Chelsea Stories

In for the Long Haul

2011-06-20T17:17:00.000-04:00

Kennebec County’s recent divorces appeared in the newspaper last week.

Among the names in the long listing were a half dozen couples I knew from work, my children’s activities and my community. Some were married for 10 years or less, others for more than two decades.

Also included were many couples married less than two years ago.

Early yesterday evening, my wife Missy and I celebrated our wedding anniversary with a quiet walk up the long country road across from our house in Chelsea.

It was just the two of us – taking a moment during a very busy weekend to talk and share each other’s company.

The setting was tranquil and much appreciated.

It stood in contrast from the one 18 years earlier, when we took a much shorter walk down a church aisle, surrounded by hundreds of exuberant family members and friends who gathered to celebrate our day and offer best wishes for the start of our married life.

On the return home, I noted the somewhat parallel contrast between our two strolls and that of the newspaper listing and our anniversary.

We have survived another year – one full of both happy moments and challenges – and continue along the path of those who are in marriages “for the long haul.” Sadly, many others have not.

Are we to be congratulated for reaching this milestone? Yes…and no.

Yes because we have worked to make our marriage last, bridging the difficult times when it would have been easy for us, like others, to dissolve our union and take separate life paths.

For this, I am truly grateful to my wife, whose love and patience have allowed our marriage to thrive.

And I have tried, each day, to live up to the wonderful qualities she possesses.

Together, we have shared more than two decades of our lives, starting with a late summer romance that began at Pine Tree Camp in 1990.

As for the “no” part of the above statement, I say it without reservation because such congratulations easily can lead to complacency.

In the hectic pace of life with three active children, we can ignore the need to continually work at our marriage, to carve out “couple time” and make an investment of time and emotional energy in each other.

Time has a tendency to slip by quickly. Children grow up and embark on their own adult lives.

And when they do, the couple that started out alone is, again, alone.

Only with the investment in each other will they reach this point with their marriage strong and intact.

I intend to reach this stage of my life with the woman I fell in love with in 1990 still at my side.

Until then, save your well wishes for the next 18 years, when we stroll down the same country road…older, a bit slower but still in love.

Lessons Learned from Dad

2011-06-18T07:08:00.002-04:00

Tomorrow is Father's Day, a holiday filled with conflicting emotions.

One of both searing loss and indescribable gain.

It has been 16 years since I celebrated the day with my father and 14 years that I've celebrated it as one.

This paradox is clearly evident each June when I walk past aisles of heartfelt greeting cards or thumb through Father's Day sales fliers.

I am blessed to still have in my life my father-in-law Harry, a second father for sure and someone with whom I share a history of nearly 21 years.

And yet that history, while rich and treasured, is not the same as the 27-year bond I had with my own father.

The latter is filled with all the "firsts" in my life...with the stories told and lessons shared. It is one that has provided guidance in my adulthood and an appreciation for the challenges and sacrifices needed for parenting.

This history, like the one I am creating with my children, is one of my most treasured possessions - an intangible gift that presents itself almost daily as I fumble through the motions of fatherhood in an continuous effort to "get it right."

My Dad would be the first to admit he wasn't perfect...that he had his faults and failures. Yet what defined him as a father, in part, was perseverance. As a father, he tried...always...from the first child to the sixth.

He worked hard, provided for his family, loved us unquestionably and loved my mother even more.

I know he would be happy to know, despite the passage of time, that I have remembered well some of the enduring lessons he taught me, such as:

The importance of faith in one's life. Dad went to church with us, made us complete our religious education - even when we balked as teenagers - and lived his life with a strong and understated faith that guided him through the most difficult times.
The value of hard work. As an electric company lineman, my father worked a physically demanding job for 36 years. He endured terrible storms, bitter cold, scorching heat and even the Great Flood of 1987. It took a toll on his body and there were periods when he hated the job, yet he continued on because that's what husbands and fathers do to provide for their families.
That it's okay for a man to show emotions. My father was a child of the 1930s and grew up with expectations of manhood quite different than my own. Men from that era were expected to be emotional rocks...solid, dependable, unshakable. And Dad embodied some of that. But he also was affectionate with us and my mother, giving strong hugs and telling us often that he loved us. He also was not ashamed to cry, particularly as his cancer journey neared an end.
You can lose your temper and still be a good father. My Dad had a quick temper, especially during my younger years, and would express his frustration with a loud voice that sent us scurrying. As a father of half the number of children he had, I now keenly appreciate his response. Yet I always knew, no matter how angry he got, that he loved me. I hope my children know the same about me.
Marriage is not easy and requires constant attention. My parents were married for nearly 40 years, a number that seems somewhat inconcievable by today's standards. Their years together were not without challenges and they had their disagreements. Yet I remember few of them and they were never violent, scary or disrespectful. They worked through their differences quickly and moved on without resentment. This lesson, and my wife's similar approach, has allowed us to weather our own occasional storms during 18 years of marriage.

And, finally, this gem:

Children grow up fast and time spent with them is priceless and fleeting. My parents put in the time...at practices and games, at concerts and special events, at parent-teacher conferences, at the kitchen table helping us with homework. They made it a priority to know our friends and what we were up to. They were there...actively engaged, involved and supportive. And while we may not have always acknowledged this gift at the time, I am deeply thankful for it now.

And so, on this Father's Day, I expect to be sitting with my wife and children at a softball field in my father's hometown, cheering my 13-year-old daughter as she and her teammates try to win a tournament championship.

I know my father will be there too...and I can't think of a better place to be.

Saving Hamster Flucy

2011-04-28T16:37:00.000-04:00

The locals call her the “hamster whisperer.”

The girl who can converse with small furry creatures.

A modern-day Doctor Doolittle…at least as far as hamsters are concerned.

For the past seven years, I have known her as Hailey, one of my daughter Emma's closest friends and a regular at our house since the girls were first-graders.

We knew she was special. But her unique gift was a mystery to all of us, until Tuesday night, when the hamster whisperer saved the life of plumpster Flucy.

Hailey was the one who informed us that Flucy was ill. That she had a condition known as “wet tail” – a phrase I had never heard nor expected to.

Wet tail, according to Doctors Foster and Smith, is contracted when the hamster comes in contact with food or water contaminated with poop carrying the Lawsonia intracellularis bacteria.

In a hamster environment, one would guess that poop in the food or water is a common occurrence. The key factor, apparently, is the bacteria.

Another factor that makes hamsters susceptible to wet tail is stress.
What makes the disease so dangerous is its deadliness – a fact Missy relayed to me in a voicemail as she scurried Flucy, our three children and Hailey to the Augusta PetSmart for prompt medical attention.

It can kill a hamster in days – a situation that would have required years of therapy for Grace, particularly since Flucy hadn’t yet had worn some of her flashy outfits.

Or gotten an exercise wheel or accessories to trick out her hamster pad.

Perhaps Flucy’s relocation from PetSmart to our Chelsea home was a bit too traumatic.

My guess is that her stress came from her unexpected introduction into our very loud, very active family.

If I was a hamster adopted by my family, I’d probably have wet tail too.

