Two large snowstorms on adjacent weekends are likely noticed with a bit of concern even in Maine. First, we had the whiteout and then less than a week later another layer of snow with sleet glazing everything with a thick layer of ice. Icing on a cake is the final touch to enhance a delicious product, but a layer of ice that requires chopping with a shovel to remove the snow below is only bound to enhance frustration.

If you ask the average Mainer how they feel about the state-owned landfill serving as the dumping ground for waste from other states, you probably won’t find many that think it’s the way life should be.

My vegetable selection isn’t the most interesting in February. Gone are the days of Swiss chard and lettuce; I’m back to slinging cabbage, one of the longest lasting vegetables I’ve ever worked with. They’re like onions; if the outer leaves are discolored, just peel the layer off, and the cabbage is in perfect condition once more.

The old Deering and Hazel Genthner house finally gave up the ghost in last week’s rain and windstorm and collapsed in on itself. I don’t imagine that the blizzard last weekend did it any good either. When I was a little kid, it was always the beautiful place at the top of the hill. There will probably be a McMansion built there before we know it.

So, been a few weeks since I did any scribblin, no excuse really, except I’m working on towards the finish line, of filming somewhere in the neighborhood of 70 basketball games for LCTV. But today I’m gonna get’er done.

I love the way we talk. Mainers, I mean. When I hear people speaking with the types of voices I remember from when I was growing up, I sometimes get a little teary. I am so thankful, like the Maine way with words is a language all its own, and one I am afraid is dying out.