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Lost in the green trees
Written by Bob Higgins
I'll never understand the Portland Greens. I've tried on multiple occasions, but there just seems to be a logical disconnect there that I can't manage to hop over.
Earlier this week, the PG's announced a plan to circulate a petition to make pot legal in Portland. A similar effort recently to make it "least enforced" met with stony obstacles, so this one might be headed the same direction.
Posing the question is simple. You don't like a federal law, try and get it changed. If that doesn't work, keep at it. Eventually if there is enough support the tide will change in your favor.
But here's what's going on this time around. We hate the federal law, so we're going to ignore it. We're lobbying in Augusta to get the state law changed. Before all that happens, we want to circulate a petition to make smoking "trees" legal in Portland.
So, we hate the federal law and plan to ignore it on both the state and local level. I have a question for the Maine Greens.
Was there a specific date when you folks all became "Tenthers," advocates of limiting the power of the Fed's to just what is specifically mentioned in the U.S. Constitution?
When the Governor proposed the same thing with regards to the Affordable Care Act (ObamaCare) you squawked like a collection of wet cats and just about accused the Governor of everything short of crimes against humanity and aggravated aggregated worrying of livestock.
So, let's sum up. If it's wrong over THERE ... well, you might need to lay off of the pipe to follow the logic on this one.
You supported a guy for President that in his youth was part of a group of people who called themselves the "Choom Gang," some pretty heavy smokers. You got played, strung along by someone who kept promising to pay for all his "fronts" until you were broke.
Hey, I did a lot of that in my day as well. Eventually, you grow up.
He "promised" to look at legalization, or at least it seemed so at the time.
Anyone that hasn't sucked too many rainbows through a pipe KNOWS that not only do politicians lie, but they lie to you about lying to you and when they specifically lied about what they lied about.
Say what you want. The proposal of two to two-and-a-half OUNCES of the green being the amount an ordinary person might have on them while wandering down the street is ludicrous. I used to live with about eight exceptionally heavy duty smokers of the left-handed lettuce. That was more than we could manage to collectively smoke in a WEEK, and still remain upright long enough to sip water from a sippy-cup.
If you were on your way to a PHISH show, or maybe on your way to see one of the last remaining members of the Dead, I could see that much. I doubt Keith Richards even has that much in his HOUSE, never mind his pocket.
But all that begs a question. If you don't like a law and are ineffective in trying to get it changed, is it OK to pass a local ordinance nullifying that law?
Circle back the wagons, Green Party, you just joined all the "tenthers" over on the right. You know, those folks that you like to mock for stupidity. You just made the same argument yourselves.
Portland's smoking ordinance in public parks will have gone into effect (on Wednesday) a few days before this goes into print. I'm an outspoken critic of that policy, but does that give me the right to keep smoking as I pass through Monument Square? The law says no. The recent dust-up over "The Whistler" would say otherwise. So long as I keep moving while smoking, the correct answer would be to respond to any such attempt to ticket me with "Get Bent" and keep on walking.
You see, it all comes down to attitude. You're either comfortable with breaking the law that you think sucks, or you're not. A rebel or a relic.
And all this time, I thought I was a relic.
(Bob Higgins is a regular contributor to The Portland Daily Sun.)
Earlier this week, the PG's announced a plan to circulate a petition to make pot legal in Portland. A similar effort recently to make it "least enforced" met with stony obstacles, so this one might be headed the same direction.
Posing the question is simple. You don't like a federal law, try and get it changed. If that doesn't work, keep at it. Eventually if there is enough support the tide will change in your favor.
But here's what's going on this time around. We hate the federal law, so we're going to ignore it. We're lobbying in Augusta to get the state law changed. Before all that happens, we want to circulate a petition to make smoking "trees" legal in Portland.
So, we hate the federal law and plan to ignore it on both the state and local level. I have a question for the Maine Greens.
Was there a specific date when you folks all became "Tenthers," advocates of limiting the power of the Fed's to just what is specifically mentioned in the U.S. Constitution?
When the Governor proposed the same thing with regards to the Affordable Care Act (ObamaCare) you squawked like a collection of wet cats and just about accused the Governor of everything short of crimes against humanity and aggravated aggregated worrying of livestock.
So, let's sum up. If it's wrong over THERE ... well, you might need to lay off of the pipe to follow the logic on this one.
You supported a guy for President that in his youth was part of a group of people who called themselves the "Choom Gang," some pretty heavy smokers. You got played, strung along by someone who kept promising to pay for all his "fronts" until you were broke.
Hey, I did a lot of that in my day as well. Eventually, you grow up.
He "promised" to look at legalization, or at least it seemed so at the time.
Anyone that hasn't sucked too many rainbows through a pipe KNOWS that not only do politicians lie, but they lie to you about lying to you and when they specifically lied about what they lied about.
Say what you want. The proposal of two to two-and-a-half OUNCES of the green being the amount an ordinary person might have on them while wandering down the street is ludicrous. I used to live with about eight exceptionally heavy duty smokers of the left-handed lettuce. That was more than we could manage to collectively smoke in a WEEK, and still remain upright long enough to sip water from a sippy-cup.
If you were on your way to a PHISH show, or maybe on your way to see one of the last remaining members of the Dead, I could see that much. I doubt Keith Richards even has that much in his HOUSE, never mind his pocket.
But all that begs a question. If you don't like a law and are ineffective in trying to get it changed, is it OK to pass a local ordinance nullifying that law?
Circle back the wagons, Green Party, you just joined all the "tenthers" over on the right. You know, those folks that you like to mock for stupidity. You just made the same argument yourselves.