Thankfully, Hailey's conversation with Flucy led to quick treatment – a dosing of some type of medication administered by the crew at PetSmart where, God willing, Flucy will be discharged from tomorrow.

There will be much to celebrate as our family will once again be complete.

Grace even made Flucy’s bed and plans to clean her cage tonight in anticipation of her triumphant return.

And we have Hailey to thank for it.

Now that I’m aware of her special talent, maybe I can get her to convince our resident field mice that our neighbor Brent’s house is a much better locale for them.

That will be a true display of her gift.

One Little Boy, One Tremendous Spirit

2011-04-26T20:54:00.002-04:00

In many ways, Brenden is a typical 11-year-old boy.

He plays baseball, loves to laugh and aspires to be a fireman when he grows up.

But there's one factor that distinguishes Brenden from other boys his age.

He is a cancer survivor...one who beat Hodgkins Lymphoma two years ago only to be rediagnosed with it in recent weeks.

He is a remarkably brave child, one who has already dealt with more life challenges than anyone his age - or even much older - should have to contend with.

Yet as courageous as Brenden is - as willing as he has been to undergo tests and surgeries, procedures that are frightening and harsh treatments that make him sick, exhausted and weak - he needs support and prayers. Lots of both.

Wherever you are reading this post, and in whatever language it may be appearing, I ask you to take a moment and think of Brenden.

Even if you are not a spiritual person, pray for his health, his strength and his recovery.

Pray for the strength of his parents, sister and extended family, as they try to provide comforting answers to his questions and allay his fears while their world is crumbling around them.

And pray for continued efforts to find cures for all forms of this horrific disease - particularly those that strike children.

It's hard enough for an adult to face a diagnosis of cancer and the chaos it causes. It's that much more difficult for a child.

So pray for Brenden...and all those, young or old, who are on a similar journey - that they be connected with skilled physicians, effective treatments and the many tangible and intangible types of support needed for recovery and continued wellness.

Thanks!

Sunday Afternoon Reflections

2011-04-26T06:52:00.000-04:00

From July to November - when the well ran dry - he hauled water to his family's home, getting it "wherever we could."

His house, which sat on a steep hill overlooking the town of Livermore Falls, Maine, did not have an indoor bathroom until he graduated from high school - requiring the family to use an outhouse "even when it was 30 degrees below zero."

He started his working life at age 12, bagging groceries at the local market and setting up pins for bowlers at the bowling alley.

He worked to buy his school clothes and to help supplement his family's income...and wasn't afforded the opportunity to play sports or participate in many school activities.

But his childhood was filled with memories of hunting and fishing, of playing outside not with electronic gadgetry or cell phone texting, but with the "technology" of one's imagination.

It was filled with community dances, and passenger train trips, and a strong connection to one's community.

And despite the challenges that were ever-present, he wouldn't have had it any other way.

Referencing the current state of the country, he was firm in his statement that his generation had "done things right."

In listening to him reflect on the passing of time on a sunny Sunday afternoon, part of me knew he was right.

The discussion with my father-in-law Harry came at the end of a week in which I spent time in Waterville, the small city neighboring my hometown, witnessing the subtle yet hard-to-ignore signs of urban decay.

Of a city 60 years past its heyday, when its foundation of manufacturing jobs allowed families to carve out a comfortable life for themselves in an era of vibrancy and hope.

The manufacturing jobs are all but gone now, relegated to fading memories among those who lived these lives and younger generations who will never fully appreciate them.

And Waterville is far from unique. This phenomenon has occured throughout Maine - a state that once had a rich legacy of high-quality work and craftsmanship appreciated throughout the world. It also is a recurring theme in too many parts of the country.

A visit to the Maine State Museum in Augusta - which we also squeezed into a busy school vacation week - confirms the many wonderful products that Maine once produced. Most of these I knew about, but some surprised even me.

And all, expertly presented in various displays, provided countless opportunities for my wife and I to share with our children the rich heritage of their home state.

Maine once was a world leader in many respects - lumber, ice harvesting, boatbuilding, granite quarrying, among others; the "Yankee ingenuity" and strong work ethic of its people solidifying a reputation for greatness.

Those days, sadly, are far behind us. The well-paying manufacturing jobs that once sustained families have been replaced with service sector and retail jobs that lack the salaries, hours and benefits of their predecessors.

Gas, oil and food prices are skyrocketing, while personal incomes remain stagnant. Our country is fighting wars on two fronts - two of them sustained for nearing a decade - with military intervention in a third country.

Our national debt is spiraling and partisan politics continues to cripple our country. Hard times are here...and they seem to be getting harder.

But yet sometimes, out of extreme adversity, a new national identity is formed - one of resilience in overcoming obstacles. An identity that recognizes a need for change and one that inspires the hard work necessary for it to take place.

It happened in the years following the Great Depression, and again in the post-World War II era when my father-in-law was a boy.

We are now at that juncture in history.

I have hope for my children's futures, that despite the many existing challenges, a new "Golden Age" is on the horizon.

And I hope I live long enough to hear them recount their own "good old days."

Peeps...The Final Frontier

2011-04-23T07:25:00.001-04:00

I can now die a happy man.

Image courtesy of http://thatsnerdalicious.com/

Thanks to my cousin Rick Fortin and the wonders of Facebook, I have seen something I never could have envisioned.

Behold...the crew of the U.S.S. Enterprise - in marshmallow Peeps form - complete with Tribbles.

It is a sight that would make Gene Roddenberry proud.

And now I have a mission...to find a local retailer that actually sells these gems. I could always purchase them online, but where would the fun be in that?

No...if I am to have the Peeps version of Kirk, Spock, Bones, Scotty, etc., I need to work for it.

And if it turns out that this creation was a custom job, then I will rally my confectionary friends together for a Peeps decorating session.

I recognize, however, that success in my mission will present a dilemma - Do I keep the Peeps as a collectible, letting them age to rock-hard form before displaying them in a nice oak shadowbox...or do I eat them?

It's a difficult decision, especially for someone who has been a Peeps junkie for the past 35 years.

Yes, I do love Peeps. I'm just not sure why.

Maybe it's their bright colors.

Or that they appear in stores around major holidays (although Groundhog Day, Flag Day and Arbor Day still are greatly missed marketing opportunities for the Peeps folks).

My guess, however, is that in their desire to provide absolutely no nutritional value, Peeps also offer an injection of sugar directly into one's bloodstream.

When you experience your first Peeps sugar rush at age 7, you tend to become a fan for life.

And technological advancements now allow you to take your fandom to a whole new level.

But I digress. The clock is ticking and the latest Peeps offerings will soon disappear from store shelves until...Memorial Day?

Time to boldly go to my "always friendly Wal-mart" to see if my Trekkie Peeps are in stock.

And if they're not? Not a problem.

There are bound to be more than a few inhabitants of "strange new worlds" to see that will make my trip worthwhile.

Buyer's Remorse: Hamster Shopping

2011-04-22T07:14:00.004-04:00

Wednesday brought a startling revelation.

Either I love my children very much or I am an idiot.

There is no other rational explanation for me being in the small pets section of two local pet stores late Wednesday afternoon, searching for the perfect hamster for my 10-year-old daughter and her siblings.

