It's a gray damp early Spring day on Peaks Island. Peaks is as much a state of mind as a pile of rocks off of Portland, Maine in Casco Bay. We've been in the sun and warmth of Spring for nearly two weeks now but yesterday crashed through the illusion with driving rain/sleet/snow/wind and generally a foul day. Yet, the early flowers drank all they could get since nothing had fallen for nearly a month.

I have no idea what will flow from these aging fingers but we'll see if I have anything to put forth. I tend to just watch as the incongruities of life march on by creating mirthful laughter at the follies of the human race.

Peaks Island has been our home for over thirty years now. We moved here in 1975 to a far different Island than we're occupying today. We fell into a home built in 1860 and began decades of attempts to keep it from falling into the sea in a pile of rubble. Not much didn't need replacing or shoring up. Hell, just trying to find someone to provide assistance has always been a constant here. Not many people choose to spend time waiting for a boat to come out and perform repairs not knowing when they can get their truck and equipment off the Island. That is one thing that has definitely not changed over the years. Annual property taxes were a hefty $800 back in 1975; today, next year they will be over $9,000. Ahhh, progress!!

OK, as stuff slides by I'll post a comment or two as it interests me.