Home Builder Developer - Interior Renovation and Design

May 18, 2020Trevor Perry

Driving on the freeway the other day, a small Fiat 500 zipped around me and pulled into the left lane, right behind a Ford F450 dualie. A tiny car, with a driver vaping with one hand, following this huge truck at 70 mph, without consideration for any possible traffic situation, other drivers on the road, or even their own life.

Driving is a phenomenon where the operator, being surrounded by a large box of metal and often a lot of plastic, feels invincible and invulnerable. This comfort zone is completely artificial an invention of the drivers mind. There is no safety in a vehicle, and there is no safety in driving like a crazy person right up the rear end of the vehicle in front.

This is human nature, and you can see it everywhere every day. . . if you look. For most of us, its impossible to see it from inside that invented bubble of safety.

Todays story is an allegory. This has become a common practice in the world of motivational, inspirational, and educational books, so I am taking this opportunity to dabble.

Once upon a time, people decided that their yards would look great if they had something ornamental. They planted shrubs and lots of green grass. Green everywhere. Then, the green grass grew and it started to look tatty. Someone had the great idea that they could clip the tops of the green grass and it would look neat and presentable.

They spent a lot of time trimming the green grass in their yards, until someone invented a contraption they dubbed a hand mower. By pushing the entire apparatus, the wheels would cause its blades to rotate fast. Pushing this around the yard would trim the tops of the green grass, thus ensuring the neighborhood HOA would not send a notice or levy a fine.

And there, the story ends.

Actually, not for everyone. Enterprising people decided that they could complete the job more efficiently and faster if they added an engine to the contraption. The motorized push mower meant that more yards could be mowed in a shorter time.

However, there were people who loved their hand mowers. They had become quite skilled at mowing their green grass with this easy-to-use garden tool. They stuck with their hand mower, and loudly proclaimed their resistance to the complexity of the motorized lawn mower. One had to use gasoline to power this new-fangled thing which cost money! And the effort of pulling a rope to start the engine itself was an effort that was simply unnecessary.

Then, with the efficiency and speed of lawn mowing, more green grass was planted. Yards became larger, lawns were growing in acreage, and more lawn mowing was needed. Motorized lawn mowers became ride-on machines, lawn mowing implements to be used with larger tractors were added to the arsenal.

There were still people who loved their hand mowers. They had become quite skilled at mowing their green grass with this easy-to-use garden tool. They stuck with their hand mower, and loudly proclaimed their resistance to the complexity of the motorized lawn mower, the ride-on lawn mower, the lawn mowing implements.

As time rolled on, more people learned how to use motorized lawn mowers. New employees at yard maintenance companies never learned how to use a hand mower. On the occasion when they would see a hand mower, theyd politely ask. Responses varied from laughter to reminiscing. There were even some people who had lovingly restored hand mowers and displayed them in museums for nostalgia.

There were still people who loved their hand mowers. They had become quite skilled at mowing their green grass with this easy-to-use garden tool. They stuck with their hand mower, and loudly proclaimed their resistance. . . .

One small lawn maintenance company offered their personal hand mowing services. They kept wondering why their business was declining after all, just look at all those lawns out there in the neighborhood! They claimed they provided great service. They claimed their tools were easy and simple to use. They argued that all those extra things one needed to manage a motorized lawn mower were unnecessary to the business of lawn mowing.

They noticed that one of their competitors had managed to take most of their customer base. Sure, there were a few retired home owners who loved watching the hand mowing experience, but their business was suffering. They hatched a plan.

One day, they recruited fellow hand mowing experts from across the world to join them in a protest against these horrific modern implements. They came together where the new motorized mowing equipment was being used and started to raise their voices. They screamed loudly that hand mowing was easy. They argued that no one needed those new-fangled laser thingies. They protested that home residents just loved their hand-mown green grass. They mocked the apparel worn by the operators of the motorized equipment. They laughed as one at those people who dared to speak up and promote the efficiency and speed of the modern lawn mower.

This community of hand lawn mowers had become quite small over time, so even their raised voices were not very loud at all. But, they really felt good about themselves. They had stood up for the green grass and its hand manicure. They were proud. They were defiant. They celebrate together while the world looked on, confused and saddened by their behavior.

Surely, if theyd like to keep their business, the upskilling to motorized lawn mowing would be a logical step? But no, hand mowing is so super amazing and . . . hmmmm. Easy! Yes, easy!

Not that it is hard to learn how to use a motorized lawn mower. But the fear of having to learn something new means the hand mowing geniuses feel justified in rejecting anything that is outside their comfort zone. They are driving a Fiat 500 without consideration for any possible business situation, other lawn mowers, or even their own lawn mowing career.

And there, youd think the story ends.

One of the vocal hand mowing geniuses was let go from their job. The business did not need so many hand mowing experts now that the business had shrunk significantly. This genius made loud pronouncements about their availability and lots of noise about how amazing hand mowing is. They recruited like-minded geniuses to gather and mock the motorized lawn mowing process, because hand mowing is so, so easy.

No business in lawn mowing has room for such a genius in a bottle. Theyd probably be able to upskill lawn mowers to motorized equipment, but the hassle of attempting that with such a closed-minded proponent of hand mowing is a daunting task. And younger, more eager prospective lawn mowers are open and have initiative.

Surely, the story ends now?

One day, a house who was a customer of the hand mowing boutique was sold. The new owner performed a review of all the expenses for the upkeep of the property. Clearly, the cost of hand mowing was low per hour, but the huge number of hours needed meant it was not cost-effective. They decided that it was time for a change.

They asked the hand mowing company for advice, and the only offer was a plea to keep servicing the lawn with hand mowing because, after all, it is easy.

The new owner did not bother with looking at the motorized lawn mowing services, and the hand mowers neglected to mention this was a possibility. The new owner had a better idea! They had learned this from their last house and from all the houses in their previous neighborhoods.

Why did they need a lawn at all? They ripped out all the green grass and replaced it with concrete. Now, it may not be as beautiful, or as good for nature, or as fun to play in, but it looks more clean, sparse, and should do the job.