Me...the one who despises rodents.

Me...the one who singlehandedly wiped out a rats nest labyrinth under our mudroom last summer.

Me...the one the family screams for when a field mouse is discovered scurrying through our rural home.

Yeah...that guy.

I used to be the head of a household that stood firmly against tiny furry creatures with tails.

Now everything has changed. Black is white, up is down and our home is rodent-friendly.

I was the last line of defense. And on Wednesday, looking at my daughter's excited face, I caved. Big time.

The unfortunate chain of events started several weeks ago when Grace, 10, and Emma, 13, decided they wanted a teddy bear hamster.

Grace, who had a much different understanding of hamsters than I did, planned to dress the creature in a tutu.

As someone whose hands still bear the bite scars of an ill-fated ownership of hamsters Star and Harold while living in Presque Isle in the early 1990s, I wanted to see just how Grace would manage that feat.

I also wanted to see how Grace, a girl whose pants pockets have scorch marks from the money that quickly burns through them, would be able save the cash needed for the adoption.

I guess I underestimated Grace's desire...and her negotiating skills.

Within weeks, she had half of the money she needed. She then was able to get the Bank of Emma to buy into the venture.

Even younger brother Jack supported the effort.

Jack earns 10 cents for each pair of socks he matches - a task no one in the family wants to do and is thankful someone else does. After one industrious Sunday morning, he contributed a few dollars to the cause.

Mom scored a used hamster habitat for $5 as well as bags of wood shavings and other small animal paraphernalia from friends whose guinea pig went to his final resting place.

And then, on Wednesday morning, Emma and Grace had a vacation week babysitting gig that earned them enough to buy their rodent...er, hamster, and its accessories.

As the planets aligned, we went shopping...first to PETCO, where we struck out, and then to PetSmart, where Grace found the companion pet of her dreams...a cream and white fluffball with a plump body and tiny stub of a tail.

Part-owner Emma wanted to name the critter Fuzz; Grace wanted Lucy. The compromise? Flucy.

Flucy the chubby hamster now lives in Grace's room, the sole occupant in a dwelling full of bling and doo-dads.

We're hopeful her presence may entice Grace to abandon her squatter's existence in Jack's room in the coming weeks and join her.

As the dust has settled on this purchase, I have realized a few things:

I am a sucker.
Grace is to me what kryptonite was to Superman.
Plumpster Flucy is the best of all the small pets we have owned in the past nine years (beta fish, parakeets, hermit crabs, etc).

She's low-impact, she keeps the kids away from the TV and, most important, she's quiet.

I think we'll keep her.

Besides, I still need to see her in that tutu.

Boys with Sticks

2011-04-18T09:49:00.000-04:00

My son Jack plays lacrosse.

I took him to his first practice last week where he took his place among 20 miniature warriors in battle gear.

As I scanned the crowd of second-, third- and fourth-graders - some bouncing from sugar rushes, others just naturally hyped up - one prevailing thought stayed firmly with me: Nothing screams potential head injury like this particular grouping, armed with aluminum lacrosse sticks.

Coach Todd tossed a lax ball in the middle of the field and the players sprang into action - sticks flying, checked bodies following suit, helmets smacking together - as each tried to gain control of the ball and move it to the opposing goal.

And the soundtrack from Braveheart played in my head as I watched the scene unfold.

Unlike my son, I grew up in a mill town where my contact sport of choice was football.

I didn't start playing until I was 11 and, even then, the sport afforded much more in terms of padding and bodily protection.

We also didn't wield weapons of any type...although, in retrospect, that would have been quite cool.

So now I am learning the intricacies of a new sport - one nearly as foreign to me as field hockey.

A sport with its own unique history, terminology, playing positions and rules.

And one that Jack has shown a true love for - spawned equally by its newness and the fact that it is played by his older North Carolina cousins Brett, Drew and Samantha.

As for the potential of injuries?

I think he stands a much better chance of surviving a lacrosse season intact than we did playing with the dangerous toys of the 1970s.

Lawn darts, anyone?

Return to Redemption

2011-04-17T11:58:00.000-04:00

"Follow your dreams."

It's an overly used phrase particularly popular during graduation season.

We've all heard it countless times...perhaps even uttered the phrase ourselves once or twice.

But what happens when "following your dreams" causes you to be paralyzed into inactivity?

When the finish line to your dreams is equivalent to the distance of a marathon and you're convinced your stamina and endurance is more of a weekend jogger?

At times like these, a sturdy push - not a gentle nudge - is needed to regain momentum.

A blog posting by fellow writer Jo Knowles provided just that push for me several weeks ago.

I've never met Jo, a Vermont-based freelance writer and the author of Jumping Off Swings.

Our paths have crossed in Twitterland, however, when I started following her posts and reading her LiveJournal entries.

One recent entry, Write Like There's No One in the Room, offered my catalyst.

In it, Jo writes of the challenge of paying the bills through her freelance work while longing to write the novels of her dreams - the type of meaningful writing she wants to do...not for anyone else but herself.

Reading the post gave me pause to reflect upon one of my own writing projects that has languished far too long - cast aside by the hectic pace of life and the challenge the project represents.

It's working title is "Redemption" and it is my first attempt at a fiction novel.

"Redemption" was inspired by a drive along a country road in Maine where the sign atop a bottle and can redemption center caused me to think of a various meanings of the word "redemption" and their application in a person's life.

The idea blossomed into a plot and then a manuscript that grew quickly and substantially to its current size of 79,000 words captured on 225 double-spaced pages.

And then it stalled - doomed because of its size and the consistent time needed to research and write its remaining sections.

Until three weeks ago.

That's when I decided to modify the path on which I have been traveling.

I'll continue to write posts for Chelsea Stories - but I now have a renewed commitment to finishing "Redemption" - to do the writing that is most important and lasting. And the most challenging.

"Following my dream" used to mean having my book published. And it still may.

But the dream has been refined over the years.

It now means seeing a very large, difficult project to its completion - for myself first, for family and friends second and, hopefully, for a commercial audience interesting in reading what I have to say.

Who knows if Jo Knowles - or another fellow writer - will provide another dose of inspiration in the months ahead.

Recognizing this, I've created my own - an image, shown above, of the cover of my first novel.

The novel is not yet finished...but it will be.

And waiting for it at the end of the marathon's finish line - the carrot dangling in front of the horse - will be "Redemption's" cover.

The New Face of Bullying

2011-04-08T22:01:00.001-04:00

I met a childhood bully in a building supply store yesterday afternoon.

He kindly asked me if I wanted one of this week's sales fliers, unaware of who I was and that we had a past history.

More than 30 years ago, this same person would torment me in the hours before recess, threatening to beat me up.
He was intimidating and I was scared, but the physical violence I encountered was far less than what I got from fighting with my brothers at home. Yet it was still bullying.

Now, three decades later, I was sad to see what had become of him. In the minute we interacted in the store's entryway, I saw a man beaten down by life - someone to be pitied rather than feared.

Life can sometimes offer contrary perspectives on the same day.

Such was the case Thursday, when I connected the dots to a friend's Facebook post earlier in the week that asked for prayers.

