

in the figure of a fire-haired woman. She

leaves on a motorbike, unnoticed.

SP

First published in Maxtix 1980

Negotiations

Just another photo of Maine, the way Summer Should Be.

On the writing side a little parental piece for one of my beloved children.

Negotiations

Inasmuch as you are not a monk,
your vow of silence
seems to be less effective
in terms of resolving our problems
than it might.

While I weigh your 15 years
of rich experience
against my 48 years
of meager existence,
I still believe
that talking
could be of some help.

SP 2005