It's been awhile

Well, for those few people who actually read my blog, my apologies. I took a brief hiatus from writing. However, because of the nagging of my dad, I'm back.

Spring has sprung in Central Maine and Boomer and I are reveling in it! If the weather is good, it is wonderful and I have trouble staying indoors. Today, for instance, is another gorgeous day. Boomer and I our out on our porch, watching the kids in the park and keeping an eye on the passing dogs. For a girl who thought I could never live in a small town, I am finding the slow pace of my new home to be nice. There is a rhythm to a small town like this, I am finding is fulfilling.

As a celebration for Earth Day, I took the day off and planted some flowers on my porch. I feel that I have created a nice spot to soak in the sun.


I absolutely love sitting out my porch. In fact, yesterday, I even LAID out and did some tanning. I felt that because I am on the second floor and out of the eye-line of passers-by, I would not frighten anyone with my ghost like white skin. It was a thoroughly enjoyable experience, except for the fact that Boomer insisted on tanning as well. On top of me. I have a feeling that by the time the summer is through, I will have a Boomer shaped tan-line. Now that is love!

Yep, I love everything about my porch, except for one small problem. Spiders. Lots and lots of spiders. And not the normal Midwestern spiders that I am used to. These are HUGE Maine garden spiders who feel that my porch is the perfect place to raise a family. On any given day I kill between 5 and 10. Their webs (while beautiful) are everywhere on my porch. The only redeeming factor about these spiders is that they only come out at night. So, I can be outside during the days and not have to co-exist with them. But, when I switch on the porch light and step outside in the evening, it is like stepping into a zoo exhibit. The precise exhibits that I would avoid. Giant spiders...everywhere. Maybe someday I will learn to accept these creatures as my neighbors. But not until I exhaust every weapon of destruction at my disposal will I admit defeat!

Well, Dad, I hope you are satisfied. Sorry it has taken so long for me to update the blog. I promise to try and do better.

Gaudiness

I had an image in my mind of how I would decorate my home during the holidays when I was all grown up. My vision included understated Christmas lights with greenery. There might even be a red bow (or two). During the spring and summer, I would have flowers that celebrated the season (red, I think, I like red). I had all these visions, hopes, dreams, and aspirations. But, I moved to Maine, and those have been crushed.

First let me say, when I first moved to Maine I moved into a HORRIBLE apartment that had a smell. I can't describe the smell other than to say that it smelled dirty. No matter how much I cleaned, it still had a smell. It was awful. Horrible. Despicable. Embarrassing. Bad. I could not get out of there fast enough. Then in early December I was able to move into a perfect apartment. Clean. Cute. Safe. A good smell. I was so happy! The only problem, my vision of how to decorate my second floor deck facing a busy street in a tasteful way was dashed.

My down stairs neighbor, an lovely elderly woman whose family owns my building, likes to decorate. A lot. And I mean a lot. Her entire apartment changes with the seasons. Walking into her home between November and January was like walking into Santa's wet dream. You were over-whelmed with decorations. Gaudy decorations. Really, really gaudy decorations.

And the outside of the house, the space that we share, was worse. The amount of Christmas lights were enough to confuse any over-head plane. I didn't need lights on in my apartment at night because of the ethereal glow. I could find my apartment building from the moon, if I had a chance to go. There was no tasteful, under-stated decorations for me. Though, there were a lot of red bows.

When the lights and decorations finally came down I was happy. I could finally enjoy my home without having to wear sun glasses. But, much too soon, the Easter decorations arrived. The small tree outside in the front yard is bent over with the weight of hanging plastic eggs. There are fake spring flowers (with tags still attached) stuck into the flower boxes. There are rabbits in colors not found in nature taped to the front door and up the stair-well. In essence, there is never going to anything ever under-stated in my new home.

And the funny thing is, I have started to experience a sense of pride in my gaudy home. I feel...special...knowing that I live in the building that others smirk at when passing by. I like being able to describe my home as that house on the corner with the decorations. People know it, and that makes me happy.

Maybe someday I will get over my desire to be tasteful and understated. Maybe someday I will be in competition with my downstairs companion. Maybe someday I will begin decorating for the lesser known holidays. I understand that 'International Women's Day' is coming up. Perhaps I can decorate my home with bras, tampons, and shoulder pads. We'll see. It would definitely leave an impression on the truckers who drive by throughout the day and night.

Puppy Love

For those of you who haven't ever had the chance to meet my dog, Boomer, I feel this picture adequately captures his personality. He is a...strange dog. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing but love for him, but I have never encountered a dog with such a strong personality (or such disproportionate ears). Strong and odd.

