Standing on Ceremony

“Thanks for coming over last night,” Aaron said and then held up his Snapple bottle in a toast.

It was the Sunday before Tax Day, and the best friends were seated on their favorite bench next to the river.  It was warm and the sun was shining.

“Happy to be there,” Holly replied and raised her cup of coffee to accept the toast.  “Thanks for inviting me again this year.”

“I know you probably think it’s a weird tradition, but it’s important to me and I wanted you to be there to take part,” he explained.  “It only happens once a year, so I like to make a big deal of it, even if it might seem silly to others.”

“I don’t think it to be silly at all,” she assured him.  “And even if I did, that doesn’t mean it’s any less important to you.  We all come from different backgrounds and cultures, so if we don’t celebrate our traditions, we lose a little piece of wait makes us unique.  Of course, you’re probably the only person in the world who holds a ceremony to mark this occasion, but that doesn’t make it any less important.”

“Exactly!” he exclaimed and took a long gulp of his Snapple.  “Traditions are created to remind us of important moments that should never be forgotten.  This one is something that means a great deal to me as it symbolizes my surviving a dark, depressing period in my life.”

“I totally agree,” she concurred with a bright smile.  “That’s why I was both honored and excited to be asked to participate.  What we celebrated last night is also important to me.  I think if more people heard about it, they would add the tradition to their annual list of events.”

“That would be pretty cool,” Aaron replied excitedly.  “Maybe if enough people started doing it, it would become a national holiday.  I could always use another day off.”

“As would I,” Holly agreed.  “The only problem I see with that, though, is agreeing on a date for the event.  After all, it doesn’t occur on the same day for everyone.”

He nodded as he considered her point.  “That’s true.  Maybe if we settled on a date that was like an average for the entire country, it would make sense.”

“That could work,” she decided.  “Either way, I propose a toast once again, even though it’s a day late.  It’s still just as exciting.”  She raised her cup, and he raised his bottle.  “To National Replacing Your Winter Coat with Your Spring Coat on the Coat Rack Day!”

“Cheers!” they said in unison and then tapped their bottle and cup.

“This historic event means that winter is officially over,” Aaron pointed out.  “I love ditching my winter coat in the closet where I won’t have to look at it, and better yet, won’t have to wear it for another seven months.  Life is good.”

“Life is very good!” Holly added.  “You look quite dashing in your spring coat, by the way.”

“Thanks.  You look sharp in yours.”

They smiled, basked in the spring sunshine, and turned their attention to the river.

Black Hole Sun

“Are you ready for the big eclipse tomorrow?” Holly asked with a smile before taking a sip of her coffee.

It was the Sunday before the eclipse, and the best friends were seated on their favorite bench next to the river.  The sun shone brightly and gave no indication that it planned to vanish the next day.

Aaron shrugged.  “Not to be contrarian, but I don’t really see what the big deal is about the eclipse.  I’m going to be indoors, I’m sure I’ll be busy, and I’ve experienced darkness before.  Like just now.”  He pointed to his face as he closed his eyes.  “Is this what it’s going to be like tomorrow?  If so, I don’t even need a special pair of glasses to witness it.”

“You’re such a dork!” she declared and punched him hard in the shoulder.  “An eclipse is much more than the lack of light.  Why are you acting like it isn’t?”

He took a long sip of his Snapple as his considered his answer.  “I suppose it has something to do with my being an introvert.  If everyone is going to do something, it’s in my nature to do the opposite to avoid the crowds.  Plus, if I don’t follow the herd and simply continue on with my life like it’s a typical Monday afternoon, I won’t risk blinding myself.”

“You’re impossible sometimes,” she countered with a shake of her head.

“Only sometimes?” he teased.  “Sounds like I’m improving.”

“I bet if no one cared about the eclipse, you’d be up on a rooftop trying to get the best view to watch it,” she told him.

