Columns

One of the pleasures of walking the golf course is enjoying the resident birds. Blue jay and tufted titmouse calls are always on offer, but you never know what will catch your eye. Yesterday it was a female eastern bluebird plucking a tuft of grass and flying toward her nest site. Spring breeding season is past, but these gorgeous birds attempt second, even third broods in favorable summer weather.

The first time it happened was in the fall of 1996, upon returning from our honeymoon in Quebec City and opening the door to our Bangor apartment.

The phone call itself was not surprising. My aunt and uncle had retired to Maine and built a home on Orr's Island in the mid-1980s. They had not had children together, so we were effectively their only family. Being invited for a visit was not, in itself, unexpected. We gladly accepted. What we did not know at the time was that there was an ulterior motive.

I remember when summer started in May. The giant, sliding classroom windows were open, and even without a hint of breeze, the hallways got a fresh-mown grass smell. The sun warmed stacks of paper on metal sills, the edges of a year's worth of essays and test scores browning in the bright sun. Dust danced in the light while my teacher droned on about the history of the kings and queens of France.

Halfway through the summer already and I'm still trying to catch up to the calendar. It's not a fair race. I think the calendar got a good six-week head start.

June in the library was busy with our 66th birthday and volunteer celebration on the 27th. Our board worked hard on this event that honored our volunteers.

Sometimes themes or topics emerge when you aren't looking for them — and yet, they are oddly perfect for the moment. I credit this month's topic to my mother, who, like me, is a lover of poetry.

One of the cliches of our world is the "helicopter parent" who tries to protect their child from any possible harm or disappointment. We have heard stories of mothers sterilizing baby nurseries to get rid of "germs" and fathers freaking out when their toddler eats dirt. It turns out that we should all go outdoors and get muddy.

Like yours, there is ample room in my head for inflation of my ego. And the quickest way to get a firm and plump ego — just at the tipping point of bursting — is to be labeled a prodigy.