First off, Boomer is not yet 2 years old but he had a rough start to his life. My vet strongly thinks that Boomer was severely abused and neglected as a young puppy. Thankfully he was rescued by my friend Kimberly before coming to live with me. Because of this rough start, Boomer has certain (though understandable) personality issues. He has a need to be in some way touching me at every given moment. While I am at home, he is pressed up against me, either sleeping or just staring at me. He in particular likes to be near my face. As we speak, I am trying to see around him as he sits on my chest, rubbing his face against mine. I have never cared for a cat, but it seems like a similar behavior. Sometimes I wonder if he is marking me as his property.

At night he sleeps in my bed, under the covers (I know, pathetic, but what can I say). Even then, he has to be in some way touching me. If he is curled up at my feet and I move away from him, even if just by a few inches, he will move his paw so it keeps touching my feet. Cute, but a little needy.

And then there is his problem with men. Most likely abused by a man, Boomer distrusts men almost as much as I distrust technology. The gentleman who maintains my apartment, a wonderful guy named Ron, can't get within 6 feet of Boomer without being barked at. I am, understandably, concerned about this problem. Mostly because my goal is to have another man in my life, preferably one who stands on only two feet. So, I need Boomer to realize that not every man is dangerous.

I consulted a patient who is also an animal behaviorist (I was so happy that she had to be in the hospital because I could never afford her counsel on my own. I hate to admit it, but I was a little sad when she was discharged, especially as I had spent an evening writing down more questions for her). My patient told me that the best way to teach Boomer to trust men was to find a man who could spend a whole weekend with us, completely uninterrupted. She went on to explain a number of steps that the three of us would take in order to increase Boomer's comfort. She then said I had to find another man to do the same thing on a different weekend.

I listened to her advice and thanked her. And I resisted the urge to tell her that if I had two men who could spend uninterrupted weekends with me, I would not be so focused on the behavior of my dog. Quite frankly, I think I would have other things to think about.

So, I am a Midwest girl in Maine, with a needy dog, looking for a man who can put up with us both. I have heard that single mothers tell prospective mates that they must love her children. Other times I have heard men telling prospective mates that they have to love his mother as much as him. In my case, any guy must love my dog, my Midwestern roots, and me all equally. A lofty quest I know. But I am put at ease knowing that the best place to meet single men is at dog parks. So, someday, when central Maine builds its first dog park, Boomer and I will be there, wearing a Vikings sweatshirt, proclaiming "This is who I am - A Midwest Girl and her dog in Maine."

Growing Up

They say "Growing up is hard to do." I agree. Giving up the ease of childhood for the stress and difficulties of adulthood can be hard. But today, a day when I am really learning that I have grown up, I am happy to be an adult - even with all of the responsibilities that it entails.

Why am I so reflective today? Because I did my taxes. I know, it doesn't seem like something to get reflective about. In fact, I am sure most people would prefer to not even think about taxes. I myself was putting them off. I convinced myself I needed to buy a new printer before doing my taxes (which I did, and while not a vital purchase, I am reveling in my new found freedom to print anything, at any given moment). When I could think of no more excuses, I started my taxes. I have NEVER done my taxes without supervision before. In fact, last year was the first year I did them myself - but I had my mother sitting right next to me, monitoring my every click (again, as a Millennial, I do my taxes on the internet - I am still working on the trust thing). But this year, I couldn't have my mom next to me. This year I have moved away and left my childhood back in Minnesota.

I knew that it was important for my development into my own person to move away from home. There have been plenty of days when I miss the plains of the Midwest and the comfort of having my parents right next to me. Then there are days like today. Today I learned that I can do it on my own. Today I learned that I don't need to have my mom sitting right next to me, watching my every move.

I was so lucky to be raised in a home where I had everything I needed and most of what I wanted. My parents loved me and cared for me, even when the woes of adolescence had a strong grip on my attitude. I had constant back-up, help was always right there. I remember needing to get to the community college to take a final while in high school during a blizzard. My car couldn't handle the roads. So my dad left work and ferried me to and from my test. And when it was time to put my dear dog Molly down, my mom left work to hold me while I cried. I have always been so lucky.

Moving to Maine was a huge risk. I left a lot behind. It has been hard and scary. But, also so fulfilling. I was blessed to learn what I wanted to do with my life early and work for it. I was blessed to be offered a job in which I was given responsibility and leadership. And I learned, tonight, that I don't need my parents right here, even when doing something so grown up as filing my taxes.

Don't get me wrong, I still need my parents. I turn to them for advice and comfort. And tonight, I called to brag about just how grown up their daughter has gotten. I also know that if I need them, they will be here before the sun rises. Thanks mom and dad, I couldn't have gotten this far without you.