“As Billy Joel once famously said, you may be right, I may be crazy,” he replied.  “What I won’t be, and you can bet the ranch on this, is standing in the parking lot and staring towards the heavens.  If there’s a surprise twist to the eclipse, I’m sure everyone else will let me know.”

“You’re no fun,” she grumbled as she took another sip of coffee.

“Thank you,” he replied with a smile.  “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve said to me today.”

They turned their attention to the river and agreed to disagree about the significance of the eclipse. Sensing his best friend was upset, Aaron tried to make her laugh by humming “Total Eclipse of the Heart”.  Holly did not want to react and give him any satisfaction, but she could not hold back a smile.

“Damn you, Bonnie Tyler,” she muttered.  They both laughed.

Maine Governor Refuses to Pay Ransom for Spring

Maine Governor Janet Mills called a press conference in Augusta this morning to announce that she has refused to pay the ransom to release Spring from captivity.  Mills was defiant in her stance and made it clear that the Pine Tree State did not negotiate with terrorists.

“My office has received a ransom demand from a group calling itself Winter Should Last Forever.  These ecoterrorists claimed to be holding Spring hostage and said they would not release the season unless we left two million dollars in the parking lot of the new Renys in Bangor.”

Governor Mills went on to explain that even if the state had a spare two million dollars at its fingertips, she would never pay because that’s the way Mainers would want it.

“Mainers know that Spring sometimes doesn’t start here until May or even mid-June.  Mainers are tough, thick skinned, and don’t mind wearing layers.  Most Mainers learn how to shovel snow before they learn to walk, so another few months of Winter isn’t going to bother them.”

Most of the state shut down on Thursday because of the massive snow and windstorm that was predicted.  It was the second large snowstorm in Maine since the calendar claimed it to be Spring.  Thousands of Mainers are still without power because of Thursday’s storm.

The FBI has been called in to investigate.  According to my sources in the Bureau, the group Winter Should Last Forever has not come up on their radar.  Agents believe that the group is a front for Snow Miser, who enjoys tormenting Mainers and probably wanted a little more attention before he vanished for the year.

A quick poll of Mainers conducted by WRMP in Bangor shows that 95% of Mainers stand behind the governor’s decision to not pay the ransom.  Mainers have been out in force since Thursday making the most of the situation.  Mainers have hit the ski slopes and snowmobile trails in record numbers, and instances of snowball fights have increased by 1500% over this time last week.

The forecast calls for warmer weather on Monday, and this Modern Philosopher believes that not only did Governor Mills make the correct call, but also that Snow Miser should shove his head in a snowbank.

A Moment in the Sun

Sometimes we have an experience that makes us forget, at least momentarily, about everything that makes life a struggle, Modern Philosophers.

I had such a moment last night.

We were taping another episode of The Nite Show with Danny Cashman.  There was a commercial break and Danny, the man with his name in the title of the show, came to the front of the stage and introduced me to the audience.

I was sitting in my usual seat at the end of the second row, so I was hard to miss.  Especially when the star of the show is pointing me out to everyone in the theater.

Danny said something about my being a hell of a writer, and that I did more than write for the show.  It’s a bit of a blur because I was caught off guard and don’t usually do well in front of strangers.  Danny is a Red Sox fan, so he made a crack about my Yankees hat.  I do remember taking off my cap at that point and waving it to the crowd.  He followed it up with a compliment, though, about how I support my team and always wear my hat in public despite being in the heart of Red Sox Nation.

I then applauded myself for that, and when the audience tried to join me, he admonished them for encouraging and supporting a Yankees fan.

That moment was an unexpected surprise that I will forever treasure.  Sure, my name runs in the credits at the end of every show, but to be singled out and introduced to the audience made me feel special.  And I am grateful to Danny for taking the time to do that.