The prayers were for a teenage girl who died expectedly, her death a suicide - the final act of a young girl reportedly the target of bullies.

I don't know the details of this girl's death, nor do I need to.

What I do know is that a young woman - loved by many according to the volume of posts on a Facebook memorial page - died far too young and needlessly, another victim of the insidious new type of bullying that exists.

Technology has brought us amazing, life-changing advancements. It has also created a new set of deadly tools for those who wish to harm others - constant text messaging and outlets like Facebook, MySpace and others among them.

While I was a boy, the bullying stopped when I returned to my home.

Today's bullies are relentless, however. Technology can extend their tormenting beyond the school setting, creating a 24/7 barrage of hate that wears down even the strongest of people - causing teenagers to think there is no relief, no way to stop the constant pain.

And thousands of teenagers and young adults kill themselves annually as a result.

Bullied because of their real or perceived sexual orientation.

Bullied because of their religious beliefs, their social status, their grades, their clothes.

Bullied because their mere existence makes someone else feel jealous, or stupid or insignificant.

Bullied just because.

We are losing a generation of young people because of the new form of bullying. It is a societal cancer that needs to be continually addressed and ultimately stopped.

Many excellent anti-bullying resources exist for those who want to take a stand. Check out the few I've listed - or research your own - and then take action.

Work with your local school to enact anti-bullying policies and procedures.

Help form an anti-bullying response team among students at your elementary, middle and high schools - groups of students dedicated to reaching out and helping those who are victimized.

Create and support positive outlets for young people - particularly those at greatest risk for self-harm or suicide.

And address the hurtful comments and actions immediately when you hear or see them. Hold the bullies accountable and protect those who feel they have no place to turn.

Change can only happen through action. Yours and mine.

Writing of A Peaceful Place

2011-03-18T07:23:00.000-04:00

A writer, in essence, is a storyteller.

Sometimes the story told is another's; other times it is her own.

It can be bold and complex - an intricate tale with many connecting thoughts - or a simpler presentation that captures a moment. Like a perfect summer day.

In the eight years that I've been closely tied to Chelsea Elementary School - when my oldest child was a kindergartner - I've come to appreciate it as a wellspring of creativity and self-expression.

In spite of the school's smallness and its relative lack of resources compared to others, there exists among its teachers and staff a strong appreciation for art, music and writing - creative outlets for students that can sometimes be cast aside as less important than other academic areas during a budget-tightening process.

This appreciation - and the continuing encouragement and support given to Chelsea's students - is one of the reasons I love our small-town school.

For it is this support that is creating the next generation of artists, musicians and writers.

Writers like my daughter Grace.

As part of a recent writing prompt, students were asked to write about a "peaceful place." Grace wrote the following poem about a morning spent climbing Camden's Mt. Battie with friends last summer.

As I walk up the hill, my little brother yells, "Blueberries, blueberries!"

I reach the top in astonishment and see a stone wall, sort of like a castle tower.

"It's so beautiful," I say.

When I climb to the top of the tower, I feel peaceful.

Like a princess at the top of her castle, clearing all her thoughts.

I hear the birds chirping, singing their songs.

I taste the wonderful blueberries in my mouth.

I feel the wind on my elegant shoulders.

I see the beautiful ocean.

I smell every flower from miles and miles away.

I know this old castle needs a new princess, though.

My real kingdom is home.

Who knows what the future holds for Grace and her fellow students with regard to their creative energies.

Will they become professional musicians, artists or writers compensated for their talents? Only time will tell.

For the moment, though, they are supported in their efforts to express themselves - to tell their own stories...to paint or sculpt, to sing their songs and play their music.

And, in doing so, they are able to beautifully capture a moment...like a warm summer morning atop a castle, eating wild blueberries and glancing at an ocean coastline with a horizon full of possibilities.

Justice Murray: "What Were You Thinkin'?"

2011-03-17T11:48:00.000-04:00

I am not a legal scholar.

So there are bound to be many legal factors taken into consideration by Justice Robert Murray in his decision Tuesday to modify Chelsea Board of Selectmen Chairwoman Carole Swan's bail conditions, allowing her limited access to Chelsea's town office, its staff and fellow Selectman Mike Pushard.

Photo by Catherine Stephenson, courtesy of Flickr

I certainly hope that's the case.

Because as I read in disbelief yesterday's breaking news story, I couldn't keep Dr. Phil's famous catch phrase from running through my mind.

Justice Murray's decision was based on Maine law, perhaps cases of precedent and the opposing arguments made by Carole Swan's attorney Leonard Sharon and Kennebec Deputy District Attorney Alan Kelley.

It was made with a judge's impartiality to the facts before him.

As a Chelsea resident, I view the request by Sharon and Swan to modify the latter's bail conditions differently.

My perspective is emotional and one of a common-sense approach to what is fundamentally right and wrong.

It is a perspective fueled by intense animosity toward Carole Swan, her alleged and confessed actions and to anyone else who may have "aided and abetted her" and/or benefitted from her actions.

Based on comments posted on the Concerned Chelsea Citizens Facebook page and the online KJ news coverage, I am not alone.

To me, Carole Swan is the fox in the henhouse, one who escapes the farmer's wrath - with a chicken still clenched in its teeth - and tries to return for another meal.

The farmer would indeed be a fool if he gave the fox renewed access to the coop. And yet, by allowing Swan's requested bail modifications - that's what many angry Chelsea folks believe Murray has done.

Yes, there are certainly restrictions regarding Swan's access to the town office, its staff and Pushard.

But the principle of letting her have even limited access has many in town riled up - to the point where a citizen cadre has started guarding the town office, keeping a staunch lookout for any further impropriety.

Justice Murray will likely be involved in several more decisions involving Swan in the coming months.

The ones of greatest concern will be those occurring before June 21, the date the disgraced selectwoman will be forced from office by the decisive vote of an outraged constituency.

And I hope, in these cases, that the sound of Dr. Phil's voice will be forever purged from my head.

"What About Chickens?"

2011-03-12T07:47:00.000-05:00

"I think we should get some chickens," said the voice from the passenger seat.

"We wouldn't have to do much...build a little place for them..."

"You mean a coop?"

"Yeah...one of those. We could have fresh eggs and have some meat for our freezer."

There was a disconnect somewhere about "laying" chickens and "eating" chickens, but I let it slide, smiled and nodded to acknowledge the statement - not to support it.

As it turned out, my comments weren't needed. The three voices from the backseat did all the talking for me. The two youngest were the first to chime in. They took exception to the "eating" part.

"We can't eat our chickens," Jack cried out, speaking as if our hypothetical chickens were real. "I want to keep them as pets."

"No...we wouldn't keep them as pets," came the response from his mother, the originator of this family discussion. "Besides, where do you think the chicken we buy at the store comes from?"

"That's different," Grace answered. "We don't take care of those chickens and see them walking around the backyard." Again, I questioned whether my family already had chickens of which I was not aware.

The clinching argument against chickens came from Emma, my eldest child. She, unlike her siblings, had real world experience with chickens from last summer's babysitting work for our friends' children.