So, tonight I am celebrating my adulthood with an Oreo cookie and glass of wine. A low key celebration, though reminiscent of my life in Maine. Hard to believe filing my taxes would lead me to reflect on my journey into adulthood, but it has.

Trustworthy Technology

I am from the "Millennial" generation (people born between 1978 and 1998). I am the type of person who prefers to be doing more than one thing at a time (for example, I am currently writing, watching the Olympics, drinking wine, and cuddling the dog). Being from this particular generation also means that I am literate in technology. I can easily learn new things on computers. I can navigate the internet better than my home town. I rely on spell check and I don't even known a dictionary (though there is a possibility that I have one buried in a box, you know, an antique). I text faster than I write, and always have a cell phone within immediate reach (also an ice-scraper, to make my dad and patient's happy). So, it is assumed that I trust technology. This assumption, as always, is wrong.

I completely distrust technology. I am in the sandwich generation of using technology constantly but not totally trusting that it will do the right thing. Those younger than me seem to have no problem turning over their whole worlds to technology. They will happily email their professors final papers, where I would email and then run across campus to make sure that it actually arrived, in complete form, with the correct name and date on it. I have a GPS that I have stopped using because I am convinced that it is out to get me. When I use it, I am completely dependent because I frequently don't know where I am going. But after an excursion in backwoods Maine, where it kept yelling at me to turn onto a road that would have not supported the width and weight of my car, I decided that I had to take matters into my own hands. I am sure that someday all of the GPS's of the world will rise up against humankind and tell us to all drive into oceans. You just wait, it'll happen.

Today was a classic example of me not trusting technology. About a year ago I started to pay my bills on-line. Talk about a risk - sending my money through the cosmos, praying that it would end up paying the right bill. But because I don't really trust the technology, I end up calling and making sure my payments were received. The customers service reps are always polite but gently reminded me that just because there was 'weather' in California were my payment was heading does not mean that it got stuck in some sort of internet highway pile-up. I don't trust it. Recently, I noticed that I hadn't been billed for my cable and internet. I was getting increasingly nervous that I would wake up one day and I couldn't get news and information instantaneously (another characteristic of Millennials.) So, I signed onto the internet and kept paying my bill - over and over and over. I was sure that it was getting lost in the universe and my blood pressure started to get dangerously high. Then, still not trusting the 'system', I called my friendly customer service rep who politely informed me that I had actually built up a CREDIT of $238. And the reason that I hadn't received a bill lately was because I had payed the last one twice, once on-line and then (not trusting) once with a mailed check. And then paid three more times on the internet. Knowing me, I will be calling again next month, just to make sure that money is still safely tucked into a computer system (good thing customer service reps are trained to be counselors, I need emotional reassurance every once and awhile).

I am also now sporting two pagers. I don't trust that the technology will lead the people who need me the most to call the right number. So, I am walking around with two pagers at my waist, looking mightily important, but really, just untrusting.

Someday, I may give into the technology and allow it to lead me. But for now, I feel better calling the ever so polite customer service people, wearing two pagers, and paying my bills more than once. You have to admit, at least I am consistent.

**NOTE: While setting up the above picture, my dear sweet Boomer picked up one of my pagers and ran off. It seems that he too wants to be hooked into the technology of the age.

"Weather"

I was raised in a classic Midwestern home. We talked about the weather...a lot. My dad, God love him, found watching the weather channel entertaining. And the radar channel was common (for those who did not grow up in the Midwest, the radar channel is one where you can watch the local radar on a continuous loop while listening to a computerized voice report the temperature - high class television). Between the weather channel and the radar channel, my dad was able to let me know what to expect on any given day, actually any given hour. No matter that the forecasts were often wrong. We still were always prepared, just as any good boy/girl-scout would be.

So, when I moved to Maine, I was curious to see if the obsession with 'weather' would continue. It turns out, that...yes, the weather is even a bigger deal here in Maine. I know this because today, we had 'weather.' I am not sure if this type of weather is best described as a noun or verb. It seems to be more of a state of being. "There is going to be 'weather'" is something that I hear a great deal about. The patients at my hospital often have nothing better to do than stay on top of the 'weather' and then tell me what is happening outside at any given moment. It is like I have a whole building full of my dads, keeping me up to date, making sure that I have my ice-scrapper within immediate reach 24/7.