Portland's smoking ordinance in public parks will have gone into effect (on Wednesday) a few days before this goes into print. I'm an outspoken critic of that policy, but does that give me the right to keep smoking as I pass through Monument Square? The law says no. The recent dust-up over "The Whistler" would say otherwise. So long as I keep moving while smoking, the correct answer would be to respond to any such attempt to ticket me with "Get Bent" and keep on walking.
You see, it all comes down to attitude. You're either comfortable with breaking the law that you think sucks, or you're not. A rebel or a relic.
And all this time, I thought I was a relic.
(Bob Higgins is a regular contributor to The Portland Daily Sun.)
Last Updated on Friday, 08 March 2013 00:21
Hits: 158
When restaurant trivia becomes the game of Life
Written by Natalie Ladd
Years ago when the board game Trival Pursuit was all the rage I used to feel hugely inadequate because I rarely knew the answers to any questions that didn't fall under the pink colored entertainment category, or occasionally the brown colored literature category. I'd make excuses not to play so I wouldn't look stupid, or be the weakest link in a team situation. The game moved fast so it wasn't my inability to sit still longer than five minutes that did me in (I much preferred a cut throat game of battleship over a monopoly marathon), as much as the immobilizing fear that I'd open my mouth, say something ridiculously wrong and be the brunt of ribbing for months to come.
Thinking I was being stealth about dodging the game as a rule, a friend kindly pulled me aside one evening when I was feigning a headache and said, "It's just a game and no one cares about the questions, or the answers for that matter. That's why it's called trivia." Even though I'm not very competitive in my playtime interactions with others, little solace was taken in her words and I still struggle with wanting to at least look smarter than a fifth grader when doing most day-to-day trivial things.
Luckily, in the restaurant business, I'm given a lot of opportunity to redeem myself because much of what takes place is so trivial, or mundane that it almost seems worthless. But default on a bunch of these worthless things, and the overall operation is bound to take a hit. Here's a list of things that are trivial and mundane, yet hugely important to providing a good restaurant experience. For fun, and to show how far I've come, they've been listed in six Trivial Pursuit-like color coded categories
1) Green for Cleaning. Question: Why is wiping down the menus anything but trivial? Answer: Unless dining someplace where you had to question if jeans were appropriate attire, you're usually handed a menu that's either laminated or encased in plastic. Not much is grosser than holding one that just came off a table where little kids were sitting. Words like sticky, smeared and possibly snotty come to mind.
2) Purple for Packaging. Question: What happens when wrapping guest leftovers in a hurry? Answer in the form of a question: When's the last time you were drooling over eating the remains of your dinner from a great meal the night before, only to find they hadn't been secured very well in the little styrofoam clamshell of a take-out box? Perhaps there's no rubber band, or the food is overstuffed to the point of the container not closing at all. There's a mess that resembles nothing like the snack you had anticipated.
3) Blue for Bathrooms. Question: Why do restaurants have foamy soap dispensers that shoot the stuff everywhere but your hands? Answer: Many places get their lame fixtures directly from SYSCO or their paper goods supplier, or a weekly trip to B.J.'s. Places that really care will have nice soap holders that don't make the whole counter slimy, and sometimes even hand lotion.
4) Red for Relaxing Music. Question: Why do so many restaurants play music that only the staff likes and doesn't enhance the experience? Answer: Listening to the same six CD's of the same six artists day in and day out is maddening for the servers and sometimes regular customers pick up on the repeat soundtracks as well. Springing for Sirius Radio could be the winning spin.
5) Orange for well, Oranges. Question: Why is it so hard to get fruit, even as an upgrade? Answer: Aside from breakfast places, finding fresh fruit at dinner is an oddity. Yes, it's highly perishable, expensive and labor intensive, but so is a lot of stuff in the walk-in. It may be simple, even trivial if you will, but with spring around the corner, fresh fruit would be a popular side or dessert with almost any meal.
6) Silver for Service: Question: Why is good service so hit or miss? Answer: Like everyone else, servers have good days and bad days. We are influenced by much of what we cannot control, and in order to advance in the game of restaurant, we have to take every detail and hint into consideration. We rely on our teammates and if we don't have the skills to learn and excel, everyone loses.
The Down Low: There are quite a few things I'm good at when going into a restaurant as a patron as well. I always find a parking space, am killer at the sport of bar stool stalking and have learned how to turn "special moments," both personal and professional, into learning experiences instead of unrealistic expectations.
A special shout goes out to The Pepperclub on Middle Street for their unique Restaurant Week tiered price point options. This is one of those great places I plan to put back into my rotation of, "Where should we go to dinner"? spots when stumped for something different.
(Natalie Ladd is a columnist for the Portland Daily Sun. She has over 30 continuous years of corporate and fine-dining experience in all front-of-the-house management, hourly and under-the-table positions. She can be reached at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. .)
Thinking I was being stealth about dodging the game as a rule, a friend kindly pulled me aside one evening when I was feigning a headache and said, "It's just a game and no one cares about the questions, or the answers for that matter. That's why it's called trivia." Even though I'm not very competitive in my playtime interactions with others, little solace was taken in her words and I still struggle with wanting to at least look smarter than a fifth grader when doing most day-to-day trivial things.
Luckily, in the restaurant business, I'm given a lot of opportunity to redeem myself because much of what takes place is so trivial, or mundane that it almost seems worthless. But default on a bunch of these worthless things, and the overall operation is bound to take a hit. Here's a list of things that are trivial and mundane, yet hugely important to providing a good restaurant experience. For fun, and to show how far I've come, they've been listed in six Trivial Pursuit-like color coded categories
1) Green for Cleaning. Question: Why is wiping down the menus anything but trivial? Answer: Unless dining someplace where you had to question if jeans were appropriate attire, you're usually handed a menu that's either laminated or encased in plastic. Not much is grosser than holding one that just came off a table where little kids were sitting. Words like sticky, smeared and possibly snotty come to mind.