Eventually, when all the lawns are replaced by concrete, lawn mowing wont be needed. An entire world of lawns will be gone. And who is to blame? Hand mowing experts. They are a lover of green grass and will continue to loudly proclaim their affinity and allegiance, while their business dries up and their industry disappears.

The lesson of this allegory is simple. The world moves along while your comfort zone stays in place. Challenge yourself to step up to an ever-changing and fast-evolving world. Your lack of speed and buckets of fear will be barriers to your own evolution. Your small comfort zone will shrink, and from the outside, youll be seen as a failure as you slowly become one.

Living is a phenomenon where the operator, being surrounded by a comfort zone of their own creation, feels invincible and invulnerable. This comfort zone is completely artificial an invention of ones mind. There is no safety in this invented bubble, and there is no safety in acting like a crazy person ignoring or mocking every other person who is evolving beyond oneself.

And for crying out loud, stop screaming how amazing you are at hand mowing. Your small world does not offer you a view of the mockery you are making of yourself.

Unperspective: To Which Side Do You Belong?

Unperspective: Are We There Yet?

Unperspective: Get Over Yourself

Unperspective: In Your Face

Link:
Unperspective: Are You Still Pushing A Hand Mower? - IT Jungle

2 min read307 views and 18 shares Posted May 21, 2020

This column was submitted to LebTown. Read our submission policy here.

Dear Editor:

Here is what led to the current fight between the Republican-led General Assembly and our Democratic Governor as to which businesses can re-open.

The first reason is obvious. Businesses classified as life-sustaining got a lifeline. Those who were shut down did not. Independent of medical judgement as to which businesses would aid the spread of coronavirus, there are business winners and losers. Rural Pennsylvania took the brunt of business closures. Closing an auto dealer, a gardening center or a small mom and pop store is a big deal to a rural community. Farmers took a big hit when closing restaurants led to dumping of milk, eggs, and vegetables.

The criteria by which basic shut-down or waiver decisions were made was and still is clothed in darkness. How did they make their decisions? For example, why were realtors closed in Pennsylvania and not in any other state? Why were the big box stores allowed to keep their retail sales of non-food items going while traditional department stores like Pa.-owned Boscovs were forced to shutter their doors? Why were coal mining and gun shops first declared to be non-essential and then suddenly re-classified as life-sustaining? Why is a small mom and pop store in rural PA who may have fewer than 20 customers a day and can easily employ CDC guidelines, forced to remain closed and now faces bankruptcy?

Landscaping retail companies were closed but while going to the store, I saw landscape and lawn mowing services busy at work. How did some of them get waivers and others not? Until they were finally shut down, big box stores gardening/lawn care departments were doing a brisk business, but the independents were closed. I reviewed the list of firms which received waivers released by the Governor and counted almost 40 firms in a single county whose company names reflected construction activity. How were they spared the axe?

In other words, the process seemed arbitrary with some businesses saved financially and others not. Who made those decisions? Who knows? When methodology for these decisions is hidden, people will see exceptions to the supposed rules and wonder if the decision is political. We saw a backlash even from members of the Governors own political party given bipartisan votes in the House to reopen certain types of businesses.

In defense of the Governor, he had to do something quickly and quick decisions simply had to be made. However, the best public policy is one that is thought-through and where everyone believes that there are consistent criteria for making these decisions.

Here is the real tragedy. Lack of transparency has made people even more skeptical of our government at a time when people must trust that officials have everyones best interest at heart. Credibility is at the heart of our democratic system. In Pennsylvanias case, that was lost.

Sincerely,Wayne Campbell

Wayne Campbell is the President of the Pennsylvania State Grange. The Pennsylvania State Grange was founded in 1873 to be an advocate for rural communities, farmers, businesses, and families.

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[Letter] Best public policies are thought-through and consistent - LebTown

SOUTHERN TIER, N.Y. -

The Syracuse-based Plowz and Mowz lawn mowing company is offering a discount code as a thank you to health care professionals and front-line workers for their hard work amidst the coronavirus pandemic.

CEO and co-founder of the company, Wills Mahoney, says this campaign means a lot to him, as his own twin sister is a first-responder.

Plowz and Mowz is one of the largest on-demand lawn mowing companies in the country, servicing 55 markets nationwide. Since the beginning of their campaign, the company has already done over 5,000 lawns for healthcare workers.

Our missions always been to help people, and you know we were seeing nurses and healthcare workers working around the clock, 12+ hours, and we said the last thing they probably want to do is mow their lawn when they get home. So we set out to offer free lawn mows," Mahoney said.

For the frontline workers in need an extra hand in their outdoor chores, all they need to do is visit the company website, and use the discount code HERO to save up to $60 on their services.

The discount campaign will continue for at least another week, but customers can schedule their lawn care services for a later date if needed.

Read this article:
Syracuse-Based Company is Offering Free Lawn Services to Healthcare Workers - WICZ

This time last year, which seems like a long time ago, I found myself at the automotive shop. Things seemed kind of tense. There arent many places to get vehicles inspected in the Big Bend, which puts pressure on the few existing spots to do lots of them. Inspections cost a flat $7 statewide. I imagine that the volume of inspections could consistently pull a mechanic from concentrating on more lucrative or in-depth jobs. A business owner might become kind of testy about that situation. Maybe thats the reason behind all the signs.

There were eight signs, at my furtive count. One was handwritten and inside the office: Do not touch anything on this desk. The others were mounted on the exterior of the building. They were printed on metal and retained idiosyncrasies. Reading them, I thought about someones reasons for opening an auto shop. That persons probably good with engines, a natural problem solver who appreciates the satisfaction of making a fine machine run sweet. Heres someone who just wants to work on cars. Too bad people get in the way.

Reserved parking . . . unauthorized vehicles towed away

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Customer are required to wait in waiting room, if you choose to wait here, while your vehicle is being serviced. No Exceptions.

Be Considerate. It is greatly appreciated when your children accompany you here, that you keep them respectful of our business and possessions.

Warning. Customers becoming irate and/or violent will warrant us contacting the Police.

