Our newspaper delivery guy must be a native Mainer. About once a week he skips a day and delivers two papers the following day. When this first happened many months ago we thought our paper had been stolen, a common occurrence back when we lived in Washington, D. C. But since it only happens on Mondays, and none of our neighbors give a hoot about reading the Wall Street Journal, instead choosing the local paper for the movie schedules and local bargains, we realized that was not the case.
At first I was quite angry and considered calling the guy and giving him a piece of my mind. But I didn't get around to it, and soon enough my ire was replaced by concern over what might be the cause of his faulty performance. Did he get stinking drunk every weekend and oversleep on Monday mornings? Did he have another job, desperately trying to make ends meet? Was that the day he took his wife for chemo treatments? Was he stuck at home with the baby once a week? What could it be? And did he think we didn't care, assuming that a double dose of news on Tuesdays was compensation for our dumb Mondays? Was that the "Maine way?"
Whatever the cause, I actually don't seem to care anymore and now chalk it up to a bit of local color. After being here for over two years, I am increasingly aware that life in Maine does have its benefits, and they just might make up for what's missing. I'll gladly skip my Monday paper if it means I can walk outside at night without quaking in my (duck) boots. Even better, the total absence of that relentless thief of time, bumper-to-bumper traffic, has already extended my useful life, so I am actually younger than when I moved here. (All you summer visitors should know: you bring that traffic with you.) And while I'm still not accustomed to driving 25 mph around town, with a few more warnings from one of the dozen cops on the local force, I'll get it eventually. Anyway, what's the big hurry; it's not like there's anywhere to go that won't still be there tomorrow.
Okay, so there's not a scrap of pastrami in the entire state and no bagels worth a damn. But according to my husband, Paleo Man, bagels are poison, and certainly pastrami cannot possibly be good for you--just look at it. Besides, our son is planning to move to Brooklyn so I'm guessing there are bagels in my immediate future, and maybe even a bialy or two. But he'd better ship them here, because I'm not leaving.
At first I was quite angry and considered calling the guy and giving him a piece of my mind. But I didn't get around to it, and soon enough my ire was replaced by concern over what might be the cause of his faulty performance. Did he get stinking drunk every weekend and oversleep on Monday mornings? Did he have another job, desperately trying to make ends meet? Was that the day he took his wife for chemo treatments? Was he stuck at home with the baby once a week? What could it be? And did he think we didn't care, assuming that a double dose of news on Tuesdays was compensation for our dumb Mondays? Was that the "Maine way?"Whatever the cause, I actually don't seem to care anymore and now chalk it up to a bit of local color. After being here for over two years, I am increasingly aware that life in Maine does have its benefits, and they just might make up for what's missing. I'll gladly skip my Monday paper if it means I can walk outside at night without quaking in my (duck) boots. Even better, the total absence of that relentless thief of time, bumper-to-bumper traffic, has already extended my useful life, so I am actually younger than when I moved here. (All you summer visitors should know: you bring that traffic with you.) And while I'm still not accustomed to driving 25 mph around town, with a few more warnings from one of the dozen cops on the local force, I'll get it eventually. Anyway, what's the big hurry; it's not like there's anywhere to go that won't still be there tomorrow.
Okay, so there's not a scrap of pastrami in the entire state and no bagels worth a damn. But according to my husband, Paleo Man, bagels are poison, and certainly pastrami cannot possibly be good for you--just look at it. Besides, our son is planning to move to Brooklyn so I'm guessing there are bagels in my immediate future, and maybe even a bialy or two. But he'd better ship them here, because I'm not leaving.
I love a good bagel. None in Maine.
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