We Have A Winner

Well, the 2013 Lucky 13 Cribbage Tournament has finished… and we have a champion. As you know from my previous blog post, the champion is not me…. but the question is, how did “The Kid” do?

If you didn’t read my previous posting, nobody wanted to play Riley Colby in the first round. It is his 3^rd tournament, and he is only 13 years old. He is also a GOOD cribbage player, and nobody wanted to play him in the first round.

Well, I’m not afraid to look a challenge in the eye, so I took him on in the very first match of the tournament…. and I lost…. I went down to defeat, and when I wrote about it, I nicknamed Riley, “The Kid”… because of his youthful age, and also because, much like the infamous Billy “The Kid” Bonney, his reputation preceded him.

I won’t keep you in suspense – “The Kid” made it all the way to the Championship Match, but he lost to Karen “The Dominator” Dumont.

Now, don’t let “The Dominator” give you the impression that Karen is a malicious player… quite the opposite. She is one of the nicest, most congenial persons you’ll ever meet. Her nickname comes from the fact that this is her 4^th championship out of the twelve tournaments we’ve held. Some people just seem to have a “knack” for cards, and Karen just might be one of those people. She’s tough to beat.

Riley lost the Championship match, 2 games to none, but he acquitted himself well. In both games he started out with sizeable leads. Karen, like the crafty veteran that she is, picked away at his lead, and eventually caught him right at the end of each game. Both played very well, but the better player came out on top.

Meanwhile, Riley ended up with a nice consolation prize. His grandmother bought him a new lunchbox for when he goes back to school in September, and she asked him if he wanted his name engraved on the box. He said he’d rather have “The Kid” monogrammed on it. He got both, and I’ve included a picture of Riley with his prize, below. He looks like he’s pretty happy with how he ended up. 

A Pebble In The Pond

This blog entry is not about something that happened at the Coffee Shop, but it IS about coffee… and it brought back some childhood memories, so I’m going with it.

When I was a young lad, too many moons ago, I used to spend my summers at my grandfather’s farm, He had a very large farm pond, and I used to like to throw a rock as far out into the pond as I could and see if the ripples would make it back to me. Sometimes they did, and sometimes they didn’t.

During my high school years, I learned in Physics class, that for every action there is a reaction, and the teacher likened that physical law to dropping a pebble in a pond, and the ripples in the pond were  the “reaction” to the “action” of dropping the pebble.

Recently I learned that sometimes you never know how far and wide those “ripples” will go.

While listening to the “Bob and Sheri Show”, a syndicated morning radio show, Sheri read a news article from the newspaper serving Amesbury, Massachusetts.

It seems a young lady pulled up to the drive-thru window at the local Dunkin Donut shop. As she paid for her coffee, the person taking her money asked, “How’s your day going?” She quickly replied, “It’s really going pretty poorly. I just lost my job.” After pausing for a few seconds, she then continued, “You know, my husband will probably get mad at me for doing this, but I’m going to do it anyway. Here’s some money to pay for the person’s coffee that’s in the car behind me.” She then took her coffee and drove off.

She had dropped a pebble into the pond.

What made this story hit the newspaper was that the next car in line, after finding out his/her coffee had been paid for, did the same thing.

This was the ripple in the pond… and this “ripple” continued for 55 cars… 55 CARS… until there were no more cars in the line. WOW. That blew my mind with joy!

Sometimes we see the results of an act of kindness right away… and sometimes we never do see just how far that act of kindness reaches out to others.

Today… I don’t know how yet, but today I’m going to drop a pebble into the pond of humanity. I don’t know how far it will go… or if it will go very far at all… but that doesn’t matter. I’m going to do it anyway.

Want to join me?

Summer Is Here

After almost a week of soggy, chilly weather, the 4^th of July came in with a bang (pun intended)… 88 degrees and VERY sunny. Searsport held their annual row boat races, Lions Club pancake breakfast, Methodist Church auction, BBQ chicken sale, parade, and at night, fireworks to cap it off. Summer is officially here.

Different people judge the beginning of summer in different ways.