Work performed here will be paid for in full before you are allowed to take your vehicle.

Keep Out. Customers are not permitted to enter shop area.

Minimum computer diagnostics charge is $32.50

I had rebelled and sat outside, though meekly, and out of the way. It occurred to me that there was a lot going on at this place that I didnt know anything about. I should holster my curiosity about whatever past arguments had necessitated visits by police. I should censor my questions about what had been ruined on the desk and by whom. Just then, a red vehicle pulled up, the sort of angular, sporty, kit-made car you dont see too often, and parked in the driveway where parking is not allowed. A slender woman with maroon-dyed hair, form-fitting jeans, and Jackie Onassis sunglasses climbed out. A mans voice called out from inside the service bay.

Now, you caint park there.

I know, sweetie, I just gotta ask you a question, she replied, and strode into the bay where customers cannot go.

They talked inaudibly a few moments and she edged back outside.

Hows he doin? the voice asked. She turned to face him.

Hes decided that hes not going to be here much longer.

Well, I know.

Her mouth turned upside down. Her chin puckered. Hes giving everything away. I mean, he gave me this for my birthday, and she gestured at the odd car.

Yup.

Hes giving it all away, giving all of it away. And with that, she got back in the vehicle, reversed, and drove off.

Oh, those signs, I thought. Theyre trying to impose order, but people dont listen. People are going to do what people dopark where they want, walk where they want. Put a Slurpee on the desk. Let their toddler paw the gumball machine. Theyre going to get sick, give everything away, and die. The signs wont keep the chaos outside the garage doors, not really, regardless of how much structure is in place and how many rules are given. A mechanic in coveralls stuck his head outside the bay. Maam, he said to me. Trucks ready.

The Diesel Fried Chicken sign that once topped a tire shop in Van Horn.

Michael Roch

Signs are put there so that youll pay attention, and sometimes I have done just that, so much so that I remember them years later. As a child riding in the back seat of my parents car, driving past the Park Cities Baptist Church, in Dallas, reliably produced a delicious dread in me, for the clock face in the churchs impressive steeple read Night Cometh. That progression of time and the insolence and frailty of us silly people were not lost on me. A reckoning will happen, whether it takes place after church or in the auto shop.

Mostly I recall the signs that were funny. Some years back, we rolled past a church in Cleburne where the weeks homily outside read A dusty bible leads to a dirty mind. At least, I thought it was funny at the time. Maybe it isnt. Not long ago a sign appeared on the chain-link fence of one of Marfas cemeteries: Enter at Your Own Risk. It cracked me up when I initially saw it this spring, but the inexorable march of COVID-19 has redrawn the boundaries of context. It will be funny again someday. I hope.

Still, some pleasure remains. Occasionally Ive encountered signs that are an enduring mystery. In Marfa, theres an adobe ruin with a strident message in red spray paint: KEEP OUT SNAKES. Ive never been sure whether the sign intends to warn people of snakes or whether it cautions snakes to steer clear. Either way, Ive seen neither snakes nor people there, so I guess its working. About twenty years ago, when I was a reporter at the Big Bend Sentinel newspaper, I took an ad for a woman in town who had left a very unhappy marriage in Houston for a new life in Marfa, where shed found a wealth of supportive friends. Cellphones werent yet common. She didnt want her former husband to be able to reach her any longer, but she did want to hear from her pals, so she bought a large display ad in the paper, which is a sort of sign: This is Elizabeth. My new unlisted phone number is, followed by the number itself. Makes perfect sense, right?

Billboards are among the signs Texans most commonly encounter. While legislation prohibits these signs in certain rural areas, about 35,000 billboards dot the states urban areas.

I, and everyone I know, routinely scan the local grocery store bulletin board for vital information. The board is prominently located at the stores entrance, and its often so packed with various notices that the array must be rearranged to fit in anything new. In normal times, these signs are intriguing for their range: a Christian concert coming up, a cheerleader bake sale on Saturday, lawn mowing services. You can tell much from the handwriting. The seller of chiweenie puppies has the scratchy hand of an older person with arthritis and composed their sign with a ballpoint pen on a stray index card. Very common sensey, this person.

A previous incarnation of this grocery used to post a note at each cash register listing all those folks who had written a check with insufficient funds. Often, the names on those lists were visible to both the cashiers and the customers in line. Its the mark of a small town that, chances were, you knew some folks on that list or perhaps, in a pre-ATM, check-heavy era, an ill-timed dance between the end of the month and the end of your money meant your name mightve been there too. No judgment, especially these days. It happens.

Most signs do not turn out to be permanently relevant. Marfas local watering hole used to be called Lucys Tavern, and Lucy had rules. The signs in her bar read No dogs and No spitting, and breakers of these commandments risked being permanently eighty-sixed from the place. Its amusing that in the current chapter of this bar, now called the Lost Horse Saloon, dogs commonly outnumber human patrons, and spittoons are at the ready for your spitting pleasure.

My favorite sign of all time was anchored atop a tire shop in Van Horn. It was the symbol of being close to home because it sat at the turnoff from Interstate 10 toward Marfa. This sign was simple, black block letters on a white background. DIESEL FRIED CHICKEN. Im unaware of a time in which the tire shop ever sold fried chicken. Having visited their bathroom many years ago on the way back from a softball tournament, I can attest that it was no place youd want to eat chicken, even if it were fried in diesel.

Earlier this year, on a visit to New York City, I walked with my husband and an old Marfa friend through SoHo, dense with brunch-goers. A sidewalk table with photos for sale stopped us cold. All the images were of the Diesel Fried Chicken sign, or of the Prada Marfa art installation, which is poorly named, since its actually located outside Valentine. Hey, we told the sidewalk seller. This is where we live, but the fried chicken signs not there anymore. He was not impressed. He didnt even think it was a weird coincidence that we knew this sign so well. My buddy bought it, he said breezily. Hes putting it in a bar in Austin. Oh, rats. I had liked it where it was.