2) Purple for Packaging. Question: What happens when wrapping guest leftovers in a hurry? Answer in the form of a question: When's the last time you were drooling over eating the remains of your dinner from a great meal the night before, only to find they hadn't been secured very well in the little styrofoam clamshell of a take-out box? Perhaps there's no rubber band, or the food is overstuffed to the point of the container not closing at all. There's a mess that resembles nothing like the snack you had anticipated.
3) Blue for Bathrooms. Question: Why do restaurants have foamy soap dispensers that shoot the stuff everywhere but your hands? Answer: Many places get their lame fixtures directly from SYSCO or their paper goods supplier, or a weekly trip to B.J.'s. Places that really care will have nice soap holders that don't make the whole counter slimy, and sometimes even hand lotion.
4) Red for Relaxing Music. Question: Why do so many restaurants play music that only the staff likes and doesn't enhance the experience? Answer: Listening to the same six CD's of the same six artists day in and day out is maddening for the servers and sometimes regular customers pick up on the repeat soundtracks as well. Springing for Sirius Radio could be the winning spin.
5) Orange for well, Oranges. Question: Why is it so hard to get fruit, even as an upgrade? Answer: Aside from breakfast places, finding fresh fruit at dinner is an oddity. Yes, it's highly perishable, expensive and labor intensive, but so is a lot of stuff in the walk-in. It may be simple, even trivial if you will, but with spring around the corner, fresh fruit would be a popular side or dessert with almost any meal.
6) Silver for Service: Question: Why is good service so hit or miss? Answer: Like everyone else, servers have good days and bad days. We are influenced by much of what we cannot control, and in order to advance in the game of restaurant, we have to take every detail and hint into consideration. We rely on our teammates and if we don't have the skills to learn and excel, everyone loses.
The Down Low: There are quite a few things I'm good at when going into a restaurant as a patron as well. I always find a parking space, am killer at the sport of bar stool stalking and have learned how to turn "special moments," both personal and professional, into learning experiences instead of unrealistic expectations.
A special shout goes out to The Pepperclub on Middle Street for their unique Restaurant Week tiered price point options. This is one of those great places I plan to put back into my rotation of, "Where should we go to dinner"? spots when stumped for something different.
(Natalie Ladd is a columnist for the Portland Daily Sun. She has over 30 continuous years of corporate and fine-dining experience in all front-of-the-house management, hourly and under-the-table positions. She can be reached at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. .)
Last Updated on Tuesday, 05 March 2013 22:39
Hits: 193
Portland Trails
Written by Cliff Gallant
When Portland Trails was founded a little more than twenty years ago its goal was to create fifty miles of trails throughout Greater Portland. Wow. That's the distance from here to Portmouth in trails that needed to be created through woodlands, underbrush, marshlands and commercial properties — all through which rights of way had not even been established. Too ambitious, said some. Not going to happen in a modern urban setting.
Somebody forgot to tell the troops though. At a gala Portland Trails event held one evening last week at Space Gallery, it was announced that, at present, Portland Trails has created and is charged with maintaining seventy miles of trails throughout Greater Portland.
Sit down with a Portland Trails map and you'll see that there are now a total of thirty-one interconnected trails. They circumnavigate the peninsula, run through all other areas of the city, weave over into Falmouth, continue into Westbrook, and extend over to South Portland. Some are well known, like the 3.5-mile-long loop around Back Cove; the 5.6-mile-long Harborwalk Trail along trails and sidewalks from the East End Beach over to Bug Light in South Portland; or the 1.25-mile-long walk around Mackworth Island in Falmouth. But some are not so well known, and are fun to discover, like the .17-mile-long Jack Path Trail, which is a wooded slope up through woods from the end of Sheridan Street to North Street beside the East End Community Garden; the .5-mile-long Capisic Brook Trail through Capisic Park, which features a city-owned nature preserve built around Portland largest fresh-water pond; or the .5-mile-long Oat Nuts Park Trail, located off Summit Street and connecting to the 2.5 mile long Presumpscot River Preserve Trail. Oak Nuts Park is a subdivision made up of 10 foot by 10 foot lots, the deeds to which were awarded as cereal box prizes in the 1930s. Turn a group of kids onto that little story along the trail some afternoon and you just might create some lifelong trekkers.
Speaking of whom, kids, that is, one of the partners of Portland Trails is The School Ground Greening Coalition, which is dedicated to the transformation of school grounds into vibrant and sustainable community-designed natural spaces providing opportunities for education, recreation and environmental stewardship. Since 2003 SGGC has been involved in more than 70 projects at over 40 different schools in Greater Portland. The kids do a lot of the work themselves. Children today do not have the opportunities to experience the out-of-doors that they once did, their lives being dominated by the various media and "structured" time. SGGC is all about introducing the sense of wonder into their lives that being out there involved with nature can provide.
Local businesses are very much a part of the picture as well. Witness the enthusiastic participation of businesses along the mile long Bayside Trail, where a long line of Dogwood trees have just been planted in an area which was once exclusively devoted to industrial development. This "greening" of Greater Portland is indeed very good for business, increasing as it does the area's appeal as a place to live and as a tourist destination.
So Portland Trails is not just about whacking away at underbrush to create walking trails for the adventuresome few, not by a long shot. What the organization does benefits the entire community and could well be our best legacy to future generations.
Getting into the act at Portland Trails is as easily done as said. There is a core of dedicated professionals involved in keeping the dream alive by scouting out grants and other sources of funding, along with getting out there and doing some bushwhacking; but the lifeblood of the organization is individual members and volunteer workers.
