Last Call

It's December. That means (usually) when you step out of your front door in the morning, there is a chill to the air, frost covering the last few sprigs of green grass that are resisting to give way to the brown and grey dregs of winter, and ice on the windshield. You start the car, turn on the defrost, scrape the windows, and when you get in to drive to work, the slopes, up North for the holidays, down to the lake to icefish, into the woods to hunt, or down the long driveway to grab the morning paper, there it is...that familiar warming feeling directly under you and on your lower back. What the hell did you ever do before heated seats? Did you don a full snowsuit for even the briefest of commutes? Did you shiver and curse all the way to town and back? Did you take along one of those old school hot water bottles that elderly folks place on arthritic hips? To be honest, I cannot recall. I think we just grinned (gritted teeth) and took it. We did so because we did not know any better. Now we do.

Heated seats are one of those simple luxuries that we have come to know, to love, and to depend upon. Well, all of you--no matter what you drive or how long you have been driving--can (and must) give thanks to Saab engineers. Saab was the first to put heated seats in their cars way back in 1971! Saab, because of its heritage, because of its peculiar styling, because of its status as a niche brand, had the freedom and the opportunity to be first with a myriad of features that are now commonplace on cars that are anything but luxury or European or Scandinavian. A year earlier, in 1970, Saab engineers unveiled the headlight wiper/washer system that was activated when using the windshield washer. 1983 saw the unveiling of the 2.0 liter turbo charged engine with intercooler--capable of 200 horsepower...IN 1983! Three years later, the 9000 (of which I had one that went 228,000 miles) was the first front wheel drive car to be equipped with ABS breaks. 1991, with an eye for being green, Saab was the first car maker to introduce a freon-free air conditioning system. And, to round it all out, in 1997* because they started with the heated seats, Saab introduces on the 9-5 (of which I also had one) ventilated front seats. This reduced the need for air-conditioning, increased gas mileage, and set the stage for other car makers to utilize their innovations and integrate these designs into some of the finest luxury and super cars in the world.

There were also dark days. In the blind consumerism and desire for all things yuppy in the 1980s, The American behemoth, General Motors, decided it wanted a piece of the mighty Swede and acquired 50% ownership in Saab. Initially, this meant an influx of some cash and a greater American market. But gradually, GM took a bigger and bigger role in the business of producing and selling Saabs in America and the rest of the world. Though most of the building and engineering of Saab automobiles stayed in Trollhattan, enthusiasts could see differences. As GM's influence grew, the more bland Saab cars became. They lost their rounded 'wagon-backs' that made the iconic first generation 900s more of a face of the brand than the blue and red griffin emblems prominently displayed on the hood and boot. They became more plastic, clunkier, rattled more, little shit broke, the quirks were disappearing, but they never totally lost what had for so long set them apart. They still ran forever (in car terms--not in actuality).

There is a reason the firsts stopped in 1997. GM never wanted to build the brand. When the mass-market appeal was not there, the bodybuilding exercise turned into an organ donor program. Innovation was sacrificed for attempts at snappy slogans. 'Welcome to the state of independence.' 'Born from jets.' And the list goes on. These were attempts to capture the niche that had always existed and force it on those who thought they wanted a BMW, a Mercedes, or, God forbid, a Volvo. It did not work. At least not in the way GM hoped. Saab never realized that mass-market appeal. However, it did do a lot for those who had been owners and enthusiasts since before the GM takeover. It reinforced the the niche sense of what the brand always was--and what most hoped always would be.

Sadly, Saab is--as of today--no more. Part of the reason the financing from Youngman-Lotus Auto Group (a Chinese conglomerate) was not approved was that GM objected because it still owns some Saab licenses and was worried that the "innovations" would fall into the hands of its Chinese competitors. This, coming from a company that gave birth to badge engineering. You know, when you slide into the driver's seat of a Buick Regal Turbo, you are really hopping into a dumbed down Saab 9-5. Youngman-Lotus was never going to have majority ownership, though they were led to believe they would. Now no one is going to have the majority share.