Signs, of course, dont have to contain language to convey information. Javelinas coming into town at night indicate wintertime, the bristly, piggy beasts lured from the grassland to Marfa lawns by windfall acorns and pecans. Vultures are a harbinger in this country. Seeing them kettle overhead in March means theyve returned from their winter vacation in Mexico and spring is almost here. Some things we know in an old way. Its easy to forget that the instincts to see and to know lie sleeping inside. But theyre present. When my friend Tigie was sick for the last time, eight years ago, a change in her cough and something about the way her eyes gazed at me told me something big was coming. And it came.

Lately I awaken with a bellyful of leaden dread. To push away those awful signsthe masks, the emptied schoolyard and streetsI look outward and try to remember to breathe. There is some normalcy, and for that Im grateful. The black-chinned hummingbird buzzes at the feeder. The peach trees boughs are populated with tight green fruit. My red mare sighs and smacks her lips. With breath, theres optimism.

The most interesting signs, arguably, are these totems that carry meaning so weighty that they vibrate within the chest. Once, about a decade ago, five of us were hiking in Big Bend National Park. Snowfall began halfway up the Lost Mine Trail, transforming the familiar into the unfamiliar. Stipa grass grew hoary and bearded with snowflakes and icy crystals. Snow filled the pockets between the agaves spiny points. Greens turned greener. The shadows deepened. The park held few visitors that January day; we had seen no other hikers. The snow intensified the beauty around us, the isolation, our rare good fortune to be there together. For all we knew, we were alone for mile upon undulating, craggy, snowy mile.

Our giddiness couldnt stave off the chill, however, and the snow fell big-flaked and wet, a hazy curtain. We turned and stomped intently back down the mountain. Twenty paces on, we saw them: a mountain lions rounded prints, a long line of them, coming up the trail where wed been not a half-minute before. The tracks were as wide as the span of a mans hand and so fresh the snow had not started to fill the cups of the lions paws. Its tail had faintly brushed the snow. We gawped at one another, at the impenetrable woods. Several moments passed. There was no bird chatter, no sound at all. And I thought: This is how awe feels. This is being alive.

This article originally appeared in the June 2020 issue of Texas Monthlywith the headline A Consideration of Signs. Subscribe today.

Read more:
The Signs of the Big Bend Are a Sign of the Times - Texas Monthly

The Lincolnville Beach parking lot is as familiar as my own driveway. I know its every crack, fissure, and knicked granite curb. I instinctively step over the hole in the asphalt that opens up every year up by the sea wall, and know to walk gingerly on the rough concrete that leads to the stone steps.

This morning I began picking up litter on that parking lot for the 28th year. And while the cracks and fissures, and that ever-open hole greet me, so much has changed.

For one, Di Lords Beach Store. Last winter Di, a familiar face to those of us who live at this end of town, closed the store shes run for the past many years, and before that at the old Hillside Market. The building had been sold to Owen Weyers, who had plans to open it back up in April.

Due to our changed circumstances, the store, with a new face as well as new owners, finally opened this past weekend with a take-out window right on the sidewalk, curbside service only.

Across the bridge a large For Sale sign covers up the Chez Michel billboard, and this years its definite: Michel Hetuin and Lillian Amborn have closed their restaurant after 30 years.

And across the road a sandwich board in front of the Whales Tooth Pub says Sorry Were Closed.

The Lobster Pound, the traditional Mothers Day destination for so many people, still wears its winter attire: stacked-up picnic tables, the bare armature of the tent at the back, and the Thanks for a Great Season message on its board.

Even Dwight Wass Lincolnville Fine Art Gallery has a message for us: Summahs Coming Stay Safe.

Rick McLaughlins Lobster Shack on Ferry Road did open a couple of weeks ago with take out service only. Now that the weathers finally turned a bit warmer diners can comfortably sit outdoors at the picnic tables. At certain times Ricks parking lot and tables are full.

Theres no feel of anticipation, of activity building, of kitchens being stocked, tables set out. The community bulletin board on the bathroom kiosk is eerily empty, except for a handful of dog-eared, storm-battered business cards hanging from rusty tacks. Normally, the board is a tangle of announcements: summer camps, Paint your house?, lawn mowing services, music lessons, stuff for sale. Its all I could do to keep the mess manageable, checking up on it every morning.

Today I picked up a few push pins on the ground, leaving them in a corner of the board. Maybe someone will come along with an announcement to post.

Even the litter is sparse. I pick up a candy cane, intact in its cellophane wrapper, obviously dropped at last Decembers tree lighting.

The curbs have already been scoured by the big brushes that clean up the winters sand and gravel, so there are only a few dozen butts for me to pick up. The rugosa roses, true to their reputation, hide a fair number of them under their tangle of thorns. As MDOTs (Dept. of Transportation) landscapers warned us years ago, rugosas are treacherous beach side plants. Theyre invasive and form such a jungle of thorny branches that any paper or plastic that blows around gets trapped in them.

MDOT planted dozens of fancy hybrid roses that they promised would thrive in the salty air of the Beach. They didnt, and over the years the Beach gardeners have brought in cuttings of their own rugosas, which love the salt air. Theyre beautiful in bloom, which is most of the summer, and produce lovely, big orange rosehips in the fall. Prying litter out of the thorns is a small price to pay.

However, if you must smoke and throw your butts on the ground, please, not into the middle of a rugosa rose bush!

For the first time Im wearing plastic gloves, a concession to my family who insisted. I rarely wear work gloves for anything; my fingernails are a disgrace, but honestly, how can you pick anything up in gloves?

Struggling to get a hold on a tiny piece of flotsam with those stupid gloves, I think of a local nurses description of working with Covid patients while wearing the proper gloves-gown-mask regalia of a critical care nurse. Claustrophobic, hot, no contact with the patient she said.

I guess my interaction with cigarette butts pales by comparison. Ill learn. More adaptation.

The ancient peony, growing by a little-used path down through the underbrush, is right on schedule, a good foot high and looking perky. I watch for it every spring, imagining the people who planted it a century ago on the path to their shore front cabana. Their summer home is todays Spouter Inn; the guys playing leap-frog in the photo hanging in the Beach kiosk represent those folks. The photo is one of dozens we (the Historical Society) found in an album from that house, people playing, swimming, wading on the same shore I walk every morning.

