June 2013

5 articles in June 2013

Share the Bear’s real name was Sharon, but nobody ever called her that.

When her friends weren’t mad at her, they called her Share, or Share the Bear if they were being formal, and when they were mad at her, they called her the Caughtcha Bear. This strange name came about because Share was a very playful young bear, and her favorite game was to sneak quietly up behind her little friends, pounce on them and shriek, “Caughtcha!”

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Tthere is little difference between turning on a light in a dark room and the explosion of summer visitors to our friendly little hamlet of York, Maine. After a long, hard cold winter, and a spring that brought more rain then sunshine all of us ‘goat ropers’ are finally able to enjoy the warm sun of June.

This sense of utopia doesn’t last too long because our population has a tendency to triple if not quadruple for the rest of the summer season. This is not a gradual increase because the quiet almost serene life style of the off-season changes into the tumultuous almost chaotic existence in a blink of an eye.

I experienced this change by driving into my local Hannaford’s grocery store last Saturday and coming to the conclusion I had nowhere to park. After driving up and down the parking lot I discovered a spot that was closer to my house then it was to the store. I could not believe the number of people surrounding the store and I must admit I was more then a bit apprehensive of how many people I would find inside the store.

My first quest was to find a shopping cart in which I could place the things I needed to buy. During most of the year this was very easy; all I had to do was go to the cart corral and pick out either a large or small shopping cart. On this particular day the cart corral was totally empty. In fact, looking around the parking lot I did not see a single cart that was not in use. Then a few yards ahead of me I noticed a woman placing the last of her groceries into the back of her car.

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Aadam woke up, scratched his backside, and stared out over the Garden of Eden.

“Another boring day,” he groaned. “Another day wandering about paradise, eating fruit, staring at beautiful flowers, being good. Oh, it’s so boring! Surely there’s meant to be more to life than this?

And is it normal to talk to oneself?

Having nobody to ask, I can’t tell.”

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Between the trees in the little lane, the icy November wind was gathering the powdery snow and swirling it around like a collection of giant spinning-tops. Winter was quickly taking control of the picturesque German countryside as the thick mantel of virgin snow silently flowed. It moved, slowly but surely, down from the mountains to smother the green foothills and valleys.

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Ttoday I picked a plum.

It is a simple thing to do for most people, but in my case it is different. You see I am an invalid and I ride an electric cart. As I sit here on my cart in the warm sun eating this plum, I think of how it was before I got this cart, I wasn’t able to go outside and do a simple thing like pick a plum from a low-hanging branch of a tree. I wasn’t able to bask in the warm sun. I do now, and I think of how it was before I had a stroke.

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