Portland Trails is a nonprofit land trust that is funded by private donations, fundraising events and memberships. Private donations are golden, and the funds couldn't be going to a better cause. Fundraising events are a hoot. Portland Trails people are extremely cool, and you should attend one of their events. There's the Big Bash and Silent Auction, sponsored by Shipyard Brewery, which takes place place the Portland Club on State Street, on Friday evening, April 26; and there's the 10K "Trail to Ale" race, on Sunday, Sept. 22. Check out the web site for more details on both events. The third way of fund raising, memberships, is definitely where it's at. There are various levels, starting at $35 a year. For your membership you get a free Portland Trails map, access to members-only events, nice discounts on guided treks, and a very very good feeling.
Volunteer workers are treasured and you will be happily greeted and inwardly rewarded should you decide to be one. Helping to build a bridge across a stream that runs its merry way through a wooded area not ten minutes from downtown Portland has rewards that become apparent only after you have pounded nails and strung ropes and someday walked your dog across that stream.
Opportunities for volunteering abound. Last year volunteers at Portland Trails logged over 4000 hours. There are corporate or professional days, when businesses lend employees for a day. If your company doesn't currently participate, maybe it should. There are team projects as well as individual projects. Work schedules are wide open, actually, but Portland Trails especially looks for group or individual volunteer workers on the third Wednesday afternoon of each month, or on the third Saturday morning of each month. One very appealing option, too, is to become a trail monitor for a year, meaning that you adopt a specific trail for that period of time. Hum-m-m ... what a thought.
If you want to become a member or a volunteer, or both, go to info@ trails.org, telephone 775-2411, or walk, run, bike or ski to the Portland Trails office at 305 Commercial Street.
Hey, you can even drive if you have to. At least for the time being.
(Cliff Gallant of Portland is a regular columnist for The Portland Daily Sun. Email him at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. .)
Somebody forgot to tell the troops though. At a gala Portland Trails event held one evening last week at Space Gallery, it was announced that, at present, Portland Trails has created and is charged with maintaining seventy miles of trails throughout Greater Portland.
Sit down with a Portland Trails map and you'll see that there are now a total of thirty-one interconnected trails. They circumnavigate the peninsula, run through all other areas of the city, weave over into Falmouth, continue into Westbrook, and extend over to South Portland. Some are well known, like the 3.5-mile-long loop around Back Cove; the 5.6-mile-long Harborwalk Trail along trails and sidewalks from the East End Beach over to Bug Light in South Portland; or the 1.25-mile-long walk around Mackworth Island in Falmouth. But some are not so well known, and are fun to discover, like the .17-mile-long Jack Path Trail, which is a wooded slope up through woods from the end of Sheridan Street to North Street beside the East End Community Garden; the .5-mile-long Capisic Brook Trail through Capisic Park, which features a city-owned nature preserve built around Portland largest fresh-water pond; or the .5-mile-long Oat Nuts Park Trail, located off Summit Street and connecting to the 2.5 mile long Presumpscot River Preserve Trail. Oak Nuts Park is a subdivision made up of 10 foot by 10 foot lots, the deeds to which were awarded as cereal box prizes in the 1930s. Turn a group of kids onto that little story along the trail some afternoon and you just might create some lifelong trekkers.
Speaking of whom, kids, that is, one of the partners of Portland Trails is The School Ground Greening Coalition, which is dedicated to the transformation of school grounds into vibrant and sustainable community-designed natural spaces providing opportunities for education, recreation and environmental stewardship. Since 2003 SGGC has been involved in more than 70 projects at over 40 different schools in Greater Portland. The kids do a lot of the work themselves. Children today do not have the opportunities to experience the out-of-doors that they once did, their lives being dominated by the various media and "structured" time. SGGC is all about introducing the sense of wonder into their lives that being out there involved with nature can provide.
Local businesses are very much a part of the picture as well. Witness the enthusiastic participation of businesses along the mile long Bayside Trail, where a long line of Dogwood trees have just been planted in an area which was once exclusively devoted to industrial development. This "greening" of Greater Portland is indeed very good for business, increasing as it does the area's appeal as a place to live and as a tourist destination.
So Portland Trails is not just about whacking away at underbrush to create walking trails for the adventuresome few, not by a long shot. What the organization does benefits the entire community and could well be our best legacy to future generations.
Getting into the act at Portland Trails is as easily done as said. There is a core of dedicated professionals involved in keeping the dream alive by scouting out grants and other sources of funding, along with getting out there and doing some bushwhacking; but the lifeblood of the organization is individual members and volunteer workers.
Portland Trails is a nonprofit land trust that is funded by private donations, fundraising events and memberships. Private donations are golden, and the funds couldn't be going to a better cause. Fundraising events are a hoot. Portland Trails people are extremely cool, and you should attend one of their events. There's the Big Bash and Silent Auction, sponsored by Shipyard Brewery, which takes place place the Portland Club on State Street, on Friday evening, April 26; and there's the 10K "Trail to Ale" race, on Sunday, Sept. 22. Check out the web site for more details on both events. The third way of fund raising, memberships, is definitely where it's at. There are various levels, starting at $35 a year. For your membership you get a free Portland Trails map, access to members-only events, nice discounts on guided treks, and a very very good feeling.
Volunteer workers are treasured and you will be happily greeted and inwardly rewarded should you decide to be one. Helping to build a bridge across a stream that runs its merry way through a wooded area not ten minutes from downtown Portland has rewards that become apparent only after you have pounded nails and strung ropes and someday walked your dog across that stream.