Saab could have been the Apple of its time. It never had or would have the market share, but it had the allure. It had the brand recognition. It had the die-hard following. If you are not from the Northeast, you are probably reading this with a bit of skepticism. You are probably writing this off as a nostalgic, liberal, Mainer longing for the days of old with a Swedish car that was full of quirks and more of a status symbol than a feat of engineering. Well, you would be half right. I do long for all those things, but I do know the value these cars held, especially in New England. They were tanks. They ran like champions in the snow, without all-wheel-drive. They had great gas mileage and tremendous power (for a four cylinder). They were recognizable. But, most of all, they were practical. They could hold just about anything you wanted to haul. They were good in the snow. The turbos performed better in cold weather. And, above all, they were safe. What do you expect from a company that tested crash safety by running cars into 800-pounf dummy moose at highway speeds?

Yes, Saab was and still is a special car. I will continue to drive the two I own until it is not possible to drive them anymore. My child will hopefully inherit one of them as a daily driver to and from school. And I will own another one.

Thanks for all the memories:

-1987 900s 16v

-1993 9000 CSE 2.3 Turbo

-2000 9-5 Aero

-2004 9-3 Arc 2.0 Turbo

-2007 9-3 2.0 Turbo SportCombi

*photo courtesy of openwalls.com

Saying Goodbye: A Long Time Coming

It was once said that 'parting is such sweet sorrow'. It has also been said that 'absence makes the heart grow fonder'. There are many famous sayings, proverbs, and anecdotes that have helped people say goodbye--since, I would have to guess, the beginning of man. I can almost see the first relative of man inventing the wheel, using the wheel to make his life easier, and then, eventually trading in the first for a better, two-wheel drive model. I can also see him leaving the cave of his neighbor, two wheels heavier, six mammoth pelts lighter, stopping, and gazing back at the lone wheel that had made his life, well....almost enjoyable.

Why do we put so much emphasis on saying goodbye? People. Places. Possessions. No matter what we have, who we meet, or what we experience--it all comes with a final moment.

I, just as many before me and many more, have said my share of goodbyes. Each time the words are the same but the reasons and emotions are different, unique. I have had to say goodbye to family--whom I will not be able to say hello to again. I have had to say goodbye without the comfort of receiving one in return. I have said goodbye to places I may or may not see again. I have said goodbye to places that have been my home, my sanctuary. Each time, it is more difficult, for different reasons.

The lead up to goodbye--the anticipation--can be just as grueling and just as draining as the moment the words start in the brain and the vocal cords vibrate and finally, the trembling lips force the sounds into the recognizable utterances that transcend almost any language.

I then think about the things to which we say goodbye--the things we get rid of. We, as humans--as Americans, live in a world of daily goodbyes. We say goodbye to newspapers, to soda cans, to take-out wrappers, to old and frayed clothing, to junk mail, to that bullshit job that has just not really been worth the quality time with loved ones sacrificed, to...(fill in the blank). We are more accustomed to bidding farewell because there is always something new to which we are almost forced to day hello. We are driven by consumerism, by the lust to not only keep up with the Jones', but the be the Jones'.

I grew up in a household where we did not get rid of something that was perfectly good in its purpose just because there was something newer that could do the same job, supposedly better. 'If it ain't broke, don't fuck with it' was the mantra. Maine has a reputation as a self-sufficient, hard-working, no-frills state of existence, but I think it goes beyond that. I am part of Generation X (as lame as that still is) and we were programmed to live a life totally different from that of our forefathers (and mothers). We were told that newer is better, more is what we should strive for, radical and different are the only qualities that have value. Old belongs in a museum, but the real world needs to get the hell out of the way of progress.