Every morning, May to October.

I have to do the math: our youngest son was 13 the summer I signed a contract with the town to pick up cigarette butts and all the other detritus left behind when people stop at the Beach. Though my name was on the agreement, I then hired our youngest son to do the job. Before that season was over Wally and I had taken over. It was easier than trying to get him out of bed and down to the Beach before the parking lot filled up.

It became our summer morning routine together; he emptied the trash barrels, first three, then five when the Beach renovation project added the diagonal parking and sidewalk leading to Ferry Road, while I picked up the litter. It was a pleasant, companionable time, working together.

Four years ago Wally spent most of May in Waldo Hospital, and I got a glimpse of my future, doing it all myself. Before long he was well enough to come down and keep me company every morning, and by the end of the summer he was doing the barrels again.

But the next summer he was gone. And I had to adapt. Now Im three years into my own personal, new normal, and like everyone else am adapting to another the reality of living in a pandemic.

Five boats are moored in the harbor this morning, but with no activity on the dock it looks quiet. Mike Hutchings has started putting out traps; his wife, Lynn, expects to be open Friday with lobsters for sale at their place on Beach Road M & L Seafood. Want lobsters for Memorial Day week-end? Thatll be the place to find them.

Town

The Board of Assessors meet remotely at 6 p.m. Monday, May 18. To join the meeting click here.

The Budget Committee presents the school budget Tuesday, May 18 at 6 p.m. at a remote meeting.

The Town Office will be closed Monday, May 25, Memorial Day.

Still Another Reminder of What We Cant Do

Mary Schulein reminds us that Saturday would have been the opening day of the 8th season of the Lincolnville Center Indoor Flea market, a fun event sponsored by the United Christian Church. Due to the present situation, the market has been suspended until further notice. I will miss these monthly gatherings and want to express my gratitude to all the vendors, volunteers, and donors who made the market happen and most of all, to all our neighbors and friends who have supported our efforts over these years. Thank you all! Stay well! Happy trails to you, until we meet again.

But We Can Still Garden!

Anyone interested in tending a garden bed along Rt. 1 at Lincolnville Beach this summer please contact Lee by email or phone, 236-0028. A couple of hours weekly, plant your favorite flowers, and enjoy the raves from locals and visitors. A sign identifying your plot is included. We'll be planting the barrels, under the welcome sign, and the boat on Friday, May 22at 10 a.m. in time for Memorial Day weekend. This is one activity that lets you get out and see people while still maintaining social distance.

Starting to Re-connect

Even though Maine has begun to officially, though tentatively reopen, with stores and as of today, restaurants welcoming the public back, everyone I know is wary. Maybe because Im old and most of my friends are old too, mingling with others feels risky to us. Thankfully, the weather seems to have turned for the better, meaning we can see one another outdoors, and that ought to help.

Socially distant events, if theyre held outdoors, do feel safe. Walking with friends, sharing an outdoor meal, face to face even six feet apart conversations, these will make the summer bearable.

Strange times were living in for sure.

Read the original post:
This Week in Lincolnville: Learning to adapt - PenBayPilot.com

From incredible acts of kindness and generosity, to the support of a former club favourite, these stories will make you proud to be a Saint.

1. Saints fan puts community first

When the world came to grinding halt in March, leaving nurses and doctors bracing for COVID-19, one generous Saints fan was ready to help.

Passionate St Kilda member Grant Polkinghorn and his landscaping business (GMZ Gardens in Ballarat) advertised free lawn mowing services for 25 healthcare workers.

1. Once a Saint, always a Saint

Max Hudghton was a great club man during his decorated career at St Kilda, and nothing has changed in retirement.

With many assistant coaches out of work due to footys shut down period, Max stepped in to provide regular labouring work for Saints Development Coach Ben McGlynn with his building company.

The former Sydney and Hawthorn gun described Hudghton as an amazing support in an uncertain period, not just for providing meaningful work but through the friendship he offered.

3. The open road

Training in pairs with your Saints teammates was somewhat easy for those living locally in bayside Melbourne, but spare a thought for youngsters Doulton Langlands and Ben Paton.

With the duo returning to their respective family homes in North East Victoria, they would meet three times a week, completing a two hour round trip to ensure they stayed connected with one another and up to date with the Saints training program.

4. Stepping up to the plate

When giant Saints fan Brett Stirling heard about the number of St Kilda staff out of work, he knew it was time to help.

The leader of the Saints Pride Group and a 20 year member, Stirling organised work for around 30 staff through his recruiting agency.

From AFLW players, to the finance team, there was a host of familiar faces completing shifts in the warehouse at Australia Post and Startrack Express.

With player wages slashed in half, Nick Hind and Jonathon Marsh were among five young Saints who took up the opportunity while still completing their daily training program.

5. Whatever you need

He was the proud leader of St Kilda on the field and continues to be one off of it. When Nick Riewoldt found out about the Saints pledge campaign, his offer was immediate what can I do to help?

The former skipper got to work with current captain Jarryn Geary, with the pair hosting a special live stream event which raised thousands of dollars for the club through the commitment of Saints members.

Click here to re-watch 'A Night with the Saints', featuring guests Lenny Hayes, Eric Bana and Matt Finnis

6. Saints hit 44,000 members

More than 1000 new members have signed on since the season was postponed, helping the club surpass the 2019 tally despite only one match being played and crowds expected to be not allowed for a significant part of the season.

7. Under Lonies wing

Jack Lonie doesnt have the biggest wings in the world, but that hasnt stopped him extending one over a Saints young gun.

The highly respected Lonie welcomed in Hunter Clark as his new housemate over the off-season and the pair could often be found training together during shutdown period.

Jack Billings, another junior veteran, rolled out the welcome mat for Ben Paton, who has lived with the midfielder for the past three years.

8. The club first mentality

The Saints membership team were humbled by one member who phoned the club to reluctantly seek a refund given his loss of income, only to phone back two days later to reinstate his membership after an unexpected cheque arrived as part of the Governments support package.