Being a writer is difficult.  Lately, I’ve been dealing with the rejections to the queries I’ve sent out about the Bruno novel.  When Danny introduced me and the audience applauded, I remembered how much I love being a writer.  I don’t write to be famous, but I have to admit it is good for the ego and self-confidence to get a round of applause from an appreciative crowd that earlier laughed at a couple of the jokes I’d written for the monologue.

Now you know, Modern Philosophers.  Writers are cool.  We just can’t help it, I guess.

Thank you, Danny, for the shout out.  It is a privilege to wrack my brain for ways to make you seem hilarious on TV every week.  You certainly make it a challenge at times, but I’m up to the task.

Okay, that was just a ribbing for making fun of my Yankees.  I really do love writing for The Nite Show and it’s an honor to be a part of the team.

If you don’t have a job writing for late night TV, I highly recommend you get one.  Especially, if you can find yourself a boss like Danny Cashman!

Show A Little Faith, There’s Chocolate

“Happy Easter!”  Holly greeted Aaron with a beaming smile and presented him with a candy Easter bunny.  “I wanted to make sure you got something, and I know anything chocolate peanut butter is your favorite.”

It was Easter Sunday, and the best friends were seated on their favorite bench next to the river.

“Thank you,” Aaron replied as he looked at his treasure.  “This will be a yummy treat when I’m watching the Yankees game later.”

Her smile grew a little wider now that she had confirmed her gift was a success.  “I was going to ask if you had any big plans, but it sounds like you’re going to be watching baseball.”  She sipped her coffee and waiting for a response.

He nodded and took a long chug of his Snapple.  “You know Easter isn’t a big deal for me.  The nuns ruined it for me a long time ago.”

“Explain again how they did that,” she asked as a mischievous grin passed over her beautiful face.  Holly was well aware of the answer but listening to Aaron rant about it every year had become an Easter tradition.  The cost of the show was well worth one Reese’s Easter bunny.

“Every year I’d ask the nuns what chocolate, baskets, eggs, and bunnies had to do with the resurrection of Jesus, and every year, I’d get sent to the principal’s office,” he explained.  “They treated me like I was a blasphemous heathen, when I was just a curious kid who wanted answers.”

“You’re not supposed to question your faith,” she teased because she knew it would inspire more of a tirade against his upbringing.  “You’re just supposed to follow along and believe.”

“Yet anytime I would ask why I couldn’t do something that one of my friends was allowed to do, I’d get the answer, if he jumped off a bridge, would you jump, too?” he grumbled.  “Apparently, it was okay for me to follow blindly when it came to religion, but not when I wanted a new pair of sneakers or permission to go to a movie on a school night.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Holly giggled and drank some more coffee.

“That was exactly it,” he agreed.  “I simply wanted to understand faith.  In social studies, we were taught how wrong it was for nations of people to blindly follow charismatic leaders who led them into wars and committed great atrocities.  In religion, though, we’re taught to blindly follow these tales of a man who could rise from the dead, walk on water, and turn water into wine.  My logical mind craved clarification, and the nuns told me FAITH! and then sent me to the principal.”

Holly reached across and gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder.  “I can see how that would confuse that big brain of yours.”

Aaron nodded and took another hit of Snapple.  “It quickly became clear to me that faith meant accepting something as truth because the nuns told us to believe it.  I then concluded that candy and eggs on Easter were bribes meant to distract us and get us to accept a story that made no sense.  If we were too hopped up on chocolate, we couldn’t question how a man rose from the dead.”

“That makes perfect sense,” Holly agreed.

“Of course, once I learned about zombies, I had so many more questions about Easter, but by then it was too late,” he lamented.  “I’d accepted my share of Easter candy and had forfeited the right to question the faith the nuns had forced on me.”

“But at least you got the candy,” she reminded him.

Aaron smiled and pulled a giant chocolate egg from the pocket of his hoodie.  He then presented it to his best friend.  “Thank you for putting up with the same rant every year.  Happy Easter.”