The 'Greatest Generation' and the 'Baby Boomers,' some say, are cut from a tougher cloth. They experienced some of the most testing times of our history. World Wars, economic feast and famine, nuclear crisis, assassinations, civil unrest, and ever changing times instilled a respect of and an ability to find value in the constant. Form fits function. This one of the few points I remember from high school biology and a concept that was never lost on those who made their way in the world before the internet, before grunge music, before hip-hop, before cell phones, and the multi-million dollar sports contract. Nope. It worked because it worked. If it did the job, it was worth all its costs. If it did not live up to its promises...it went overboard (or, more likely, it was recycled (before that was even a concept) into something that functioned in some other necessary capacity). And, that was the way it was.

So, what is the way it will be? Will we continue to live a disposable lifestyle--trading in our leased, pseudo-luxury automobiles every 3 years so we can have the, newer, 'better' version of the same thing? Or, will we be able to--as a collective society--see the intrinsic value in something that stands by us and never lets us down. Sure, it may be quirky, it may draw puzzled looks and thoughts of pity, but goddamnit, it's been good. We will always remember the good times and relive the days of glory. And, for those times when all was not rainbows and butterflies--shit, those just make for interesting war stories when yearning for the days of yesteryear.

*Photo Credit: C. Lawson (Betty White handling the blizzard of 2010--with ease. You will be missed. Love you, old girl).

Homecoming: Maine, Man-Time, Mom's Cooking, and Moustaches

There is something about returning to somewhere you have not been in way too long, seeing people you have not seen in even longer, and doing things you almost have to relearn because you have neglected to keep up the practice. The real enjoyment comes from the fact that it everything comes so natural, even after so long. The faces are still pretty much the same, every place is still in its same location, and, as with riding a bicycle, everything has its way of coming back.

Embarking on any journey causes excitement as well as a bit of angst and uncertainty. But, no matter how tight the time frame or the restraints placed upon it, there is nothing like a road trip. There is something romantic about being on the open road, making great time, seeing places that you would otherwise have no need to see or to which you would go, seeing just how long you can go without sleep--it's all part of what makes it worthwhile. From a strict, economic, cost-benefit analysis, driving 23 or 24 hours, staying up for 40 hours straight, filling the car up with gas multiple times, the wear and tear--not to mention the real possibility that something could go wrong and cost money, sanity, well being, it really does not make any sense to do anything but get up, go to work, and get back home as quickly as you can.

Home. No matter where we go, we all see to return home, again. Home is exactly the reason why the cost-benefit analysis does not apply because home is not a solitary location--for anyone. I feel home when I walk in the front door of the house that my wife and I bought almost a year ago. She feels home when we are standing on the beach in Delaware. We both feel home when we are sitting down to Sunday dinner at her parents' house. And we both feel at home, in front of a fire, with our dogs and my mother, in the house where I grew up.

In addition to feeling home, it is also important to feel at home. Heading back to Maine in the middle of the night, I really started to feel at home. The familiarity of late-night drives with my wife hit as soon as i reached just behind the gearshift, turned the key, and the the Saab wagon came to life--packed with dogs, bags, coats and boots. We are no strangers to long road trips. Living in Boston with a dog and having family and friends in both Maine and Maryland, car was the only way to go. It also brought me back to my college days when I used to wake up at 4 am to drive four-and-a-half hours so I could feel at home with some great friends in the mountains of Western Maine.

This mentality and familiarity could serve to explain why it just made sense to, after an 11-hour drive through the night and 24 hours without sleep, say hello to my mother and turn around to drive another two hours to the mountains to do some long over due riding and see some great friends.

It was fitting that my first run would be solo. Though only the better part of the nine o'clock hour had passed, it felt like it was half past noon. The sun was bright, the snow was soft, and all the lifts were turning. I attached my lift ticket, got on the chair, and headed straight to the top. To get to the top of Sugarloaf, one has to take two lifts. The first one heads straight up the middle of the hill, the second runs up the western ridge and provides spectacular views all the way into New Hampshire. That day I could see Sunday River and all the way to snowy peak of Mount Washington. I then unloaded off the chair, strapped in, and took off toward the familiar pitch of the West Mountain trail to Penobscot circle to see some old friends. Yep, it sure felt like home.