9. Please sir, can I have some more?

St Kilda players have hit the phones over the past two weeks to contact members and thank them for their support. Soon after, the staff member organising it received a text from a high profile Saint. They'd completed their list and wanted another list of members to call.

10. Pay it forward

On top of pledging heir own membership, at least 50 members have offered to pay for someones who is unable to due to the financial impact of COVID19.

You can play a vital role in shaping our future by joining Saints Pledge and committing to support the club through this time.

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10 stories that will make you proud to be a Saint - St Kilda FC

Gary Maynard Johnson, 66

July 10, 1953 April 22, 2020

Aurora, Colo.

Gary Maynard Johnson, 66, passed away on April 22, 2020, in Aurora, Colo. He was born on July 10, 1953, in Longmont, Colo., to L. Maynard and Norma Ruth (Sauter) Johnson. He grew up just outside of Erie, Colo., graduating from Erie High School in 1971. During his school years, Gary was very musical, playing the piano, trumpet and composing his own music. Beginning early in life, he always had to figure out how things, such as televisions and radios, worked by taking them apart and putting them back together again. This fascination continued throughout his life, as he was always doing some repair or upgrade to his computer. While he had plans to study engineering at CU Boulder after high school, a tragic motorcycle accident changed the path of his life forever. After a long and intense period of recovery, Gary resided for many years in the heart of Denver where he had access to public transportation, shopping and activities that allowed him to live independently. His unique sense of humor is a strong trait that will long be remembered by all who knew him.

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Preceding him in death were his parents, Maynard and Ruth. Gary is survived by two sisters, Donna Sauer (Jim) and Elaine Hepner (Fred); nieces, Anna Redmon (James), Sara Rector (Nathan); nephew, Scott Sauer (Danielle); and seven great-nieces and great-nephews.

A private graveside service will be held at Foothills Garden of Memory.

Readers like you make the Fence Posts work possible. Your financial contribution supports our efforts to deliver quality, locally relevant journalism.

Now more than ever, your support is critical to help us keep our community informed about the evolving coronavirus pandemic and the impact it is having locally. Every contribution, however large or small, will make a difference.

Each donation will be used exclusively for the development and creation of increased news coverage.

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The Fence Post obituary: Gary Maynard Johnson - Fence Post

BEDFORD, N.H.--(BUSINESS WIRE)--SpotOn Virtual Fence the worlds first and only dog containment and tracking system was named the winner of a Gold Stevie Award in the New Product Consumer Electronics category in The 18th Annual American Business Awards.

SpotOn was honored because of its groundbreaking use of advanced technology for dogs. Unlike the traditional invisible fence and buried fence systems currently on the market, the SpotOn Virtual Fence lets dog owners set up a virtual containment area wherever they are. The system is also smart, offering satellite tracking in the event that the dog leaves the area as well as the ability to store fences at up to 10 locations. It is the first fence of its kind to incorporate such technology providing highly accurate positioning for containment and tracking purposes. The entire system is a collar and phone app, making it completely portable.

A virtual smart fence is a great idea and the features of the SpotOn Virtual Fence are a great advancement to what is available today, shared one judge. I have used some of the current products [and] technologies and it seems that this innovative offering has tackled the issues of what is available today.

More than 230 professionals worldwide participated in the judging process to select this years Stevie Award winners.

"We are so honored to be named a Gold Stevie Award winner in the New Product category as its key validation of the exceptional technology weve developed for the pet wearable industry, said Ken Solinsky, founder of SpotOn Virtual Fence. The Stevies are known for honoring some of the greatest American businesses, and our team is incredibly proud to be recognized amongst such notable organizations.

The American Business Awards are the U.S.A.s premier business awards program. All organizations operating in the U.S.A. are eligible to submit nominations public and private, for-profit and non-profit, large and small.

Nicknamed the Stevies for the Greek word meaning crowned, the awards will be virtually presented to winners during a live event on Wednesday, August 5. Details about The American Business Awards and the list of 2020 Stevie winners are available at http://www.StevieAwards.com/ABA.

About SpotOn Virtual Fence

SpotOn Virtual Fence gives dogs the freedom to be dogs and owners the peace of mind to let them. The only truly wireless containment solution, SpotOn replaces buried wires and base stations with GPS technologyeliminating the need for professional installation and maintenance. Simply use the collar to walk a perimeter anywhere, creating an instant containment area of unlimited shape and size. Completely connected, SpotOn offer escape notifications, status updates, and easy map management right on your smartphone.

SpotOn was created by a team with decades of experience developing high-quality electronic devices and a commitment to developing the best products for the pet industry. Recognized as a CES 2020 Innovation Award honoree, SXSW 2020 Innovation Award finalist and New Hampshire Tech Alliance 2019 Product of the Year, SpotOn has changed the lives of dogs and owners across North America. To learn more about the SpotOn technology and product, visit: http://www.spotonfence.com, our blog, Facebook, Instagram and YouTube.

About the Stevie Awards

Stevie Awards are conferred in eight programs: the Asia-Pacific Stevie Awards, the German Stevie Awards, the Middle East Stevie Awards, The American Business Awards, The International Business Awards, the Stevie Awards for Women in Business, the Stevie Awards for Great Employers and the Stevie Awards for Sales & Customer Service. Stevie Awards competitions receive more than 12,000 entries each year from organizations in more than 70 nations. Honoring organizations of all types and sizes and the people behind them, the Stevies recognize outstanding performances in the workplace worldwide. Learn more about the Stevie Awards at http://www.StevieAwards.com.

Sponsors of The 2020 American Business Awards include John Hancock Financial Services, Melissa Sones Consulting and SoftPro.

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SpotOn Virtual Fence Honored as Gold Stevie Award Winner In 2020 American Business Awards - Business Wire

Sometimes I cant believe it how time flies. May 25, 2010 happened already ten years ago. That was the day when I got up in Stuttgart, Germany, around 3 a.m. to pack some odds and ends into my suitcase, tossed the keys to my apartment into my own mailbox, and took a cab to Stuttgart Airport. Some fourteen hours later I would land half a world away in Washington State, where my husband had been waiting for me for a year.