Holly blushed and accepted his offering.  Then, rather than discuss why they always did such sweet and loving things for each other, they turned their attention to the river.

Nine Innings of Normal

The world is slowly returning to normal, Modern Philosophers.  The snow from this weekend’s big storm is almost completely melted, the wind is supposed to finally die down this morning, and the Yankees are playing winning baseball.

Opening Day finally arrived on Thursday and did not disappoint.  I stopped on my way home for proper baseball snacks, which ended up being fried chicken, French fries, and root beer.  The Yankees quickly fell behind 4-0 but ended up winning the game.

I cheered, I yelled, I commented with my fellow fans on Yankees Twitter.  All while stuffing my face with yummy food.  It was a perfect afternoon and evening.

What really mattered most, though, was how relaxed and happy I was watching the game.  It was three hours where I could follow my heroes, listen to baseball talk, and not worry about all the nonsense going on outside of my little baseball cocoon.

And there is so much nonsense out there!

My weekends can now return to a much more comforting routine.  I’ll write my novel, catch up on the shows on my DVR, and watch the Yankees.  It doesn’t take much to make me happy.  After six months without baseball, I’d forgotten how getting caught up in the season helps me forgot about the little things that increase my stress levels.

My mind is constantly running, and I’d much rather have those thoughts focused on my favorite baseball team.  It’s only two games into the season, and I’m already excited at how statistics, matchups, and potential lineup combinations are keeping my thoughts occupied.

They say you get wiser as you grow older.  With me, it was more of a case of picking the Yankees as a companion rather than another human.  Afterall, the Yankees disappoint me far less.  And they never argue with me or say bad things about me.

Tonight’s game doesn’t start until 7:15, so I plan to fill my day with writing.  How can you not love a weekend that’s all about writing and baseball?

So, if you haven’t already done it, I highly recommend focusing your attention on baseball while you ignore the world and everything about it that causes stress.  You’re sure to thank me!

Why Do I Stay Here?

Yesterday, I found myself questioning why I stay in Maine, Modern Philosophers.

I haven’t had such thoughts since the time of my divorce, and I’ll be quick to tell you how much I enjoy the slower pace of life in Maine.  And the people are so nice.  The area has inspired my writing.

But there’s something evil about this place that heightens my anxiety and makes me want to run like hell.  Not that I know where I’d go, but the desire to flee is there…

I took that picture yesterday.  I was sitting in my driveway after spending four hours clearing the snow.  That’s right, I said FOUR HOURS!

WRITER’S NOTE: I had to delete the photo I took yesterday because it ended up distorting the page for some reason.  This is an old stock photo from a previous storm.  Imagine you can see the tools I talk about in the next paragrh, though…

If you look closely, you’ll see the four different tools I had to implement in the clearing process.  There was the plastic shovel that I usually use.  The only problem was that it was useless yesterday.  Sticking up in the snow is the tool one would normally use to dig holes in a garden.  Then there is the ice chopper.  Finally, there is the old school metal shovel that I found in the garage when I first moved in twenty years ago.  I rarely use it, but it came in handy big time yesterday.

You see, Modern Philosophers, it snowed for twelve hours.  Then, for the next twelve hours, a wintry mix fell on top of that snow.  That wintry mix turned the snow into something so heavy and solid that many of my friends described it as “concrete”.

Snowblowers could do nothing to move it.  Snow shovels were mostly useless.  I had to get the ice chopper and chop away at the snow like it was ice.  Then I could use the shovel to transport the chunks of ice to the side of the driveway.

My arms are still sore from all the chopping.  When I was finished, my right arm cramped up so badly that I couldn’t move it.  Later in the day, both hands cramped up to a point that I couldn’t move my thumbs and index fingers.

As usual, the city snowplow left me my most difficult work.  The mountain of snow at the foot of the driveway was knee high.  There were chunks of icy snow so large that I had to lift them off the pile with both arms and move them to the side.