Walking up to the condo door was a walk I have made countless times over the years, but this time was something different. I opened the door and saw the two familiar smiling faces that I expected. Though I had not seen Greg in over a year and Joel in close to five times that long, we immediately fell into our old routine: set up the new board, lace up the boots, put on the goggles, and head out. The day would only get better when I surprised an old friend with my presence and my brother with my early arrival. The day was spent as so many others, taking lap after lap after lap. Everything came back almost immediately. Though I was not at the top of my game and those I grew up riding with had progressed incredibly, it felt like I had never missed a day on the mountain.

It was hard to top such a great day on the hill, but time, as they say, marches on. We had a lot to do and not adequate time in which to do it all.

I was able to spend some (though not enough) time sitting and talking with my grandfather, whom I had not seen in way too long. Again, it did not feel like it had been years since my last true visit. We aught up, he shared stories, and showed the true wit and humor that I always remember him having. After a difficult goodbye, we met some other friends for dinner and beers down at the local brew pub where we had spent so many nights in our early/mid twenties. Really, we could have been anywhere and had an amazing time. Again, it was as if this was our regular Friday night get together. No one missed a beat. The stories and the jokes all seemed to flow with as great an ease as they ever did.

The next day I was able to really experience Maine in a way that few people from away ever get to. Spending a day on a frozen lake with some great people in a home made shelter is rather humbling. Being out in the open with the wind whipping 40 to 50 to 60 miles per hour around you in a couple hundred pound structure heated by a wood stove on 18 inches of ice really lets you know what it means to be at the mercy of nature and those around you. This was less about catching fish than it was about good company and good times. More comes from the shared experience than the shared catch.

Our final full day was spent in one of my favorite places that I have ever had the opportunity to experience. We spent the day hiking on a groomed carriage road in Acadia National Park. Through the just under 4 miles, we ascended the incline through the woods to some amazing frozen waterfalls, views of jagged mountains, and the shimmering Atlantic Ocean. This is a ritual for us. It was cold, sunny, and the perfect place to be. The dogs had a great time and we were able to spend our last day outdoors, with my mother, doing something we all love.

Though the time was well spent, it was all too short. It seemed that we had just arrived and it was time to pack up and hit the road again. We managed to pack just about everything we had planned into a mere 4 full days. I saw the mountains, lake, and the ocean. I saw friends and family and family friends. I was able to relive old times and create some new memories. Not a moment of the trip was misspent.

So, with teary eyes and more bags than with which we came, we started up the Saab, loaded up the dogs, blew the horn, and set off to retrace the miles we had driven 4 days prior. It was difficult to leave, but there is comfort knowing that it will not be long before we return.

The first half an hour was spent in almost total silence as we watched the trees go by and the mile markers ticking closer to Portland. Then, before we knew it, 12 hours and 9 states had passed and we were home, again.

*Photo credit: C. Lawson: "Oh My Gosh Corner" Carrabassett Valley, Maine (via Blackberry).

Finest Kind

They may not be big, but damn, they are cold. Anyone who has ventured into the water in Maine in August can tell you that, without exaggeration, if asked about the waves. True, Maine is not nationally known for its record breaking waves, but it does have a core group of men and women who put on the wetsuits and paddle out every month of the year. And you can bet these folks are hearty....The ocean temp barely breaks out of the 50s in the southern part of the state--even at the height of summer. There is really only one word for that--dedication. This photo is my background at work and it comes from my good friends at BeerMe.

I recently had two minor encounters with the surfing community in my home state. First, I happened to be reading my newest edition of Down East Magazine and was interested to hear how people described the "real Maine". This seems to be a point of contention in almost any context from politics to sports fans. In a state that is so dynamic, in its own way, there are certainly as many definitions as there are "the best way to get there from here".