Opportunities for volunteering abound. Last year volunteers at Portland Trails logged over 4000 hours. There are corporate or professional days, when businesses lend employees for a day. If your company doesn't currently participate, maybe it should. There are team projects as well as individual projects. Work schedules are wide open, actually, but Portland Trails especially looks for group or individual volunteer workers on the third Wednesday afternoon of each month, or on the third Saturday morning of each month. One very appealing option, too, is to become a trail monitor for a year, meaning that you adopt a specific trail for that period of time. Hum-m-m ... what a thought.
If you want to become a member or a volunteer, or both, go to info@ trails.org, telephone 775-2411, or walk, run, bike or ski to the Portland Trails office at 305 Commercial Street.
Hey, you can even drive if you have to. At least for the time being.
(Cliff Gallant of Portland is a regular columnist for The Portland Daily Sun. Email him at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. .)
Last Updated on Friday, 08 March 2013 02:30
Hits: 232
When You Suffer From Content Dyslexia
Written by Heidi Wendel
Here's this week's episode of Season 3 of The Port City Chronicle, the continuing story of Gretchen, a 46-year-old criminal defense lawyer, and her family and friends, seeking love and happiness in the midst of The Great Recession.
When You Suffer From Content Dyslexia
"Yes babies are cute," Ethan said, as several strollers passed us in the park on East Prom. "But don't forget: they're here to replace us."
We'd bumped into my long-time ex John, and his 24-year-old girlfriend, Irina, who had managed to replace me long before Grace would. Irina was just a baby herself when John left me for her years ago, partly because he hoped eventually to have a real baby. Unfortunately for him, Irina, a Russian ballet dancer, hadn't shown much interest in the idea. Only Milagros seemed taken with it, and she wanted the father to be Tim.
But he didn't exactly share her excitement. "Why do you want a baby?" he asked. "Aren't I enough of a baby for you?"
It was a romantic thought, only rivaled by the sight of Henry, Marcus and Lourdes, the existing babies, hitting each other with a frisbee.
"What have you been doing, Irina?" I asked, to show I've recovered so completely from being replaced by her I can even acknowledge her existence.
Of course, Irina had in fact been doing something romantic. She was dancing the harem girl in Le Corsaire who sneaks off with a handsome pirate. Personally I sided with the sultan she leaves behind, though I knew he should have gotten over it by now.
Irina showed off a few steps from the part where she seduces the pirate, her long blond hair flying around her. I wasn't too impressed, being familiar with those steps already from the days when she went after John. He and Charles and Ethan sure liked it though, possibly due more to seeing Irina's gorgeous body in motion than to the dance steps themselves.
But Tim isn't as easily seduced as the average pirate.
"What's a 'corsaire'?" he asked, interrupting her. "Does that mean 'pirate'?"
Irina hadn't looked into that aspect of the story, being more about actions than words. After all, there are no words in ballet but it's not hard to follow the plot. When you're basically talking about nothing but love and romance, actions speak louder than words.
"I thought you knew French," she said, annoyed at being interrupted.
Tim shrugged. "I had a little French in high school, but pirate isn't exactly something they teach you right away. It's not like you learn 'boy, girl, mother, father, dog, cat, pirate.'"
It was a good point and I hoped Irina got the broader message that pirates, like Russian ballerinas, don't belong in that list of basic, wholesome things. Of course, I had to admit it's not a particularly romantic list.
But Irina was still annoyed at Tim's obliviousness. "Have you ever even seen Le Corsaire?" she asked.
Given how much time he's spent watching sports and drinking beer, I figured it was a rhetorical question, but Tim didn't catch on to that.
"I only saw 'Sleeping Beauty,'" he said dismissively. "With a woman I was trying to get with who liked that kind of thing."
"And what'd you think?" Irina asked. Milagros was listening intently too, out of interest in the subplot.
"Not every guy wants to hack through brambles to get the girl."
Meaning he wasn't a big fan, but Irina didn't catch on. Being more about actions than words, the verbal parts of a conversation are often lost on her.
Anyway, she was distracted by a sudden pain in her ankle.
"It really is sprained, I told you," she said angrily to John. "That's what the doctor said too."
She was constantly suffering from various physical and emotional injuries, the downside of living a life of pure romance both on the stage and at home.
But like all pirates, John is not the sensitive type. "Actually the doctor specifically said your ankle is not sprained. You must have content dyslexia."
Irina had to rely on the unromantic Tim to rescue her.
"I know what you mean. I've had a lump in my throat for months which the doctor says is nothing, probably because he's too busy to bother about it. What's the difference to him if something terrible happens to me? He doesn't even know me."
That made Irina feel better about her ankle, but the pirates attacked, as they're trained to do when they sense weakness.
"It's obviously just in your head," Charles said, speaking to both Tim and Irina.
But Ethan had a more specific problem with Tim's complaint. "Does that mean you're not doing the story on the beer party tonight?"
"I've been thinking about it a lot," Tim said, swallowing hard. "There are two options."
"What, you do the story or you don't do the story?"
"But what if I can't do it? How come I'm never allowed to fail?"
"You've failed at failing," Charles said.
"The thing about parties," Tim said ignoring him, "is I get nervous when there're a lot of people around."
"What's the cutoff?" Ethan asked.
Tim considered it a moment. "Two. That's why I don't go to parties."
"You don't go to parties because you're not invited to any," Charles said.
But John took a more paternal approach. "You have to find strengths in your weaknesses," he said, squeezing Irina's hand for emphasis. "That's what successful people do, whether in art or in business. Dance through the pain. It adds depth to your performance."
Naturally Tim thought John was still talking to him since he doesn't know John is always focused on love and romance. "I'm not sure I entirely follow you. I've always been naïve about business speak, having been non-profitable my whole life."
But Irina got the message. Watching her pull her hand away, I wondered if John had missed the deeper point that paternalism might not be the most successful approach to becoming a father.
