Notes about Maine

This morning a bald eagle flew over this house where we are staying on Sebago Lake in Maine. I've been coming here my entire life but have never seen one here before. This bird was flying real slow (really slow), so we got a good look at it. It wasn't very high above our heads and it carried a fish as if it were an accessory. It landed in some trees down the shore, and sat there in a large pine tree, not eating the fish. Nearby, crows were cawing, as if the eagle had gotten them as stirred up as it had me.

When I saw it, I was too startled to speak, and had to pound the leg of my daughter, who I'm sure regrets having been sitting next to me. I went so nuts I think I pulled a muscle or overtightened a ligament.

I like the story about how Ben Franklin wanted the wild turkey to be the national bird. An animal who not only appears to be bald, but actually is. Apparently they're very intelligent, and so delicious that during the depression they were hunted nearly to extinction. They've recovered however, well, this is what I read in one of the local papers up here yesterday, in an article written by someone name "Diggy," who complained in his article about how some women wear bikinis who shouldn't. You'd think if someone were enlightened enough to appreciate the wild turkey they'd also have an appreciation for freedom of style, but then again, people are always full of surprises. Sometimes you couldn't be more wrong. Savory paradox.

There's someone I know who has extreme difficulty with men wearing shorts or shoes that reveal their toes. Why do some of us let ourselves be such bitchy spoiled fascists? In wartime, when we are united in contempt, I wonder, do we demonize fewer of "our own" for fashion choices that make us feel...uneasy? Or are we just as ornery as usual. Hide, turkeys, hide.