I used the garden tool to tackle the end of the driveway mountain range.  I’d break up the mountain with that, and then use the metal shovel to scrape the bottom layers away until I hit black top.  I had to stop several times for breaks.  At one point, I just collapsed on the porch and stared up at the roof.  I was too exhausted to move.  Too dehydrated to think clearly.  I was also determined to get the driveway cleared because I knew I wouldn’t want to deal with it in the morning.

So, I kept at it.  As the sun started to hit the driveway, the snow got a little softer.  At this point, I traded the ice chopper for the metal shovel.  I was able to slide the shovel under the snow, and then apply pressure to the handle.  That caused the snow to break off in huge chunks.  I’d snap off a dozen chunks at a time, and then, because they were too heavy for the shovel, I’d lift them with both arms and toss them onto front lawn.

It took me four hours to clear the driveway.  I gave up at that point.  The sidewalk is still covered in snow, but none of my neighbors have cleared their sidewalks, either.  Then city will eventually come through with a mini snowplow and clear a path.

I did not clear a path from the driveway to my front porch until I got home from work tonight.  I was honestly too tired to function after four hours.  When I took off my jacket in the foyer, I discovered my shirt was soaked through with sweat.

I took a shower, I made some soup, and I barely left the couch for the rest of the day.  I have never been that drained after clearing the snow.  It made me wonder why the hell I stayed in Maine.  It was four days until Opening Day, and I spent four hours clearing snow.

It’s just not right.

I’m starting to think Maine isn’t the place for me…

What Is Spring?

“I don’t care what the calendar says.  If I’m shoveling snow, it isn’t spring!” Aaron declared as he stomped the snow off his boots.

It was Palm Sunday, and the best friends were seated on their favorite bench next to the river.  Of course, they had to clear off the snow first since it had been covered from the previous day’s storm.

“You’re the one who always says spring doesn’t start until April,” Holly reminded him.  She loved tossing his words back in his face to see how he’d react.

“I know that!” he clarified.  “I’m just saying I’m tired of all these people prattling on about how it’s spring because the calendar says it is.  Spring is more of a state of mind.  It doesn’t simply happen on a set schedule.”

“How philosophical of you,” she quipped.  They paused the conversation to enjoy a beverage.  Holly sipped her coffee, while Aaron chugged half his bottle of Snapple.

“Calendars set unrealistic expectations,” Aaron started back in on his rant.  “You see an official looking document stating that spring has sprung, and you expect sunshine, warm weather, and some flowers poking their heads through the dirt.  Instead, you get snow, ice, and naked trees swaying in the stiff wind.”

“Unfortunately, calendars aren’t official documents, so you can’t take out your anger by suing the manufacturers for false advertising,” Holly advised.  “Calendars are really just places to scribble your upcoming appointments while enjoying a silly photo of a cat playing with a ball of yarn.”

Aaron shrugged and swallowed more Snapple.  “I’m just tired of winter.  I’m ready to move on to the next phase.  I want to open some windows, stash the snow shovel, and put on shorts.  I don’t ask for much from life, so the powers that be could at least give me that.”

“Your list of demands is not at all outrageous,” she agreed.  “Hopefully, someone with pull will read this blog post and get you the warmer weather you requested.”

“That would be nice,” he sighed.  “If something were to go right for once, I’d allow myself to be happy for a few moments.  Wouldn’t that be a kick?”

“Definitely,” Holly confirmed.

Tuckered out from all his whining, Aaron turned his attention to the river.  Of course, he couldn’t actually see the water since it was frozen solid, but he looked in that direction nevertheless.

Fastball, Curveball, Snowball

Opening Day is five days away, Modern Philosophers, yet I’m looking out the window at the falling snow.  We’re supposed to get anywhere from four to eighteen inches.  The weather people can’t seem to make up their minds on that.  The one thing they can agree on, however, is that this is the second snowfall in Maine since the first day of spring.