At any rate, the real father on the scene was more sympathetic to Tim's problems. "Look, I don't like working any more than you do," Ethan said. "The problem is we have kids. If you have another one you'll be stuck doing it forever."
Tim nodded. "Maybe it'd be better if we got another cat," he said to Milagros.
"I want a dog," Lourdes said, overhearing him. "Actually two dogs."
"How about if we don't have a baby we can get two dogs," Tim said. "Or three cats."
"One baby is worth two dogs or three cats?" Charles asked. He's sensitive about not being a father himself.
"Wouldn't it be amazing to have a couple months off to travel without having to worry about anything?" Ethan said. "My college roommate actually did it a couple years ago."
"Where'd he get the money?" Tim asked. "What've I been doing wrong? I should've gotten off at a different exit."
Ethan waited until Lourdes had run back down the beach with Henry and Marcus. "He doesn't have any kids."
He watched them a moment, pushing each other toward the water. "Of course if you did go it might be really hard to come back. You might just go completely off the grid."
Tim took Lourdes' mittens out of his pocket and waved at her with them. He had a bag with her ballet clothes over his shoulder after taking her to class in the morning and was carrying her school books in his backpack. In the short time he'd known Milagros he'd taken every possible opportunity to spend time with Lourdes, after having so little with his own daughter, who'd been a baby when her mother left him.
"That's not really the problem," he said, biting his lip with worry. "What I'm trying to do is make this job work, get more money, and help out with everything."
He started down the beach with the mittens in case Lourdes' hands were cold.
"Basically I'm trying to get on the grid."
When You Suffer From Content Dyslexia
"Yes babies are cute," Ethan said, as several strollers passed us in the park on East Prom. "But don't forget: they're here to replace us."
We'd bumped into my long-time ex John, and his 24-year-old girlfriend, Irina, who had managed to replace me long before Grace would. Irina was just a baby herself when John left me for her years ago, partly because he hoped eventually to have a real baby. Unfortunately for him, Irina, a Russian ballet dancer, hadn't shown much interest in the idea. Only Milagros seemed taken with it, and she wanted the father to be Tim.
But he didn't exactly share her excitement. "Why do you want a baby?" he asked. "Aren't I enough of a baby for you?"
It was a romantic thought, only rivaled by the sight of Henry, Marcus and Lourdes, the existing babies, hitting each other with a frisbee.
"What have you been doing, Irina?" I asked, to show I've recovered so completely from being replaced by her I can even acknowledge her existence.
Of course, Irina had in fact been doing something romantic. She was dancing the harem girl in Le Corsaire who sneaks off with a handsome pirate. Personally I sided with the sultan she leaves behind, though I knew he should have gotten over it by now.
Irina showed off a few steps from the part where she seduces the pirate, her long blond hair flying around her. I wasn't too impressed, being familiar with those steps already from the days when she went after John. He and Charles and Ethan sure liked it though, possibly due more to seeing Irina's gorgeous body in motion than to the dance steps themselves.
But Tim isn't as easily seduced as the average pirate.
"What's a 'corsaire'?" he asked, interrupting her. "Does that mean 'pirate'?"
Irina hadn't looked into that aspect of the story, being more about actions than words. After all, there are no words in ballet but it's not hard to follow the plot. When you're basically talking about nothing but love and romance, actions speak louder than words.
"I thought you knew French," she said, annoyed at being interrupted.
Tim shrugged. "I had a little French in high school, but pirate isn't exactly something they teach you right away. It's not like you learn 'boy, girl, mother, father, dog, cat, pirate.'"
It was a good point and I hoped Irina got the broader message that pirates, like Russian ballerinas, don't belong in that list of basic, wholesome things. Of course, I had to admit it's not a particularly romantic list.
But Irina was still annoyed at Tim's obliviousness. "Have you ever even seen Le Corsaire?" she asked.
Given how much time he's spent watching sports and drinking beer, I figured it was a rhetorical question, but Tim didn't catch on to that.
"I only saw 'Sleeping Beauty,'" he said dismissively. "With a woman I was trying to get with who liked that kind of thing."
"And what'd you think?" Irina asked. Milagros was listening intently too, out of interest in the subplot.
"Not every guy wants to hack through brambles to get the girl."
Meaning he wasn't a big fan, but Irina didn't catch on. Being more about actions than words, the verbal parts of a conversation are often lost on her.
Anyway, she was distracted by a sudden pain in her ankle.
"It really is sprained, I told you," she said angrily to John. "That's what the doctor said too."
She was constantly suffering from various physical and emotional injuries, the downside of living a life of pure romance both on the stage and at home.
But like all pirates, John is not the sensitive type. "Actually the doctor specifically said your ankle is not sprained. You must have content dyslexia."
Irina had to rely on the unromantic Tim to rescue her.
"I know what you mean. I've had a lump in my throat for months which the doctor says is nothing, probably because he's too busy to bother about it. What's the difference to him if something terrible happens to me? He doesn't even know me."
That made Irina feel better about her ankle, but the pirates attacked, as they're trained to do when they sense weakness.
"It's obviously just in your head," Charles said, speaking to both Tim and Irina.
But Ethan had a more specific problem with Tim's complaint. "Does that mean you're not doing the story on the beer party tonight?"
"I've been thinking about it a lot," Tim said, swallowing hard. "There are two options."
"What, you do the story or you don't do the story?"
"But what if I can't do it? How come I'm never allowed to fail?"
"You've failed at failing," Charles said.
"The thing about parties," Tim said ignoring him, "is I get nervous when there're a lot of people around."
"What's the cutoff?" Ethan asked.
Tim considered it a moment. "Two. That's why I don't go to parties."