In addition to watching and playing with the three Flowers children, Emma and her co-babysitter helped harvest produce from the family's gardens, sell vegetables at their farmstand and - most relevant to this conversation - take care of their flock of laying hens. And the one mean rooster.

"You do not want chickens!" Emma said, in her most emphatic teen voice.

"They're awful! They get loose all the time! They dig under the fence or hop over it if it's not high enough. They peck you and they poop everywhere! Do not get chickens!"

The interesting part of whole discussion is that we could accommodate chickens and other livestock on our property.

The previous owners kept horses and had a small barn next to the large crabapple tree in the backyard. The concrete posts that once supported the structure are still in place, almost as if they're waiting for a new barn to rise like a phoenix from ashes.

We enjoy gardening and animals and being outside in the tranquil rural setting we know as "home."

In contrast to the fast-paced life we lead as parents of three active, involved children, this idea of homesteading - of slowing down, simplifying and becoming more in tune with our natural surroundings - has an appeal.

Which is why Missy broached the topic of raising chickens two weeks ago. And a goat eight months ago...a cow last year...and pigs the year before.

Knowing my family as I do, the chances of any of this livestock ending up in a freezer someday are fairly slim. Which makes me recognize that the acquisition of one farm animal - and subsequently others - would lead to the creation of the Windsor Road Petting Zoo.

Not that I'm opposed to the concept...someday...when I'm older and have time to chase animals rather than children.

For the moment, I'll contend to chasing the two-legged kind.

And if Missy has a need to connect with her inner chicken, I know just the place we can visit. Emma can show us around.

Rejoicing in Crunchland!

2011-03-10T18:08:00.003-05:00

At last report, things were looking desperate for Cap'n Crunch and his hardy crew.

But fear not, fellow Crunchberry lovers.

I bring you great news and hope in the form of the following late-breaking e-mail message from my new best friend Corey DiGiovanni:

Hi J.D.

We caught your recent report and would like to confirm that Cap'n Crunch is here to stay.

In fact, we just launched an official Facebook page for Cap'n Crunch so our adult consumers can stay up-to-date on all things Cap'n Crunch. You can also follow the brand on Twitter@realcapncrunch.

We're not surprised about the passion and enthusiasm for Cap'n Crunch.

It is one of the most popular and iconic brands in America, especially among adults who grew up eating this cereal.

While stepping up our social media presence, our plans for Cap'n Crunch will continue to meet our commitments to the Children's Food and Beverage Advertising Initiative.

Corey, on behalf of Quaker
So it appears we can call off the Crunch Revolution.

Cancel your plans to stock up on your favorite variety this weekend.

And no need to worry about deciding which family members and friends are "Crunch worthy" as you dole out your last tasty morsels.

The good Cap'n will sail again. I just hope he plans to have Frankenberry, Dig 'Em and the rest of the crew on board.

Eat up, folks! Time's a wastin'!

Say it Ain't So, Cap'n!

2011-03-10T05:44:00.001-05:00

Missy was at stage two of the five stages of grief when she called to share the news: Cap'n Crunch is going away.

Fired up, she vowed to launch the Crunch Revolution starting today.

I may join her once I fully process the fact that the good Cap'n - conqueror of the Soggies, defender of all that's bad in the foods from my youth - may soon be absent from supermarket cereal shelves.

Granted, Ryan MacClanathan's article on msnbc.com is a bit misleading given it's incendiary headline - "Cap'n Crunch Sails into Obscurity." The gist of the story is that the breakfast food known for temporarily destroying the roof of one's mouth is not going away completely - at least not yet.

Quaker, rather, is no longer "actively marketing" the product to children - meaning the good Cap'n, with his goofy voice and quirky hat, will soon stop sailing the sugary seas to the land of childhood obesity.

But we all know the reality, don't we? If a product with already falling sales isn't supported by advertising dollars in commercials placed among children's cartoon programming, it's end is imminent.

Does anyone remember Quisp, another notorious sugar-laden cereal from the 1970s that was marketed by a cartoon space alien? Probably not...and I rest my case.

Intellectually, I get the need to improve the nutritional content of many items lining our grocery shelves. The epidemic of obesity in the United States that is threatening lives and contributing to skyrocketing health care and health insurance costs needs to be addressed as a national problem.

Still, I am sad to see an icon from my childhood fading away, not to mention the deliciously sweet, rock-hard yellow nuggets of goodness that added the phrase "Crunch Cut" to our lexicon.

Goodbye Cap'n, my Cap'n. It was a pleasure sailing with you.

Chelsea's Moral Compass Needs Adjusting

2011-03-06T21:04:00.000-05:00

Today's Kennebec Journal report on Chelsea's ongoing crisis focused on Whitefield contractor Frank Monroe and his own shady history with town contracts.

Monroe has been characterized as a "victim" in the alleged shakedown at the hands of Chelsea Board of Selectmen Chairwoman Carole Swan.

Perhaps he is - in this case. I'll reserve judgment until the investigation is done.

Don't get me wrong...I'm thankful Monroe reported Swan to the authorities and helped bring to light an alleged longstanding pattern of criminal and/or unethical behavior.

But as Kennebec Journal reporter Mechele Cooper and her colleagues chronicled so well, Monroe has a checkered history as a Chelsea contractor.

Reading the sordid Monroe-Swan-Chelsea tale this morning brought to mind the proverb "There is no honor among thieves." Or alleged thieves.

According to former town manager Bob Drisko's recounting, he fired Monroe in 1999 because the contractor charged Chelsea for more sand than was delivered - among other reported misdeeds.

In the current changes against Swan, Monroe turned her in because she allegedly extorted $10,000 from him in kickbacks and attempted to hit him up a third time.

Yet Monroe apparently benefitted from Swan's largesse in the form of a current plowing contract he secured without even bidding on it.

Before that, in October 2006, he received the plowing contract in a unanimous vote by Selectmen Swan, Rick Danforth and Guy Berthiaume, followed by the sanding contract a week later.

These awards were supported by two selectmen - Swan and Danforth - who were on the board when Monroe was fired in 1999. They were aware of his actions and yet still awarded the contracts, citing a lack of bidders and a discussion of past problems.

I've long heard rumors that Carole Swan made life miserable for contractors whose last name did not match her own. Paul Soucy, who lived through the experience, explained this much better than I could.

I understand contractors probably weren't interested in bidding on Chelsea jobs because:

They either did not get them or
Life was too short to deal with Swan's reported meddling if they did.

Still, where was the due diligence at the time of the 2006 bid awards to reach out to prospective bidders other than Frank Monroe, whose moral compass in past work for the town pointed due south?

And how was it that some of Swan's dealings - now openly criticized even by the town managers who worked with her or those who voted in favor of her motions - were allowed to continue for so long, unchallenged on the large stage needed to enact change long ago?

Chelsea has long had a proverbial "elephant in the room" in the form of Carole Swan - an elephant everyone knew was there but no one asked to leave.

Swan's confessed and alleged actions are reprehensible - selfish acts of a greedy, self-centered individual who reportedly used her power and influence as a club to beat others into submission.

But in spite of all this, Carole Swan did not act alone.

More than her own signature was needed to approve warrants for payment. And others in the community aware of her alleged improprieties - from town office employees to volunteers on various town committees, to the general public - either chose not to fight it or were unsuccessful in their attempts.