[Side note: I still do not care to hear what Martha Stewart's idea of the "real Maine" is, and, I suspect the real folks of Mount Desert Island do not care to, either...and yes, she was asked.]

Various Dirigo State icons, from Stephen King to Don McLean to Susan Collins to Shelly Pingree to Thomas Moser (some of you may even have some of his cabinets in your summer homes). I agreed with all of their definitions, and then I came to the words of Seth Wescott, Olympic Gold Medalist in Snowboardcross. He said that his idea of "real Maine" is having breakfast at Becky's Diner in Portland. He went on to say that if he was there, it probably meant he had been out surfing in the early hours of daylight.

The second run-in I had with this rugged community came by way of national television and the great state of Delaware. Being a beer enthusiast, (which is a nice way to say that I drink more pints than I probably should, but my wife is nice enough to keep up the euphemism) I was watching Brewmasters on Discovery. Sam, at Dogfish Head, received a package of Northern White Cedar scraps from the guys at Grain Surfboards in York, Maine. They make incredibly beautiful, hand-made surfboards from locally grown wood and they generate a minute amount of waste. Needless to say, a beer brewed with cedar shavings tantalizes the taste buds of such an enthusiast.

Though I do not surf, I connected with these ideas of realness. I could relate to everything this community encompasses. First, no one could have gone to Sugarloaf in the last 12 years without knowing who Seth Wescott was, but it was more than that shared place of recreation and solace. There is something about being in a local diner--especially one on the water--early in the morning. The coffee is always good, even when it's not. There is a lively bustle inside and out. There is something almost classically romantic about watching fishermen go out to sea. And there is something about getting up earlier than you normally would to go to work to go out and do something you love. The feeling is really indescribable. For me, it was never surfing, rather going to mountains of Western Maine or the hiking trails of Acadia National Park.

Second, no matter what part of the state from which a person may hail, there is no shortage of entrepreneurship. If I were asked to describe the mentality of Maine, it would have to be 'do-it-yourself'. My father, grandfather, and uncles did almost everything themselves. From framing walls and building houses, to changing oil and car repair, there was no need to ever really look outside one's own bloodline. The women were no exception. I am pretty sure that until I graduated from high school, at least one article of clothing in every drawer was either made or altered by my mother, grandmother, or various aunts and cousins....and don't forget the 'jams' of the late 1980s. But it goes beyond that. I had the privilege of being a part of a do-it-yourself business that was born out of a hobby and a desire to make something that was real and true to our idea of what it should be. I am proud to say that one of my best and dearest friends has taken that idea and that initial bit of primitive machinery and turned it into a viable business. TeamEight Snowboards of Portland, Maine is offering something that no one else is.

There is a spirit that is not only reflected in products and words of these folks, but also contained in everything they do. Nothing is more real that building something with your own hands and having that be valued by those around you. Surfers and snowboarders are both members of tight-knit communities (though there is still always a level of realness that fluctuates, depending on the members--and that is always open for discussion)

I guess it all boils down to a sense of community and a sense of belonging. Though you may look different, believe in different spiritual beings, listen to different music, hell, even have totally different value structures, when you step onto the freshly groomed snow, paddle out into the early morning break, drive that first nail when you can still see your breath, or sit down to coffee in flannel and blaze orange before heading out into the deep woods, all is forgotten. The only thing that matters is the task at hand, the shard experience, the common goal.

So, no matter where you may be from, no matter what you may do for fun or for a living, there are constants. People, ultimately, desire the same things--they just take different forms. Always be on the look-out for, and seek to find what makes you whole--all things, finest kind.