"You don't go to parties because you're not invited to any," Charles said.
But John took a more paternal approach. "You have to find strengths in your weaknesses," he said, squeezing Irina's hand for emphasis. "That's what successful people do, whether in art or in business. Dance through the pain. It adds depth to your performance."
Naturally Tim thought John was still talking to him since he doesn't know John is always focused on love and romance. "I'm not sure I entirely follow you. I've always been naïve about business speak, having been non-profitable my whole life."
But Irina got the message. Watching her pull her hand away, I wondered if John had missed the deeper point that paternalism might not be the most successful approach to becoming a father.
At any rate, the real father on the scene was more sympathetic to Tim's problems. "Look, I don't like working any more than you do," Ethan said. "The problem is we have kids. If you have another one you'll be stuck doing it forever."
Tim nodded. "Maybe it'd be better if we got another cat," he said to Milagros.
"I want a dog," Lourdes said, overhearing him. "Actually two dogs."
"How about if we don't have a baby we can get two dogs," Tim said. "Or three cats."
"One baby is worth two dogs or three cats?" Charles asked. He's sensitive about not being a father himself.
"Wouldn't it be amazing to have a couple months off to travel without having to worry about anything?" Ethan said. "My college roommate actually did it a couple years ago."
"Where'd he get the money?" Tim asked. "What've I been doing wrong? I should've gotten off at a different exit."
Ethan waited until Lourdes had run back down the beach with Henry and Marcus. "He doesn't have any kids."
He watched them a moment, pushing each other toward the water. "Of course if you did go it might be really hard to come back. You might just go completely off the grid."
Tim took Lourdes' mittens out of his pocket and waved at her with them. He had a bag with her ballet clothes over his shoulder after taking her to class in the morning and was carrying her school books in his backpack. In the short time he'd known Milagros he'd taken every possible opportunity to spend time with Lourdes, after having so little with his own daughter, who'd been a baby when her mother left him.
"That's not really the problem," he said, biting his lip with worry. "What I'm trying to do is make this job work, get more money, and help out with everything."
He started down the beach with the mittens in case Lourdes' hands were cold.
"Basically I'm trying to get on the grid."
Last Updated on Tuesday, 05 March 2013 17:23
Hits: 161
The education of the young Mr. Longfellow
Written by Cliff Gallant
When Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born 206 years ago this past Wednesday, on February 27, 1807, Portland was not a place well suited to the nuturing of the poetic spirit. For the most part, it was a rough-hewn seacoast town populated by work-a-day sorts who, if anything, were antagonistic to the expression of the finer sentiments. Even if his fellow townsmen had been able to peer into the cradle of the newborn Henry and know that he would one day become known as "America's Poet of the Heart", the man who would give voice to the American dream, they would not have been much impressed. Better that he grow to be a sturdy lad of even temperment, fitted to the practical demands of the day, and leave poetry to refined ladies sitting in front room parlors.
Henry's father, Stephen Longfellow, a successful lawyer and former Congressman, tended to share the view that poetry was not a worthy career for a serious young man. It is mother Zilpah to whom the world is indebted for all that Henry Wadsworth Longfellow came to be. She surrounded him with the best literature of the day, be it the poetry of Robert Burns, the romances of Sir Walter Scott, or the plays of Shakespeare, and Henry liked nothing better than to wander through his beloved Deering's Woods and lie under a tree as his mother read to him.
From a delightful, though somewhat fawning, volume found in the Portland Room of the public library, "The Youthful Haunts of Longfellow," by George Thornton Edwards, a Longfellow family friend, we gain an account of Henry's early formal education.
At a time when most children received little or no formal education, Zilpah enrolled Henry at the age of three in a school located on the waterfront side of Spring Street, about half way between High and Park Streets, run by a woman called "Marm Fellows." Henry was, of course, a model student, and was much smiled upon by his teacher, but did not fare so well with the carefree and footloose "young toughs" who frequented the vacinity of the school. Mr. Edwards, and one can almost hear his voice catching with emotion as he writes, tells of how the child, "not yet out of his flowing long white dresses, and jogging along on the back of the family horse, a burly servant running alongside," was made the target of many a snowball, which were replaced in the warmer
weather by a fusilage of the unkindest of hurled remarks. After enduring two painful years of this unremitting abuse, Henry was mercifully transferred to a school located on what was then named Love's Lane, and is today's Center Street.
The Love's Lane school, though, proved not to be a good placement for Henry either. Mr. Edwards wrote that "He came home one day, his cheeks aflame with anger and indignation. His teacher has accused him of a lie. One can imagine the effect on the conscientious high-minded child." Suffice it to say that Henry was no longer required to attend the school, and was transferred without much adieu to Portland Academy, an early version of what today we would call a college prep school, located on the corner opposite First Parish Church, just down from his Congress Street home.
Portland Academy proved to be a good fit for the precocious child and he prospered there until age fourteen, when it became evident that he had exhausted the educational offerings of the institution, at which point he was sent to the newly founded Bowdoin College, in Brunswick, possibly still the youngest to ever have been admitted there. That they appointed him the college's first Professor of
Classical Languages when he graduated at age eighteen is a good indication that he had met and even exceeded expections.
Henry saw his first poem published long before he went off to Bowdoin though. In "The Youthful Haunts of Longfellow" Mr. Edwards presents a heart-warming account of how the young man, at the age of thirteen, walked down over the cobblestones of Exchange Street one frosty November morning and, with "fear and trepidation," reached up and dropped a poem he had written about
an Indian battle that took plce in Hiram, Maine, "The Battle of Lovell's Pond", into "The People's Box" attached to the front wall of Shirley Publishing Company, the publisher of The Portland Gazette newspaper. Looking over his father's shoulder as he read the Gazette the next morning, Henry waited "with bated breath" to see if his father's eye would fall on the poem signed "Henry" down on
the bottom of the front page in the "Poets Corner."