It is interesting how this one day is standing out with so many details. Sure, it was a life changer. And that is probably why a lot of not so life-changing days meld into a colorful muddle. Colorful, yes but still a muddle.

I remember that 2010 had a really cold late spring. My, I was freezing constantly. And I was sick a lot that very first year in my new chosen home. Recently I heard from other immigrants that they experienced the same in their first year in a new home country. Its probably all the changes in climate, circumstances, and lifestyle that rattle a body if not the mind.

It is also interesting that immigration means a second life experience into which you can take all your former experiences to build on. I have definitely learned to listen to my gut feeling in my first life, but I use it to a bigger extent in my second life. And having a far more outdoorsy lifestyle now, adds to the city mouse experience of former times.

What is the best thing? The bliss I experience in almost each and every day in my new life. Of course, there are days when I feel daunted, too. Or sad. Or stressed out. And Im not a fake goody two shoes either. But bliss and gratefulness are indeed the first and foremost emotions I come up with when asked how Im feeling. And that has to do with the people who have crossed my path, offered me opportunities, and taken me in since then.

It started with the kind and warm welcome I was given a walk down the hill from home at the Steilacoom Pub and Grill on my first Saturday night there. It continued with a door hanger from the Steilacoom Historical Museum Association and the 2010 Salmon Bake at which I signed up our family as members. The people I have met there, the opportunity I have been given there on the Education Committee, as an office manager, ice cream social chair, docent, trustee even; the friendships that were forged through this institution are priceless. The people from the McChord 62nd Airlift Wing soon also became family, as I was offered and held the position as a lead key spouse, i.e. the liaison between the commander and military families for several years. I went to classes there that taught me helpful wisdom for life.

I dont believe in coincidences. As a docent on my very first Sunday in 2010, I met who has been my friend for almost ten years now, renowned bestselling author Anjali Banerjee aka A.J. Banner. We were talking shop, I, the German journalist with two small books of poetry and short stories under her belt, she the already established writer of wonderful fiction for children and adults. That encounter and the numerous requests for my services as a writer back in Europe made it clear to me that writing would be it for me again but under my own flag.

Ever since, I have encountered so many more wonderful people authors, painters, photographers, film makers, musicians, entertainers, chefs, artisans, teachers, historians, you name it. I have met a lot of them in person, a lot of them via social media. I have been given the opportunity to speak to military newcomers on Joint Base Lewis McChord and to the Lakewood Rotarians; to read from my books at the Sock Peddlers in Lakewood, the Topside Coffee Cabin in Steilacoom, and at the Lakewood Library; to have book signings at the Steilacoom Historical Museum; to help launch and participate in the Lakewood Book Fest; to participate in book events in Kitsap County, including a Christmas TV show; to talk on radio podcasts by legendary multitalent Dorothy Wilhelm and by Pamela Sommer from the German Radio in San Francisco; to be featured by Karen Lodder Carlson with her marvelous blog German Girl in America; to write a column with my friend, Lakewood icon Joe Boyle, whose sense of humor challenges me to explore the depths of my own; and to be published with my own columns by my highly appreciated friend, the Suburban Times publisher, Ben Sclair.

This upcoming Memorial Day will be the tenth anniversary of my coming to the United States for good. A solemn occasion as to the commemoration. But as to the date itself in my private life, a blissful occasion. A lot of you have accompanied me these past years. It takes a village to raise a child, they say. Maybe, it takes similar to create a home for an immigrant. You know how far I have come. I have not mentioned everybody in the above paragraphs who have helped me in this. You know who you are. Let me just say: Thank you all and God bless!

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Across the Fence: A Decade in the USA - The Suburban Times

Health Law

By Emilie Le Beau Lucchesi

May 21, 2020, 8:00 am CDT

In the autumn of 2014, Brittany Maynard was dying from brain cancer at age 28. Her final weeks were filled with pain, the inability to sleep and frequent seizures, says her husband, Dan Diaz.

Maynards final weeks also included the discussion as to when she would take a lethal prescription that would push her into a deep sleepand then end her life. Maynard had received the prescription legally in Oregon, which allows terminal patients to seek a life-ending prescription from a medical doctor, Diaz says.

About 21% of Americans now live in a state that allows medical aid in dying. Eight states and the District of Columbia have death with dignity laws, also called medical aid in dying laws. These states include California, Colorado, Hawaii, Maine, New Jersey, Oregon, Vermont and Washington, according to Compassion & Choices, an advocacy group.

Although these states allow medical aid in dying, the state laws have specific restrictions about when and how a patient can take the prescription. Advocates for medical aid in dying laws are pushing to ease criteria, so that more patients have access and more providers can offer support.

There are barriers to access, such as a waiting period between formal requests. In some states, patients must wait 15 days between each request and repeat the process with multiple physicians. Advocates argue that not all terminal patients can survive the waiting period.

Another access issue relates to how the medication must be consumed. All states that permit medical aid in dying require the patient to self-ingest the medication and be mentally competent at the time the prescription is taken. That means patients have to make decisions as to when they will take the prescription, so they can remain within the perimeters of the law.

For example, a patient with Lou Gehrigs disease, or amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, could eventually lose the ability to swallow. The patient would have to discuss their progression with their physician or hospice nurse. But, some religious organizations forbid their employees from having end-of-life discussions or from being present when the prescription is consumed.

For Maynard, she worried an incapacitating stroke would render her unable to self-ingest the medication. In her final weeks, Maynard experienced violent seizures on a daily basis, Diaz says.

It comes to the point, are you living in those days? Or only suffering through them? Diaz asks.

That was when Brittany said, This is my time. Ive lived a good life. Her fear was that what would come next for her was a stroke. She could lose her ability to communicate altogether. Lose her ability to swallow. She said, There is no way I will die like that, trapped in my own body.

When Maynard was first diagnosed, she was living in California. The state had not yet passed the End of Life Option Act, and Maynard wanted the option.