The weather-guessers (more affectionately known as the nightly weather people) like to get technical and say it happens on the summer solstice – June 21^st. Merchants feel that summer begins either on Memorial Day weekend or the 4^th of July. Some of the “regulars” at Coastal Coffee think summer starts when Ken starts putting the café tables out on the sidewalk – which happened on July 3^rd, this year.

I like to think summer has started when the motorcycles appear. It’s like there is a hidden “spigot” somewhere, and somebody turns it on, and motorcycles pour out. All of a sudden they seem to be everywhere! I’ve never owned or driven a motorcycle – I just like them.

They come in all sizes and shapes, and so do the people that ride them. Bikers aren’t road-gang type of people, either. You don’t see a lot of black leather jackets motoring through Searsport, but then, when its 80 degrees out, that’s not exactly black leather jacket kind of weather. I chat with a lot of them when they stop at the various stores in Searsport. When I ask them what’s the thing they like most about a motorcycle, almost to a person they reply, “I just love taking it for a ride.”

Yesterday, for one full hour, I sat with a friend outside the coffee shop and we counted all the motorcycles that went by… 58 of them. That’s almost one a minute. They tend to ride in bunches of 2-3 riders at a time, so we didn’t see a motorcycle every minute, but we seldom waited very long before a nice Harley or Suzuki would appear.

Motorcycles come really well adorned, too… and I don’t mean with pretty blondes on the back end… but with “gadgets”. They have stereo systems on them with ear phones in the rider’s helmet so they can listen to music. Some helmets have microphones, so two riders can talk to each other while they ride. They have big and little trailers that they pull in back of them, and one bike I once saw even had a cup holder on the handle bars. And they all have chrome… some a lot of chrome, and some a little less… but they all have shiny, gleaming chrome.

The “cup holder” bike was a really nice, fully-loaded-with-chrome, Harley. A nice young lady drove up to the coffee shop with it, parked it, and went inside. In fairly short order she came out with a cup of coffee and a small bag, which she promptly stowed in her saddlebag. She put the coffee cup in the cup holder; donned her helmet; revved up the throaty Harley engine; mounted the bike; and rode off.  

Now, according to my State-ID, I am 71 years old, but in my mind I still think I’m 40… or at least I used to. When the “cup-holder” Harley rode out of town, I said to my friend sitting next to me, “Did you see that gorgeous Harley?” He promptly replied, “Harley?... HARLEY? … You mean you didn’t see the gorgeous lady that was
driving it?”

LOL… I guess aging really does change our perspective on a few things.

"You CAN Get There From Here"

There is an old story about a visitor to Maine asking a native Mainer for directions. The Mainer stammers and stutters for a bit and then replies, “Come to think of it, you can’t get there from here.”

I don’t think that’s true at all. Already we’ve had people get here from 19 states, 5 foreign countries, and one Canadian Province… and it isn’t even the 4^th of July yet (peak tourist season).

What intrigues me most, however, isn’t where everyone comes from, but how they interact when they get here. 

A person speaking at one table says something like, “Oh, I’m from Tennessee”, and someone overhears it at another table and replies, “Where in Tennessee? I used to live outside of Knoxville.” Sometimes the local folks chime in, and other times it’s just the tourists exchanging “location” information.

I’m also somewhat amazed at the levels folks go to, to make a connection… “My sister used to date a guy from your town”… or, … “When I was in the 8^th grade, my mother had a job in your town”…. It’s like each one of us has a hidden gene inside us that makes us want to “connect” with other people. 

Six degrees of separation is a semi-scientific theory that everyone is six or fewer steps away, by way of introduction, from any other person in the world. What I think I’m witnessing is not only the validation of this theory, but that people WANT to make that connection.  I mean, telling someone that your 3^rd cousin, twice-removed, once lived in someone’s hometown for three years before his 4^th wife divorced him is REALLY stretching to make a bond with another human.

I read last week, they have scientific evidence of a gene that shows if we are  pre-disposed to enjoy exercise. Believe me, I do NOT have that gene, but I know the type of person who does… and if they’ve found that kind of gene, I’ll bet they discover someday soon a gene that makes us want to connect with each other…. and every one of us has it.