*photo credit: Lee Cullivan (by way of BeerMe)

Old Passions, New Endeavors

Well, it has certainly been a while. I would like to say that I have been sans communication devices because I have been living out of a duffel bag, traveling to remote corners of the world, chasing powder on mountain peaks near and far, and generally living a life that would make even the most seasoned thrill-seeker jealous. However, that is not the case. I have simply been busy enjoying the married life--really, in all seriousness--and everything that goes along with it. The addition of a house and another dog, and the day-to-day security of steady employment have long since put many other activities on the ever simmering back burner. However, the beauty of turning over new leaves is that, sometimes, it allows you to rediscover passions of old.

Identification. All people, from all corners of the globe, from all walks of life, in all shapes and forms, identify. We look to have an identity that is all our own, or at least carve out a uniqueness in some larger classification. Part of growing up is finding one's own identity in a seemingly endless sea of possibilities. Preppy? Slacker? Jock? Hippie? Nerd? Punk? Hick? Intellectual? Liberal? Conservative?. . . The list goes on and on. I, over the course of my years, was able to identify with many groups and many different people. Though I have no long since left my teenage years, identity is still nothing that is set in stone. I now reside south of the Mason-Dixon, but I will always identify with New England--specifically, and most importantly, with Maine.

If you don't know people from Maine, sorry. At the risk of sounding elitist and playing favorites, there simply are no other people like us. Sure, Bostonians may sound similar, come from similar backgrounds, and, until 1820 were citizens of the same state, but there is something simply Maine about those who reside North and East of New Hampshire. Though it is a diverse state, inhabited by lobstermen, business owners, potato farmers, loggers, hunters, mountain dwellers, Independents, staunch Democrats and Republicans, organic co-op members, chamber of commerce members, Saab drivers, and Chevy loyalists, everyone can identify with the state that is first to see the sun rise. It is a common saying, maybe just meant to usurp the burden of explanation: "if you're not from here, you wouldn't understand." I guess that is probably true of a lot of places. I have lived in New Hampshire and the licesne plate is true: Live Free or Die. Boston fosters a brotherhood from Chelsea to Canton, Brookline to Boxboro, Dorchester to Danvers, and the Flat-of-Beacon Hill to Foxborough. Baltimore, hon is all about crabs, lacrosse, hostory, and tradition. It is as much an old port city with distinct neighborhoods as any city I have visited, and I am proud to call it home. . . It is just that, I will always identify as a Mainah (that's how we say it up there. . . North of Freeport, that is).

The holidays had me reflecting on life, family, and the idea of home. My mother, knowing my deep roots, sent me a Maine state flag and a t-shirt that had the outline of Maine above the word HOME (available at http://www.thehomeshirt.com). Of course, that got me thinking of all things Maine and my friends and family that were still there or had ventured away and moved back. Ahh, memories.

This past weekend, I had a chance to head to the mountains (or so they are called) in Pennsylvania for a day on the snow. This may not sound like much, but being that a great part of my identity came from time (every free moment from mid November to late April) spent on a snowboard in the mountains of Western Maine and greater New England, it was an instant rush to be returned to a familiar place--all be it not quite what I was used to. However, the mechanics came back, the feeling was still the same, the excitement was still there. If not home, I was at least in familiar territory. Being in the company of people that shared in that excitement and were out there for the same reasons really reminded my why I do identify with and long to be in the mountains. It also made me homesick. Though the feeling can be recreated, it can never be duplicated. There is nothing that beats riding twelve people deep on a sunny powder day at Sugarloaf when those eleven other people are some of your closest and dearest friends and family.

So, with this longing for things past, I was also inspired to try my hand at something new. With the boiling of water, the addition of malted barley, hopps, yeast, and a little sugar, I have begun brewing my first batch of beer: a Norther Sierra Pale Ale. I have high hopes, but realistic expectations. All has gone according to plan, but you know what they say about the best laid plans. As with everything in life, there is a learning curve, and I am sure home brewing will be no different.

Maybe it is the no-frills attitude of my parents and grandparents. Maybe it is the anti-bullshit platform on which much of my home state is built. Maybe it is the rugged individualism that is common in New England and embodied in Maine. Maybe it is a combination of all that I was originally, all that I have added, and all that I am now. Maybe it is everything. Maybe it is nothing. One thing is for sure, we can always look ahead, but to appreciate where we are going we have to know where we have been.