We had to pack up half our house in a U-Haul, say goodbye to family and friends and drive up to Oregon, Diaz says.

In Oregon, Maynard and Diaz rented a house and found a medical care team associated with a university hospital. Maynard obtained residency and entered clinical trials.As her disease progressed, Maynard also obtained the lethal prescription and planned to take it before she lost her ability to swallow or communicate.

Currently, state laws require patients to be sound of mind both when the prescription is requested and taken. Physicians are tasked with ensuring patients meet all the criteria at the time the prescription is written.

Those roles are spelled specifically. [Physicians] must assess the prognosis, diagnosis, patients state of mind, mental capacity, they must advise the patient of all options of end-of-life care, says Barbara Coombs Lee, an attorney and former nurse in Portland who helped draft the Oregon law.

Euthanasia, which is illegal in the United States, involves when someone other than the patient administers medication in any form with the intention of hastening the patients death, according to the American Nursing Association. For example, Vermonts Patient Choice at the End of Life Act states that the law shall not be construed for any purpose to constitute suicide, assisted suicide, mercy killing, or homicide.

The state laws additionally require the patient to receive the prescription from a medical doctor who is licensed to diagnose and treat the underlying condition. The doctor must be the same physician overseeing the patients care.

You cant go to ophthalmologist or dermatologist for your lung cancer, Lee says.

Once the prescription is obtained, the patient stores it at home and may choose when to take it. Diaz says his wife was prescribed secobarbital.The powder comes in about 100 capsules that the patient must open and mix into water.He says the process takes about 40 minutes.

Some laws permit others to help the patient open and mix the powder. In Vermont, for example, the law permits assistance with preparation if the patient is not considered exposed to grave harm, which means that witnesses to the death have no liability.

Advocates argue the laws protect the professionals right of refusal, but not their right to support. Lee says that when she and others wrote the Oregon bill, they intentionally protected medical care providers right of refusal.

At the time, she says, they did not realize that religious-based hospitals and hospices would forbid employees from having end-of-life discussions, writing the prescription or supporting the patient in their final moments. Most patients who use medical aid in dying are in at-home hospice care, and many have the same nurse who visits each day. Hospices can block nurses from being with their patient when the prescription is ingested, which can be upsetting for the patient, their families and the nurses.

We never intended that an institution could hold patients hostage to its doctrinal rules and beliefs, Lee says. Doctors should be allowed to serve their patients requests off premises and off the clock of a refusing facility.

The American Medical Association officially opposes medical aid in dying. But in 2019, the American Nurses Association changed its position statement to address growing conflicts between nurses and their employers. Whereas the 2013 statement had prohibited nurses from participating in medical aid in dying, the new statement called for nurses to be knowledgeable and objective, and for hospices and hospitals to clarify how a nurse can proceed if asked to support a patient.

The change in the position statement happened because we were receiving inquiries from nurses, hospital leaders, and wondered, what does it mean to participate? One of the main issues is, can the nurse even be in the room? says Liz Stokes, the director of the AmericanNurses Association Center for Ethics and Human Rights.

Religious organizations typically forbid nurses from being in the patients home when the prescription is taken. Other organizations have vague rules that imply the nurse should step away from the room while the patient swallows the prescription but can return to support the family. Stokes says the ANA wants greater clarification so that nurses who want to support their patients understand their employers perimeters.

The presence of a nurse during the process can be both comforting and helpful to the patient and their families. Stokes says that patients often experience nausea, and a nurse is permitted to administer anti-nausea medications. Nurses can also help explain the process as the patient drifts into a sleep, and then slowly stops breathing.

For Maynard, her palliative care team was not with her when she took her prescription. Diaz says one of their friends who was present was a physician, which was a great source of comfort.

Although nurses and physicians have legal protections to refuse discussing or participating in medical aid in dying, some opponents want to go a step further and seek to overturn state laws. In New Jersey, physician Yosef Glassman sued the states attorney general to stop a new law, which he described as a violation of his religious tenets.

As a geriatrician, Glassman is a general practitioner for the older population. Not a specialist, he is not legally allowed to write a lethal prescription. If one of his patients, however, is dying from a terminal illness such as cancer, the oncologist might ask Glassman to transfer the patients file.

It is the act of sharing the file that Glassman opposes. Glassman sued the state to prevent even the possibility of his secondary involvement in medical Aid in dying in advance of the law going into effect.

In the filed complaint, his attorney, E. David Smith, argued the responsibility of sharing a file goes against Glassmans First Amendment right to practice his religion, Orthodox Judaism, that holds all human life is sacred and must not be taken.

My client feels very strongly that no doctor has a right to determine that is a life no longer [worth] living, says Smith.

Glassman initially succeeded in stopping the state law before it took effect. In August 2019, a judge issued a temporary restraining order that halted medical aid in dying in New Jersey. Within two weeks, however, an appellate court reversed the decision and stated Glassmans suit did not meet required standards. Glassman plans to appeal until all options are exhausted.

Although opponents to medical aid in dying have tried to end the laws, legal scholar Thaddeus Mason Pope expects legal access to expand in the coming years. He says he anticipates 15 additional states will pass medical aid in dying laws in the next five years.

Youll see it become the norm, not the exception, says Pope, who is a professor of law at the Mitchell Hamline School of Law in Saint Paul and the Director of the Health Law Institute.

Barriers to accesssuch as the waiting period between requestsare likely to be relaxed, Pope says. States are also likely to increase the life expectancy minimum from six to 12 months.

Advocates such as Diaz are eager to see the expansion. He feels his wife passed peacefully and was spared from an imminent and painful death.

She saved herself from an enormous amount of tragic suffering in front of her, Diaz says.

Emilie Le Beau Lucchesi is the author of Ugly Prey: An Innocent Woman and the Death Sentence that Scandalized Jazz Age Chicago and This Is Really War: The Incredible True Story of a Navy Nurse POW in the Occupied Philippines. She has a PhD in communication from the University of Illinois at Chicago and studies health communication, medical history and stigma communication.

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Why states are on the fence about a patient's right to die - ABA Journal