That makes me hopeful each night when I watch the nightly news. On too many nights there is a lot of trouble and strife making the headlines, but deep back in my psyche I feel we will eventually work that aggression out… because of what I see each day in the coffee shop… people WANTING to be identified with each other. 

… and while I’m at it… young people can learn from this. When they wander out to their favorite social gathering place in search of someone special to hook up with, they should drop that old pick-up line of “What’s your sign?”. It never worked, anyway. They should substitute, “Where are you from?”… and no matter what the answer is, they should reply, “Oh, my cousin used to live there”… there you go… you’re connected…  now you’re off and running, and I trust you can take it from there. 

                                                        

                                           "Carving Your Niche"

Thomas Cote is a woodcarver from Limestone, ME... and with tongue-in-cheek, I think I can safely say that he has certainly “carved” his niche.

He and some of his family were in the coffee shop the other day, and the usual light banter broke out.  Noticing their French accents, we asked if they were from “The County”. They were.

Now, for those of you reading this that aren’t from the state of Maine, “The County” is the popular name for Aroostook County, the northernmost county in Maine. How far north is it, you ask?....  well, as some folks  like to say – you’re not quite up to the North Pole, but you can see it from there.

The predominant ethnicity of “The County” is French-Canadian, or to be specific – Acadian. The Acadians were forced out of the Canadian Maritime Provinces by the British during the French and Indian War in the late 1700’s.  They settled in Maine, Quebec, and Louisiana. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow made them famous with his poem, “Evangeline”.

OK, enough of the geography and social studies lesson… Thomas is an artist in residence this week at a local campground – Searsport Shores. Yes, I said a campground, and not an art gallery or a school of fine arts. Thanks to the eclectic thinking of the campground owners – Steve and Astrig Tanguay - they have had an artist-in residence for many years. They get a quick “tip-of-the-hat” from me for such a creative way to provide an enjoyable, and unique, camping experience for their patrons.

Thomas Cote’s story doesn’t stop there. It continues into next year… 2014. On August 15th, 2014, the National Acadian Day will be celebrated in St. David, Madawaska, Maine… right at “the top” of Aroostook County. Thomas is a wood carver, and his work will be on display before, during, and after, that day. As you drive north on U.S. Route 1, towards Madawaska, you will see eight wood carvings – each, 4 feet by 8 feet – posted along the highway. All eight will be the work of Thomas Cote, and will depict scenes from Acadian history, and life activities indigenous to Aroostook County.

Of the eight roadside panels he is commissioned to carve, he has finished the first two – a mural of the annual fall potato harvest, and the spring-time maple syrup activities that take place each spring in Aroostook County.

We asked how long it takes to carve each panel, and he said between 350 and 400 hours. We did the “math” and said it seemed like he wouldn’t get them done in time for National Acadian Day. “Oh,” he said,” that’s not a problem. I have my grand-daughter helping me.”  How nice it is to know that his craft is being passed along for more generations to enjoy.

So, I tip my hat to Thomas Cote… and if perchance you happen to be driving north on U.S. Route 1 next summer, and you see the wood-carved panels along the roadside, you can say to yourself, “Oh, I know who made those”… and a few “oohs” and “aahs” as you pass them would be nice, too.

"The Kid"
William Bonney, notorious outlaw, better known as “Billy The Kid”, got his nickname because he killed his first man at the tender age of 17. Riley “The Kid” Colby got his moniker because he left a trail of moaning cribbage players in his wake before he graduated from junior high.

Our local summer cribbage tournament started today, and I went down to defeat at the hands of “The Kid”. I didn’t have to, mind you, but I chose my fate. I am the tournament director, so the first round matches are all my doing. I thought I was going to emerge as some kind of cribbage super-hero, by eliminating “The Kid” in the first match, but, alas, it didn’t happen.

When I was asking folks if they wanted to participate in the tournament, I frequently got… Sure, count me in, but not if I have to play “The Kid” in the first round. I’ll play anyone else, but not “The Kid”. Riley just graduated from the 7^th grade, and this is his third year of playing in our cribbage tournaments. I guess a lot of adults don’t like to lose to someone whose voice hasn’t changed. His reputation precedes him, and for good reason, as I found out today.