Welcome home.


*Photo: Primary fermentation, week one--Baltimore, Maryland.

Life Anew

Well, it has certainly been a while. My extended hiatus was not intentional, nor was it meant as a reprieve from my (semi)daily musings on matters large and small. It was, however, a time of great change, but also of reflection.

Much has changed in the month or so since my last diatribe. I found that ever elusive job, I enjoyed a lovely Thanksgiving holiday, and--most notably--got married. A year of planning and preparing and finalizing and rehearsing was all over in a matter of hours. Quite honestly, I remember bits and pieces, but it was all perfect.

This whole experience, of course, taught me about love and friendship. But what I had not counted on was what I would discover about the human spirit. Whenever friends and family gather, the occasion lends itself to a time of humor, reflection, and reminiscing. This--I expected. What I had not expected was just how much insight I could gain into those I had known since grade school and those I had only recently had the pleasure of meeting.

I have been to many a wedding. They are the only occasion (other than funerals) where friends and family come to share in the knowing of a specific person or people. They are happy, celebratory occasions filled with good food and drink. They are occasions where people can connect and reconnect. Really, I have yet to attend a wedding that was not all of these.

This time was different. This time it was Elizabeth and Me people were there to see, to witness, about whom stories were shared and much fess was made. This was totally virgin territory--uncomfortable, too. Neither Elizabeth nor I enjoy being the center of attention. To be completely honest, I really do not like people making a fuss.

Anyway, the truly amazing parts of this gathering of friends and family--old and new--were the ability of everyone to find commonalities and for everyone to seamlessly fall into relationships. It was amazing to see friends and family that I had not in years and be able to immediately pick up where we left off. It was amazing to jump into conversations and embraces with those I had just met and not feel as comfortable as I did with the latter group.

What moved me beyond anything else was the generosity. Beyond the gifts and the cards, (which were more than generous) the sacrifices endured and expenses incurred by those who attended were amazing to me. To know that people are willing to travel from far and wide and get hotel rooms and buy drinks and get suits tailored and to leave their own families to be with us is almost indescribable.

My stunning bride, my sobbing-with-joy mother, my wonderful in-laws, my extended family, my oldest and dearest friends, my new friends, my brother, and all those who were there in spirit, made those hours some of the happiest and unforgettable of my life. What I now know about the human spirit and generosity will stay with me for the rest of my days.

Thanks to all that made this marriage and wedding possible. I love you all.

To all of those who could not make it: you were missed and are loved.



*Note: If you would like a fashionable account of the evening, please see Alice over at SummerIsAVerb. (p.s. thanks so much for being there)

**Photo Credit: Jordan Parkhurst.

As Goes Maine....

Well all....I really do not know what to say. I am at a loss for words--or at least the right words, so I will make an honest, but undoubtedly futile attempt, nonetheless.

I have taken to not posting for a while because I found that I really was trying too hard to be interesting, funny, witty, yadda, yadda, yadda. I know that I certainly do not want to read drivel, so why should anyone else. I have decided to come back to the keyboard (as it were) because I am struggling with being able to wrap my mind around something that I feel is a big issue and an important one that deserves honest discussion and discourse and airing of all concerns from both sides. It is also an issue that I, unfortunately, had to watch from the sidelines.

Let me start off by saying that I am not an overly superstitious person (unless it involves the Red Sox). However, certain events, when strung together can give the sense of what is to come. Yesterday I had a wonderful and exciting job interview. I was so happy to finally get out there and prove myself verbally to folks that are generally interested in giving me a chance to better their company. So, that was 1. Secondly, I learned that my brother has a job at Sugarloaf--if he so desires it. Living at the mountain is something we had wanted to do since we started visiting it in the mid-90s. Lastly, things are all falling into place for the wedding. We are getting down to the wire and we are meeting all the milestones with ease. Sounds good, right?