I use the start of the baseball season as a measuring stick for when I can come out of hibernation and put the perils of winter behind me.  Of course, that worked much better when the first pitch of the season was thrown in April.  Now that games start in March, there’s still a good chance that Maine is still going to be in Snow Miser’s icy grip.

I’ve had enough of winter by New Year’s Day.  It’s a dark, depressing, cold, and treacherous time.  Years ago on the blog, I labeled what passes as winter in Maine as the 182 Days of Terror.  It basically lasts from October 1 through March 31.  This year, it clearly has no intention of ending early.

Despite the weather report, I am thinking positive.  I have the MLB Extra Innings package ready to go.  I have put in to leave work early on Thursday so I can watch the Yankees kick off 2024.  For weeks, I’ve been pondering what sort of snacks I need for Opening Day.

The weather outside might be frightful, but I stopped at the library last night to pick up a good book.  I’ve got several shows waiting for me on the DVR, and there’s a novel I need to finish writing.  When we do get a blizzard, it’s preferable it hits on the weekend.  That way, there’s no rush to clear the snow and no need for me to drive in it.

I plan to make the most of my snowy weekend and daydream about the Yankees’ chances of winning the World Series this year.  Hope you all have a great weekend!

Kiss Me, You’re Irish

“Happy St. Patrick’s Day!” Holly wished him when he arrived.

It was St. Patrick’s Day, and the best friends were seated on their favorite bench next to the river.  They were both wearing green in support of the holiday.

“Happy St. Patrick’s Day,” Aaron replied.  “I made sure to wear green so that you wouldn’t spend the morning pinching me.  I bruise easily!”

“Poor baby,” she teased with a mischievous smile.  “You’re the one who’s Irish, so I’d think you’d enjoy the traditions.”

He shook his head and took a long sip of his Snapple.  “It’s the non-Irish ones who get into it more.  Yes, I’m looking at you.  Let me guess, that’s an Irish Coffee in your cup.”

Holly giggled and sipped her coffee.  “I’m not telling.  I thought you were proud of your Irish heritage.  Why aren’t you more excited about the holiday?”

He shrugged.  “Maybe because I’m secure in my heritage, I don’t need to boast about it one day a year.  Green happens to be my favorite color, so I wear it plenty on days other than March 17.”

“Let’s not forget that when Notre Dame is playing, you make it a point of mentioning that you’re Irish.”

“That’s easier than explaining why I’m a Notre Dame fan,” he countered.  “I grew up in a Catholic neighborhood that was half Irish and half Italian.  Everyone wore their religious gang colors this time of year.  The Irish kids showed up for school in green on March 17, and the Italian kids showed up in red two days later to celebrate St. Joseph’s Day.  The nuns loved it because we were taking sides with a Catholic saint as our leader.  Looking back at it, that was kind of messed up.”

“I think all your stories about Catholic school are messed up,” she replied and took a long sip of her coffee.  “They go a long way towards explaining why you’re so weird.”

He chuckled.  “I don’t disagree.  One of the Italian kids fancied himself to be a ladies’ man, so every St. Patrick’s Day, he’d go up to the Irish girls and say, Kiss me, you’re Irish.”

“Did it work?” she asked.

“Only if his goal was to get slapped in the face or cursed at,” he told her.  “The girls at my school were pretty bad ass.”

“Which I’m sure explains why you didn’t get your first kiss until you were in high school,” she shot back with a laugh.

Aaron took a long drink of his Snapple.  “I’ve never had the luck of the Irish when it comes to the fairer sex.  I guess I’m like St. Patrick in that rather than driving all the snakes out of Ireland, I’ve driven all the women out of my life.”

“Awww.  That’s such a sad story,” she remarked.  “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you now and say Kiss me, you’re Irish?”

He rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the river.  She taunted him for a moment with kissing noises, but when he didn’t comment, she turned her attention to the river as well…

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!