By not challenging Swan's reported intimidating or bullying behavior, we, as Chelsea residents, have allowed our community to be tarnished, ridiculed and legally and financially challenged.

In spite of the present problems and those that still lie ahead, we have a window of opportunity to make positive, lasting changes...to right the ship and adjust the direction of our town's moral compass.

The upcoming March 29 election will be a good first step.

Where we go from there is up to us as an informed, involved community dedicated to making the right changes for our future.

Scope for Your Life

2011-03-05T09:33:00.000-05:00

March is National Colorectal Cancer Awareness Month.

It is a month meant to educate the public of a disease that while largely preventable still claims more than 49,000 lives each year in the United States.

According to American Cancer Society (ACS) estimates, about 141,000 people will be diagnosed this year with the disease that is the third most commonly diagnosed cancer in the U.S. and the third-leading cause of cancer deaths in both men and women.

These figures are truly sobering when ACS studies theorize that most of these deaths could be prevented “by applying existing knowledge about cancer prevention and increasing the use of established screening tests.”

The fact is that colonoscopies save lives, particularly for those with a family history of colon cancer like myself and my wife.

Both of our fathers were diagnosed with advanced colorectal cancer. Her father – Grampa Harry – survived, miraculously, and is still a very important part of our lives. Mine, unfortunately, did not.

Being cognizant of this family history, however, is extremely important for us and our children.

There are no guarantees about the longevity of one’s life, but I know I stand a much better chance of being present for my children’s – and, someday, their children’s – lives by having regular colonoscopies to detect and remove pre-cancerous polyps.

My father’s adult life occurred before a great awareness of the benefits of preventive health. Without a family history of colorectal cancer, he may not have been advised to have a colonscopy.

In fact, I believe he may have had his first colonoscopy at age 62 to determine the origin and cause of his internal bleeding – symptoms that could no longer be overlooked or denied.

Image of advanced color cancer

That scope, unfortunately, was not preventive in nature. Rather, it informed his doctor that my father had stage IV colon cancer and presented Dad with a terminal diagnosis. He died three months later.

I cannot change history or turn the clock back to 1983 – when my father turned 50 – and urge him to have a preventive colonoscopy. What I can do, however, is ensure history does not repeat itself.

In the 15 years since my father’s death, I have become a big proponent of colonoscopies. And, in the words of Hair Club for Men President and TV pitchman Sy Sperling, “I’m also a client.” I had my first scope two years ago when I turned 40. I’m scheduled for another in three years – and every five after that, unless circumstances require otherwise.

Let’s face it, while the colonoscopy itself isn’t bad, the prep for it is not fun. But I’d much rather deal with the prep every five years than face the alternative.

If you’re age 50 or older and have never had a colonoscopy, or if you have a family history of colorectal cancer, schedule your scope this week. It could just save your life.

The Power of Signs

2011-03-03T22:57:00.009-05:00

The post I planned to write was very different.

But then I received a photo in the mail - a photo from 1982 I had long forgotten.

And I knew this particular photo - received through curious circumstances - was a sign that he was alright. As was she...and her mother.

The photo was one of my parents, taken by my grandmother, Irene "Rena" Fortin, on their 25th wedding anniversary.

Of several similar photos snapped that day, I knew this was hers by the familiar handwriting on it.

After my grandmother died in 1985, many of her photos were given to my mother and her siblings.

This photo was given to me when my siblings and I had to do the same with my mother's possessions. It somehow ended up in a large manilla envelope among my home office supplies.

Last week, I had to deliver a package to one of our health system's orthopedic practices. Working from home, I grabbed the only envelope I could find, one that seemed empty and unused.

Late this afternoon, a coworker handed me a photo with a sticky note attached. It had come through interoffice mail and, strangely enough, was the one my grandmother took.

The story could have ended there - a minor blip on life's radar - but there is more to it.

Yesterday was March 2nd, the day my father would have turned 78. He died of colorectal cancer 15 years ago, eight days after his 63rd birthday.

These two dates, therefore, weigh heavily each year once the calendar flips from February to March.

March 2nd also was my grandmother's birthday, one of the many visible bonds that existed between two special people.

Memere Fortin waged the final days of her battle with cancer in March before dying on April 1st.

The memories of them I cherish most are those in which they are healthy, full of life and smiling.

Other memories are much darker - gaunt faces, sunken eyes, yellowed skin, faith-filled souls clinging to life in cancer-ravaged bodies.

Even after all these years, I try to make peace with these conflicting images.

I am a spiritual person and believe our Earthly journeys are not our final destinations. Still, my human side longs for confirmation that some of the people I loved most in the world - those whose voices I long to hear and embraces I long to feel - are okay.

I look for signs confirming there is life after life. That there is no more sickness and pain, no more grief and loss.

Today was a day for signs. And the power and love I felt in holding a forgotten photo from nearly 30 years ago was just what I needed.

Going Where God Leads

2011-02-27T08:21:00.000-05:00

Hannah Miller was a shy teenager in 1999 when she first participated in a mission trip to New York City with her church’s youth group.

Her positive experiences helped define the course of her life, leading to similar trips to Tennessee, New Orleans, Florida and West Virginia, among others.

"Through the years, I’ve fallen in love with volunteering and helping people. It’s a big part of who I am,” she says. “I’ve also grown in my faith and trust in God. By the Holy Spirit working through me, I’ve overcome a lot of my shyness.”

So much so that Miller, who lives in Augusta, eventually helped lead a 2005 trip to Belize.

“We worshiped with the Belizian people and worked and played with their children. While we were never able to build the church we had planned, we left the tools and money we had raised so they could build it when they were ready.”

A year later, Miller felt a strong call to do a longer-term mission to Africa. She signed on with the Eastern Mennonite Missions’ Youth Evangelism Service. Instead of being placed in Africa, however, she was sent to Israel-Palestine for a year.

“It wasn’t God's plan for me to go to Africa then,” she says. “Instead, I served with the Bethlehem Bible College as their guest house manager and helped at House of Hope, a home and school for children and young adults with developmental disabilities.”

As guest house manager, Miller enjoyed her role educating guests about Palestinians and their culture. She also received her own education.

“I learned to see people beyond stereotypes. We had been sent to encourage Arab Christians, and it was they who encouraged me more. The Palestinians have difficult lives, but were cheerful and always willing to share meals and a hot drink. They may not have had much, but they would always find a way to be hospitable.”

Providing she can overcome the challenge of receiving a travel visa, Miller will follow God’s call in mid-May to the place she felt drawn to five years ago – Zambia, Africa.

Her 3-1/2-week mission with the Women’s Initiatives that Strengthen and Empower (WISE) program will involve volunteering as part of a 20-person group in small rural Zambian towns like Kaoma.

She has raised the $4,000 needed for the trip through support provided by friends, family, other missionaries, churches and her church family at Faith Christian Church (FCC) in Gardiner.

During the past 25 years, WISE has worked to empower Zambian women and improve their lives by providing them with education, skills and support.

WISE also works to ensure Zambian orphans and other vulnerable children have their basic and educational needs met.