So given all the positives, it is obvious why I was riding high as the sun set on November 3, 2009. This day ended much happier than others, but was not unlike many that I have experienced in my 28 years. However, what you may or may not have realized is that November 3, 2009 was the date of the off-year elections in many states. The races in New York, New Jersey, California, and Virginia took up most of the media spotlight. However, there were some important issues put on various state ballots from coast to coast.

Now, I never intended for this to be a political blog, but I nonetheless feel the need to delve into an issue that suffered a rather crushing defeat last night in Maine. Not overwhelmingly and giving no mandate to the cause, the right of gay couples to have the same marriage rights as straight couples was voted down by just about 52% of the people. Early polls showed the side in favor of gay marriage ahead, but the lead slowly dissipated through the night. By 2 A.M. it was clear to me, through eyes bloodshot from refreshing every major and minor news website I could think of, that the Vote No On 1 side (the ones against repealing the equal marriage law) had lost.

I do not pretend to be an authority on all things politics. I do not claim to always be on the right side of every issue. But I do stand up for what I believe as well as the rights of those who disagree with me to do just that. This is what makes our country and our process so great. However, in the world of politics things are not always as they seem and the choices made in the voting booth are not always the result of honest discussion and analysis of information. There was a lot at stake last night for both sides. I can see why some people might be weary of "gay marriage" because this issue was incorrectly framed as just that. This was not about Gay marriage--it was about Equal marriage. There were no special rights being sought, only the same that are afforded to straight couples every single day in this country.

The debate around marriage equality has wrongly been thrust onto the people as an issue of gay versus straight. This is a much too simplistic and narrow framing of the issue. It is an issue of equality under the law. It is an issue of obtaining certain benefits granted by Civil Rights for citizens of this country. It is unfair, I believe, to ask someone to abide by all of the rules and regulations but fail to give them full protection and benefits. This country has had a long struggle with Civil Rights of types. And, whenever there was an Amendment to the Constitution to attempt to fix these problems, the language was broad as to encapsulate all that might fall under that clause.

The 14th Amendment to the Constitution (Section 1)states that:

All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the state wherein they reside. No state shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any state deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.

This was done in order to bring freed slaves into the fold of citizenship. However, if it had been written specifically about freed slaves, it would never have been as powerful or as lasting. There is a lot in this Amendment that speaks to what is happening today. And, there is a reason why it was an Amendment rather than a ballot question--It never would have passed. Still, to this day, there are some people in some places that would not vote for some of the rights that all citizens take for granted.

Civil Rights are too important and too guaranteed to ever be put on the ballot because fear, mistrust, ignorance, misinformation, and simple reluctance to change often win over careful thought and consideration. When Maine extended marriage rights to include couples that happened to be gay, it was a great step forward. It was also not forcing acceptance of those that were against it. It did not force any church to marry gay couples, it did not force any other state to recognize the union. It did not do anything extra. It simply extended rights that were already freely enjoyed by the heterosexual married public--as they should be.

Dirigo--our state motto--means: 'I lead'. This is why Maine has been looked to in many important elections since its rise to statehood in 1820. This is why there is the saying: 'As goes Maine, so goes the nation.' So Maine went last night--52% to 48% percent. This is not the result that I had hoped for, but I am not willing to except defeat on this issue. Also, I am not willing to call everyone on the winning side a bigot or a homophobe--though I am sure there are those who exercised their rights as ANY OTHER CITIZEN. This will be revisited. This will be debated. And, just as so many other important Civil Rights issues in this country, will be taken up by more courageous people and eventually a courageous Congress and a courageous President and will finally bear the fruit of so many efforts from across the country in the form of Equal Civil Rights and Benefits for all. I just hope I am around to see that day.

I am still proud to be from Maine, just disappointed in the way she went.


*That is just my 2 cents.