However, there is one thing unique about Maine that I did not experience in the Midwest. Here, the people who bring me my local news wear special clothes when "there is going to be 'weather'". I started to notice this special attire during the week long build-up before my first Nor'Easter (I kid you not, a WEEK long build-up where it was the headline news). Finally, when the day arrived that the first flakes were meant to fly, I realized that all of my early morning newscasters were dressed differently. Normally dressed in suits, skirts, and ties, I was surprised to see that each of them were wearing sweaters. Good, cable-knit, LL Bean, sweaters (for those of you that don't know, Maine is the home of the LL Bean mother-ship). I chalked it up to coincidence. That is until the next event of 'weather'. Once again, my early morning TV companions were wearing sweaters, foregoing their tailored suits for the warmth needed to talk about the 'weather'. I decided that I would too fit in with the tradition of Maine and wear my very own LL Bean sweater in the traditional cable-knit style. I am learning to embrace my new home and all of its 'weather' traditions. My dog also is learning to embrace the 'weather'.

I won't go into details but lets just say that after our first significant snowfall, poor Boomer was unable to poo for 36 hours. Unable to figure out how to utilize the new snow, his whole digestive system shut down. Needless to say, I was a bit concerned. That is until I thought that perhaps he was feeling left out of the Maine 'weather' tradition. So, I bought him his very own LL Bean cable-knit sweater to sport on his outdoor excursions. Ever since, everything is moving smoothly.

Committees

Way back when I lived in the Midwest, I wasn't on committees. I liked not being on committees. While I felt slightly hypocritical to be complaining about things though not being on committees to change them, I was less stressed and frustrated. Now in Maine, I am on committees. I am not sure how this happened. Actually...yes, I do know how this happened.

Maine suffers from what is called the 'Brain Drain.' This isn't some sort of science fiction movie title (though it would make a good one). Rather the 'Brain Drain' represents the reality that young people who become educated professionals move out of Maine. Many move to Boston or New York. And I bet more than a few move to the Midwest to take up my role of not being on committees. But, when I moved to Maine, as a young, educated professional, I defied the 'Brain Drain' syndrome. I represent the movement of...'Brain Back-Up' (if you can follow my sink visuals - the more you read my posts, the more you will realize that I am a big fan of visuals).

People seem to get excited about my brain in Maine (Oh! Maybe that could be my super-hero name! 'Brain in Maine'!). In the short six months that I have lived in Maine, I have been asked to join 5 committees/groups. I am even the president of one of them! I think people ask me just so they could say they have a young, educated professional on their committee. I am very happy to do my part of my new community. The problem with being on so many committees is that I no longer have all of my evenings free. It seems that committees meet in the evenings, just the time that I prefer to be wearing my sweats, drinking wine, and hanging with the dog.

Which brings me to the other problem with being on so many committees. In my stereo-typical single girl with a dog life-style, I feel immense amounts of guilt leaving my poor Boomer alone in the evenings. Not only I am forced to be away from him during the day working so I can buy him premium dog food and more toys (which I buy to relieve the guilt of leaving him alone - I am beginning to recognize a deadly cycle), but now I have to leave him alone during evenings. In reality, it is one evening a week, and I am usually home by 8pm. But he doesn't know that. I can just visualize him (remember, I like visuals) staring at the door, wondering if I don't love him anymore and thinking he will need to ration the remaining food in his dish to last until I return to him. It is good-old Catholic guilt and I am not even Catholic! I blame my mother - because that is always a good excuse - and the Catholic guilt she passed onto me genetically.

So, I am now on committees. And I go to the meetings in the evenings. And poor Boomer is left alone yet again. I will just keep buying Boomer more toys to alleviate my guilt. Besides, he has destroyed most of his old ones anyway - there isn't a squeaker buried deep in a stuffed animal that he hasn't liberated. My mother has seemed to have outgrown her Catholic guilt - so there is still hope for me.

Midwest Girl and Her God in Maine

I was born and raised in Minnesota. I then went to college in Iowa and seminary in Missouri. I returned to Minnesota for my residency (yes, I lived with my parents and no, it wasn't horrible). After living for 25 years in the same time zone, I decided to take a chaplain job in Maine and moved 6 months ago. I feel all grown up, living in a different time zone than my parents. Though, I still get confused by the time change and I am constantly converting every minute back to Central Time - I don't know why.

I also adopted a dog, Boomer. He is an adorable though incredibly needy miniature pincher. Not even two years old, Boomer had a rough beginning. Most likely abused by his first owners, he was put in a shelter for nearly a month. Then he was fostered by my dear friend Kimberly until he came to live with me as his forever home. We now have the stereo-typical single gal and dog life-style. Namely, me attending to his every need and him keeping me warm at night.

Since moving to Maine, Boomer and I have explored the area on the weekends and been home-bodies on week-nights. Early to bed, early to rise, Boomer must suffer the torture of being left alone during the days while I work. I get home and he is so excited to see me that he spins on the bed like his back legs have become paralyzed but his front is suffering from a circular version of 'Restless Legs Syndrome'. It is nice to come home to that level of enthusiasm.

So, that is our life in small town Maine. I will share thoughts, activities, and general musings of my life, my dog, and Maine.