This all started when Riley’s grandfather, Rusty, decided to teach him how to play cribbage. (Hmm, remind me to take Rusty out of my will).  Anyway, Riley played lots and lots of cribbage games with whoever would play with him, and he soon became an above-average cribbage player. He entered his first tournament in 2011, and in prior matches his adult opponents would approach their match with “The Kid” as if it would be an easy victory. The majority of times, it was not. They came away with a puzzled look on their face, while “The Kid” had a big smile on his.

Well, enough time has passed that “The Kid” now has a “Rep”… and it’s a feared one. Well, I thought, I’m not easily shaken. I can look danger in the eye and not blink. He’s no better than I. “The Kid” puts his pants on one leg at a time, the same way I do. He drinks the same water I do… no problem. I was wrong. “The Kid” puts his pants on both legs at time and drinks some concoction of special brain-enhancing fluid. He beat me, two games to one.

He also has “roadies”.  People kept wandering in and out of the coffee shop to see how he was doing. Parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, his sister, a long lost cousin or two… I lost count. Everyone is cheering him on. About halfway through my match I realized that if I won, I would be looked on as if I had killed Bambi. 

Undaunted, I kept dealing, kept counting, kept pegging, but alas, I came up short in a tightly-fought, close match. Well, OK… not exactly tight… He skunked me in our first game… I squeaked out a win in game two… and then he got a decisive win in the final game.. 

I really enjoyed playing against “The Kid”. He was first and foremost, a kid. He would fidget in his seat sometimes… he’d lose his concentration at times… but best of all he had the “exuberance of youth” you always see whenever youngsters play anything. It was really refreshing, and that feeling was well worth all the ribbing I took for being another notch on “The Kid’s” cribbage board. 

As for the next tournament? Well, I’ll still be the director and I’m scheduling “The Kid” for me… a re-match… and you may be walking tall now, “Kid”, but next time…. You’re TOAST!

"Cribbage Magnetism"

When I started dating after my divorce, I was told to “get a puppy”. The advice was to go walking with a puppy and the little pooch would be a “chick magnet”.

Well, I never did get a dog, but I think the advice is correct. I’ve noticed that men walking dogs tend to have females come over to them, pat the dog, and then chat.

Well, I think I’ve found a “tourist magnet” – cribbage.

This phenomenon started last year when we started playing cribbage in the front part of the coffee shop. On many occasions, tourists would step into the shop, spot us playing cribbage and say things like, “Oh, cribbage. I haven’t played in more than ten years.” … or since they were kids… or since they were in college. We’d always ask if they wanted to play, and a decent number of them would. They’d sit down and we’d play a game or two..

What I like about cribbage is that it’s a very “social” game. You can play it and chat with someone without giving up a competitive advantage. We’d always learn about where the “tourist-turned-cribbage-player” came from…what they were planning for their vacation… or places they’d already seen on vacation… and once in a while we’d be able to tell them about where the good restaurants are…  stuff  like that.

Well, this season, we are off and running with the “cribbage magnet” again. Six delightful ladies came in this morning and two of them were former cribbage players. It’s like riding a bike – once you learn how, you never really forget how to play.  Cribbage is a fairly quick game… so we played a 4-handed game in the time it took to get their food order ready. Then we continued the conversation over their late-morning breakfast.

I don’t know what the fascination is with cribbage. I guess it’s because you use a special board for keeping score, so you don’t have to ask what you are playing. I’m also amazed at how many (as in, virtually everyone) learned the game as a kid… either because their parents or grandparents played the game… or because it was an interesting way to practice your number skills at an early age.  I never learned to play bridge, or gin rummy, until I was of college-age, but cribbage…  I learned that as a kid… from my grandfather.

I’m passing along that tradition. My son and his family live in Iowa, and whenever I go out for a visit, I play at least one cribbage game each day with my granddaughter, Katelyn. (She beats me, too)

So, if you are single and looking for a mate, I’m not sure a game of cribbage will attract someone as quickly as a puppy, but I do know this – you don’t have to house-train a cribbage board.