“I’d like to work at the children's orphanage or school but will work wherever they need me,” she says. “I feel God has provided me with this great opportunity to strengthen my walk with Him and His walk with others.”

When she returns from Africa, Miller will visit her sponsoring churches and share her experiences about living and working with the Zambian people. In late July, she and others also will lead the FCC After Shock middle and high school youth groups on a mission trip to Cincinnati.

For now, however, she’ll continuing making trip plans and corresponding with the Washington, D.C. agency handling her visa application.

“Visa issues are always difficult, but I have faith in God to provide,” she says. “And I will go to Zambia with an open heart and a willingness to serve however I am needed.”

Maine H.S Basketball Tourney Excites

2011-02-26T06:10:00.000-05:00

Photo by Andy Molloy, Kennebec Journal

A gutsy baseline shot by Valley High School's Cindy Schultz in the final seconds to secure a 54-53 win over Greater Portland Christian and cap a superb 29-point individual performance.

A gritty, controlled 34-22 win by the Richmond Lady Bobcats to advance to their first conference championship game in 10 years.

Plenty of pinpoint passes, fast breaks and 3-point shots from well beyond the arc.

It's high school basketball tournament time in Maine and this is how my family and I spent part of our February vacation.

Photo by Andy Molloy, Kennebec Journal

We took in five of the many games played over the past week and I could have easily camped out at the Augusta Civic Center all week if time and money allowed.

We personally knew only a handful of kids playing. It didn't matter.

Just like it didn't last year, when we introduced the kids to the tournament and they became fans of several schools they had never heard of.

In an era when professional sports and many college programs have been ruined by money, high school athletics in Maine have retained a pureness of competition and sportsmanship. One can find these qualities during any season, but there's something about basketball that makes it special.

Maybe it's the transition from the bleak, harsh coldness of a Maine winter to a warm gym full of energy and excitement. Or that fans can be closer to the action than at outdoor fields.

Whatever the exact reasons, there is a pageantry to Maine high school basketball. While not in-your-face flashy, it exists and is particularly displayed at tournament time.

Townspeople in their school colors fill up whole sections of auditoriums, cheering wildly as they are led by one or more face-painted high schoolers waving towels.

Exhuberent when their teams play well and win, they are equally upset but supportive when games don't go well and playoff elimination is imminent.

This whole atmosphere offers a stage befitting the players who take to the courts and play their hearts out.

For most, this or a future tournament will mark the end of their playing careers - whether they have the chance to cut down the nets after a conference or state championship victory, or leave the arena in defeat.

Regardless of the outcome, they'll have the chance to display their individual skills and the hard work, dedication and teamwork that got them there.

For the price of admission ($7 for adults and $4 for students), I guarantee you'll get your money's worth.

If you haven't seen a game this year, there's still time to catch some great basketball.

Take some time to check out everything that's good about high school athletics. You may just become a fan of a new team in the process.

RSU 12 to Chelsea: Pay Your Bill

2011-02-24T08:55:00.000-05:00

If last night's Chelsea town meeting was a baseball game, most of the public's questions and comments could be compared to pitches thrown to a batter.

Photo by Tracy Olson, courtesy of Flickr

Some were fastballs on the inside corner, others slower with a little spin to them - but all of them within the "strike zone" of expected discussion related to the Feb. 10 arrest of Chelsea Board of Selectmen Chair Carole Swan on charges of aggravated forgery, theft and improper compensation.

All but one - a slow hanging curveball thrown by RSU 12 Finance Committee Chairman Jerry Nault.

A curveball with a collective price tag of $386,569.

This is the amount of money owed by the town to RSU 12 since July 2009 for items including:

Student tuition
Chelsea's share of RSU 12 operating costs
$7,000 or so in accounts receivable RSU 12 assumed when Chelsea joined its flock and
Six months of payments toward the $31,000 the town approved for in-town bus transportation for its high school students.

Noting the nature of last night's forum, Nault simply asked Chelsea town attorney Stephen Langsdorf if he had received a letter from Portland-based Drummond Woodsum & MacMahon attorney Bill Stockmeyer instructing the town to pay its outstanding debt or face a court order requesting the payment.

Langsdorf, who has only represented the town since Swan's arrest, acknowledged that he had received the letter but was not yet familiar with the details surrounding the outstanding balance as to comment on the situation.

What Nault's question and Langsdorf's response did, however, was create a ripple of concern amoung the large audience that the town's financial issues could be much worse than feared.

I served on the Chelsea School Committee for two of the years prior to the formation of RSU 12 in which school budgets - approved by the townspeople - had spending lines frozen in anticipation of possible Chelsea school funding needs before and after the consolidation.

There was much uncertainty at the time and then-Superintendent Frank Boynton took a very conservative approach to school spending.

This approach meant that Chelsea's students and staff went without many supplies, educational materials and other resources - and created a budget surplus of approximately $606,000, according to Nault, that was turned over to RSU 12 when Chelsea joined it.

The surplus was released to the town both to help reduce its tax rate related to educational costs and pay its share of RSU costs.

Nault has been told that a total of $300,000 - two separate payments of $150,000 - was applied to the overall town budget to reduce the part of Chelsea's tax rate related to education.

Conceivably, that would leave about $306,000 from the original surplus to apply to the RSU 12 bill. If that money still exists and is available, why hasn't Chelsea's bill been paid?

Why did RSU 12 have to employ Drummond Woodsum & MacMahon as a de facto collection agency for a bill that should have been paid long ago - without the involvement of lawyers?

Why is Chelsea now thought of as the "deadbeat cousin" in the RSU 12 family?

Jerry Nault wants to know the answers.

So do I. And so should you.

Civility Needed for Chelsea Crisis

2011-02-23T15:14:00.000-05:00

A standing room only crowd is expected to pack Chelsea Elementary School's small gymnasium tonight in the first town meeting since the arrest of Chelsea Board of Selectmen Chair Carole Swan.

Chelsea residents and property owners are angry. They have a right to be...and I am among them.

The ongoing revelations that have appeared in the Kennebec Journal on nearly a daily basis are enough to make anyone livid.

Beyond Swan's reported initial confession and the subsequent accusations of wrongdoing against her and her husband Marshall, there is an overwhelming feeling by the populace that an individual elected to represent them and their town's interests - over and over again during her 19-year municipal career - has betrayed them on so many levels.

And her unwillingness thus far to resign from the Board of Selectmen is another collective slap in the face with each day that passes.

People want justice - a swift and comprehensive accounting in a court of law that addresses all of Swan's alleged misdeeds. And they want all others with active connections to the alleged crimes to be prosecuted as well.

As they should.

In circumstances like this, however, there is the threat of a vigilante approach to justice or action.

Not physical violence, per se, but a mob mentality - fueled by emotions instead of logical thinking and discourse - that can derail efforts to "right a wrong."

Tonight's meeting is sure to be high drama. What we need to do as a community, however, is use this forum as the first of many meetings to refocus and redirect our town.

Let the Kennebec County Sheriff's Office's investigators and others do their work to bring appropriate and substantial charges based on collected evidence. Chelsea residents have other important - and more long lasting - work to do.