Well, his father did see the poem, but his reaction wasn't what Henry had hoped for. Having one's creative offerings in the daily newspaper was considered to be somewhat "common" for a member of an aristocratic family, and this interest in poetry on his son's part was beginning to become a serious concern to his father. All Henry got from him, sadly, was a disapproving clearing of the throat and a dismissive look delivered over the top of his spectacles. One suspects, though, that mother Zilpah's reaction was of a much different tone, at least when she and Henry were out of the sight of her husband.
Here's a side story: In his recounting of this "Battle of Lovell's Pond" episode in the poet's youth, Mr. Edwards notes that Shirley Publishing Company was located on the westerly side of Exchange Street, almost opposite the head of Milk Street. I went there to see what might be located there now and, lo and behold: it's a store specializing in locally made artisan jewelry named ... Lovell Designs.
The owner, Ken Kantro, says he's never heard of the poem "The Battle of Lovell's Pond" and that the name of his shop is entirely coincidental.
Perhaps a plaque identifying the spot as where the first published poem of the most beloved poet in the English speaking world was submitted would be in order? Zilpah would have approved.
(Cliff Gallant of Portland is a regular columnist for The Portland Daily Sun. Email him at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. .)
Henry's father, Stephen Longfellow, a successful lawyer and former Congressman, tended to share the view that poetry was not a worthy career for a serious young man. It is mother Zilpah to whom the world is indebted for all that Henry Wadsworth Longfellow came to be. She surrounded him with the best literature of the day, be it the poetry of Robert Burns, the romances of Sir Walter Scott, or the plays of Shakespeare, and Henry liked nothing better than to wander through his beloved Deering's Woods and lie under a tree as his mother read to him.
From a delightful, though somewhat fawning, volume found in the Portland Room of the public library, "The Youthful Haunts of Longfellow," by George Thornton Edwards, a Longfellow family friend, we gain an account of Henry's early formal education.
At a time when most children received little or no formal education, Zilpah enrolled Henry at the age of three in a school located on the waterfront side of Spring Street, about half way between High and Park Streets, run by a woman called "Marm Fellows." Henry was, of course, a model student, and was much smiled upon by his teacher, but did not fare so well with the carefree and footloose "young toughs" who frequented the vacinity of the school. Mr. Edwards, and one can almost hear his voice catching with emotion as he writes, tells of how the child, "not yet out of his flowing long white dresses, and jogging along on the back of the family horse, a burly servant running alongside," was made the target of many a snowball, which were replaced in the warmer
weather by a fusilage of the unkindest of hurled remarks. After enduring two painful years of this unremitting abuse, Henry was mercifully transferred to a school located on what was then named Love's Lane, and is today's Center Street.
The Love's Lane school, though, proved not to be a good placement for Henry either. Mr. Edwards wrote that "He came home one day, his cheeks aflame with anger and indignation. His teacher has accused him of a lie. One can imagine the effect on the conscientious high-minded child." Suffice it to say that Henry was no longer required to attend the school, and was transferred without much adieu to Portland Academy, an early version of what today we would call a college prep school, located on the corner opposite First Parish Church, just down from his Congress Street home.
Portland Academy proved to be a good fit for the precocious child and he prospered there until age fourteen, when it became evident that he had exhausted the educational offerings of the institution, at which point he was sent to the newly founded Bowdoin College, in Brunswick, possibly still the youngest to ever have been admitted there. That they appointed him the college's first Professor of
Classical Languages when he graduated at age eighteen is a good indication that he had met and even exceeded expections.
Henry saw his first poem published long before he went off to Bowdoin though. In "The Youthful Haunts of Longfellow" Mr. Edwards presents a heart-warming account of how the young man, at the age of thirteen, walked down over the cobblestones of Exchange Street one frosty November morning and, with "fear and trepidation," reached up and dropped a poem he had written about
an Indian battle that took plce in Hiram, Maine, "The Battle of Lovell's Pond", into "The People's Box" attached to the front wall of Shirley Publishing Company, the publisher of The Portland Gazette newspaper. Looking over his father's shoulder as he read the Gazette the next morning, Henry waited "with bated breath" to see if his father's eye would fall on the poem signed "Henry" down on
the bottom of the front page in the "Poets Corner."
Well, his father did see the poem, but his reaction wasn't what Henry had hoped for. Having one's creative offerings in the daily newspaper was considered to be somewhat "common" for a member of an aristocratic family, and this interest in poetry on his son's part was beginning to become a serious concern to his father. All Henry got from him, sadly, was a disapproving clearing of the throat and a dismissive look delivered over the top of his spectacles. One suspects, though, that mother Zilpah's reaction was of a much different tone, at least when she and Henry were out of the sight of her husband.
Here's a side story: In his recounting of this "Battle of Lovell's Pond" episode in the poet's youth, Mr. Edwards notes that Shirley Publishing Company was located on the westerly side of Exchange Street, almost opposite the head of Milk Street. I went there to see what might be located there now and, lo and behold: it's a store specializing in locally made artisan jewelry named ... Lovell Designs.
The owner, Ken Kantro, says he's never heard of the poem "The Battle of Lovell's Pond" and that the name of his shop is entirely coincidental.
Perhaps a plaque identifying the spot as where the first published poem of the most beloved poet in the English speaking world was submitted would be in order? Zilpah would have approved.
(Cliff Gallant of Portland is a regular columnist for The Portland Daily Sun. Email him at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. .)
Last Updated on Friday, 01 March 2013 01:34
Hits: 252