Model A Love

Augusta Bro's Baby

I believe it’s a 1931 Ford Model A and that’s St. Augustine church in Augusta. Bro took this pic and I think he did a great job.

Can’t you image Al Capone steppin’ out, swinging his Tommy Gun?

Dispatch from Maine I: Ask Permission

This weekend I had a jolly time in Vacationland. I did so much that I’ll be splitting my posts about the trip. This first post is about an event that happened one hour after I arrived at Augusta Bro’s home.

Brother received a phone call from a next door neighbor. The conversation went like this:

“I just saw three kids jump your fence. They’re in your backyard.”

“Good. I’ll release the dogs.” (BTW: The dogs are all bark and no bite.)

“No. Don’t do that. They’re young. Like 8.”

“I want to scare them.”

Brother heads to the sizable backyard which is enclosed by a metal linked fence meant to keep the dogs from running all over the neighborhood. Brother spots the trespassers. They are about 8 years old (two boys, one girl) and have chosen the highest point in the whole yard to escape. The boys have made it over but the girl is still climbing.

At this point the “vicious” dogs have are barking at the girl and she is frozen at the top of the fence (which is chest high for you and me). Acting tough, brother says,

“You know you’re not supposed to be here. The fence is to protect you from the dogs.”

“I know that now….Can you help me?”

At that moment Brother realizes that the girl (who needs to climb more fences in her life, if you know what I mean) doesn’t have the strength to pull herself over. Her two buddies are standing in the middle of the street.

Just watching.

Not doing a bloody thing.

Brother is able to move her carcass over the fence and the three delinquents return to their journey. Lesson learned.

R.I.P.

Today Augusta Brother will be putting his dog, Fendris, to sleep. She’s at least 15/16 years old and has been in declining health for the past year. It’s not an easy decision and, understandably, this step was delayed for a long time. Yesterday, Fendris enjoyed a large, grilled filet mignon and will be sorely missed in the days to come.

American, please!

My brother lives on Sand Hill, the French-Canadian section of Augusta, ME. He has very sweet elderly neighbors who live across the street. One day these sweeties called Angelo’s, a local sub shop, to find out what kind of food they served because they would eat only “AMERICAN FOOD!” The kicker is…they exclusively speak french at home. GOD BLESS AMERICA!!!