A belligerent mob approach tonight will serve no constructive purpose. Those who can recall the disastrous town meetings of 2002 know what I'm talking about.

A similiar approach tonight will bring the same results as those meetings.

Yes, we are angry. Yes, we want answers and accountability for years of alleged misdeeds and misappropriation of taxpayer money.

But there's both a right and wrong way to handle a situation as difficult as this.

For Chelsea's collective good, I hope my fellow residents choose the former.

Praise for Swan Case Investigators

2011-02-17T08:54:00.000-05:00

This morning's Kennebec Journal article stating the FBI's Augusta field office could soon be involved in the ongoing investigation of Chelsea Board of Selectmen Chairwoman Carole Swan is a very positive sign that investigators are leaving no stones unturned.

This is a very good thing.

Some may have questioned last week's decision not to bring the case to the grand jury as soon as possible, but the rationale behind it was sound.

As I surmised last week, this is potentially a much larger and more complicated case than the initial charges leading to Swan's arrest indicate.

With questions about possible misappropriation of Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) disaster funds surfacing, this case is raised to much more serious level - one that could have far-reaching consequences for Carole Swan, her husband Marshall and his business, Marshall Swan Construction, as well as others directly involved with them.

I am not privy to the details of the Kennebec County Sheriff's Department's ongoing investigation, nor should I or anyone else be at this point. That information will be shared with Chelsea's residents and property owners in due time.

What I do know is that lead investigator Det. David Bucknam, Sheriff Randall Liberty and others in the department are taking a thorough, methodical approach to gathering evidence for use in supporting the current charges, bringing possible additional charges and arriving at a comprehensive resolution in a court of law.

I applaud what I've learned thus far of their efforts through ongoing media coverage.

I also applaud the efforts of reporters at the Kennebec Journal and Morning Sentinel, and those at television news stations and at other media outlets for keeping Chelsea residents updated on the case.

Their efforts, as well as the grassroots efforts of Chelsea, Maine Citizens Concerned for our Town, will help keep Chelsea residents informed of a very complex story - a factor that will go a long way in re-establishing a level of trust, transparency and ethics for our town in the months and years to come.

A Mentor to Many, a Friend to All

2011-02-17T05:51:00.000-05:00

Photo courtesy of the University of Maine

He emphasized substance over style.

Given the option of "getting it fast" or "getting it right," he'd urge the latter.

He stressed the importance of an "inverted pyramid" newswriting style and crafting a unique and tightly written lead paragraph that would "grab a reader by the lapels" and not let go.

He wielded a red editing pen like the most skilled of swordsmen, yet always included notes of encouragement.

He was fond of distributing notes signed simply at the bottom with the letters "A.R.M."

His name was Alan Robert Miller and he was a professor, a mentor and, most importantly, a friend.

He is the reason I - and scores of others - pursued writing careers and why my first love will always be nonfiction.

I was 18 when I took my first of several classes with Alan and he helped fan embers of potential into a fire that has burned ever since.

If I have one regret, it's that he taught a much younger me - one far less wiser and introspective. There was so much more I could have learned from him, so much more he could have shared.

Sadly, I missed the chance to learn these things firsthand. Alan died in December 2005 after a 13-year struggle with chronic lymphocytic leukemia.

Undaunted, I recently dusted off skills he taught me and sent inquiries to my former Maine Campus peers, the college publication for which Alan served as faculty advisor for many years.

Several responded with their favorite recollections, but Bangor Daily News writer and friend John Holyoke offered the most tangible help.

Relying on the BDN's newspaper archive and colleague Charlie Campo, John responded hours later with valuable information.

A little digging of my own scored a tribute following the establishment of The Alan Miller Fund for Excellence in Communication and Journalism at UMaine.

What I learned about Alan's life was both educational and, at times, very inspiring.

I knew he had chronicled Maine’s daily and weekly newspapers in The History of Current Maine Newspapers, an effort he shared with our class on more than one occasion.

What I didn't know was that he was born in Liverpool, England and immigrated, at age 2, to the United States through Ellis Island with his mother and three sisters.

At age 18, after World War II, he served in the Army with the occupation forces in Japan and, after graduating from Boston University in 1952, became a journalist.

His first full-time job in the press was working as publisher and editor of the Amherst (MA) Journal Record, which he purchased after graduation.

He worked in Darmstadt, Germany from 1955 to 1964 on the staff of the European edition of the Stars and Stripes and was an overseas correspondent for the Springfield (MA) Union.

From 1964 to 1967, he was assistant to the Secretary of the University of Massachusetts at Amherst, where he earned a master’s degree in education.

From 1967 to 1991 - the end of his tenure coinciding with my class' graduation - he taught at the University of Maine and served as chairman of the Department of Journalism and Mass Communication for many years.

With my graduation and his retirement, I lost track of Professor Miller.

I heard through friends that he earned a master’s degree in library science before embarking on his next career as a reference librarian.

What I never knew was that he enjoyed painting in oils and water colors or that he and his wife Anne owned a century-old Virginia farmhouse that they frequented on weekends.

At his death, Alan was survived by his wife, one daughter, two sons, four grandsons, a great-grandson and three sisters.

His obituary did not specifically note, however, that he also was survived by hundreds of former student journalists who owe their career paths to his dedicated teaching and positive encouragement.

I am but one of these hundreds...one who is greatly appreciative that our paths crossed first by fate and then by intention.

Rest in peace, A.R.M. Your legacy is strong and lives on in the hearts of those who remember you in admiration and gratitude.

Trunk Full of History

2011-02-16T07:04:00.000-05:00

My children had a history lesson Monday night.

It wasn't part of their homework and didn't involve the United States or lands abroad. The focus was much closer to home.

In searching for a letter to include in a blog post, I unearthed from our attic a battered black trunk that has been with me since my first semester at the University of Maine in the fall of 1987.

The trunk has played many roles over the years - portable closet, bench seat and dining room table among them.

For the past 15 years, it has held a variety of papers and mementos that help to tell the story of my time on Earth.

Contained both in yellowed scrapbooks and loose piles, these items range from my newspaper birth announcement from 1969 to accolades and news clippings from my years as a newspaper reporter.

Most important among these momentos are the countless letters, notes and photographs from the early years of my relationship with their mother through the beginning of our marriage.

This history - correspondence we easily could have discarded at the time but didn't - tells stories of young love, longing and separation, of excitement for the present and dreams for the future.

Many little details associated with these stories, forgotten in the passage of the past 21 years, were recalled fondly as we shared them with the kids. Others were prompted by their questions.

This trip down memory lane on Valentine's Day was not planned but rather a matter of happenstance.

It was, however, an important reminder that we have valuable history scattered throughout our house - tucked away in forgotten boxes in the attic or in dusty photo albums that have not been opened in years.

This is history we need to share with our children before it's too late and its value changes from family heirlooms to a pile of trash stashed away in a trunk.

It offers a greater context to their lives - of how they came to be - and shows that we were "young people in love" before we became "parents."

In an era of text messaging, e-mail and videochatting, it also shows them the value of written correspondence and of starting and keeping their own histories to one day share with their children.

I'll make sure they each have a trunk to get started.