Bucksport Days - Jumble of Memories

  While I try to remember things about living on Verona Island (across the Penobscot River from Bucksport)  it's hard to think of specific incidents of that last year of high school. It's all a jumble of images. What a time of mixed emotions!

I'll give you a list of a few memories of that winter - 

* The exchange student, Raphael Gonzales, was in the library with me when Maine got its first snow. Raphael had never seen snow, so I asked the librarian for permission to go outside. The librarian was such a grouch. She let him, but not me, saying I was a big girl and had seen snow before. I watched from the window as he bounded through it, made footprints and a snow angel and threw a few snowballs at me. The librarian was not too happy that he tracked snow back inside.

* When it snowed in the night, I would lie in bed the next morning and wait for mill whistle. If I remember correctly, it would whistle 7 times at 7:00 every day. BUT if it only whistled 6 times, there was no school!

*I caught the school bus at the end of our road with some neighbor kids, but I preferred to walk home in the afternoon - unless it was too cold.

* I often babysat the neighbor kids. They had a TV, and I saw the movie of A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett for the first time. I also liked to watch the Carol Burnett Show. (favorite - Tim Conway)

* I accidentally threw $20 in our kitchen woodstove - thinking it was the scrap paper in my other hand. I almost cried because it took me so long to earn it. (I think I was ordering my senior pictures.)

* Our band played Sleigh Ride for a Christmas concert. I loved that song, but we were definitely not ready to perform it, and it sounded horrible!

* Randy gave me a knitted hat for Christmas. (not very pretty, but practical) I carved him a key ring - a chunky R from wood....and almost sliced off the end of my left ring finger. (not very practical because it was too big for his pocket)

* I had a black kitten that I named Berlios (from the Aristocats movie). He fell through the rungs of railing around the stairwell, but besides a sore foot, he was fine.

My next set of memories 

are the weeks leading up to my graduation - 

speak of a jumble of emotions!

Bucksport Days - Still Standing Strong

(For those who haven't been following my memoirs, I had just moved to Bucksport before my senior year. I missed my old high school, even though it hadn't been easy being a pastor's kid in a public school.)

(CLICK HERE) 

Even though I didn't have the label of "Preacher's Kid" anymore, I was still different. I was known as a Christian - a church kid - but it wasn't as hard as it was back in Skowhegan. No one really teased me or made things difficult because of it. They would just shrug their shoulders and go on their way. That was okay. I had some good Christian friends to hang out with.

There were a few times when I had to stand strong. 

During the summer, when I was painting for the school district, some other kids on the job stopped for a smoking break (which happened quite often). They tried to get me to stop, even if I didn't smoke. They said it made them look lazy when I got so much more done than they did. When I refused, saying that I wasn't right to not work when I was being paid to work. They accused me of being paranoid. I had never heard the word and had to ask what it meant. (I'm not crazy, but a fearful respect of authority is a good thing.)

Another time, while I was going through the lunch line to get my usual cup of salad, carton of milk, and bag of cheese puffs; a big, rough-looking boy behind me kept bumping me and trying to urge me to go faster. All he had on his tray was a carton of milk, but I noticed a couple of ice cream bars in his coat pocket. After I paid, I lingered while picking up a straw and napkin to see if the lunch lady would notice. She didn't. I should have been brave enough to confront him, but I wasn't - but I did tell on him. . . and was scared for the next week wondering if he knew it was me that snitched on him.

I don't often get upset, unless I feel I've been treated unfairly. One day, the school surprised the students with a rock concert. It hadn't been announced until that morning. My friend, Kerry, and I didn't want to go. Since we classes after the concert, we couldn't just go home early. We went to the principal's office and asked if we could go to the library at the other end of building instead. (It seemed fair and sensible to us.)
We were excused from the concert, but not allowed to go to the library. We had to spend that time in the home-ec room - which was right next to the gymnasium - right next to the rock concert. We might as well have attended! We couldn't study. We couldn't even talk to each other because of the noise. What was wrong with us spending that time studying in the library? It wasn't as if the elderly librarian wanted to attend the concert or that we were scheming to do some mischief while everyone was busy. It was ridiculous. Oh well, it only lasted an hour, and we survived.

I mentioned in a previous post that I took a bunch of English classes to fill up my schedule. One of them was Black Lit. It was interesting, and I enjoyed it, but one test put my honesty to the test. For some reason, I didn't finish reading the book we had been assigned. (I don't even remember which book now.) I knew we had a test over it the next day, but I figured that I had read enough of it to pass. (Note to any students - read ALL of the book!) One question asked "What happened to ____ on the last page?"  My heart sunk. It must have had a surprise ending .... oh well, I'll get that one wrong.

Well, the teacher had to leave the room, and the girl in front of me turned around and asked me if I knew what happened at the end of the book. I shook my head. She asked someone else. They whispered, "He died." Now, I had a dilemma. I knew the answer, but it would be cheating. So I wrote -

The man died, but mark this wrong 

because I didn't finish reading the book. 

I heard someone else say it. 

The following day, when our test were returned, the girl ahead of me asked what I got for a grade. My paper was lying face up with the teacher's note written at the top. I had gotten an A and all the answer correct. The note said, 

Thank you for being honest. 

Next time, read the whole book.

The girl saw his note and my note. She looked me in the eye, shook her head in disbelief, and said, "Thanks for not telling on me."

Later, I had the blessing of talking with some of my classmates, and they thanked me for being different, for living as a Christian. It made them think about God and their spiritual life. Pray for Christian kids in the public school. It's not easy to stand strong for their beliefs.

Bucksport Days - My Prince in Shining Armor

I confess -

I was a flirt, a boy-crazy girl! From the time I can remember, I've always had a special "boyfriend" - not particularly in a romantic sense, but a boy who paid special attention to me. Interestingly, most of them were named Randy or Andy.

(What can I say? I must have been a cutie! *smile*) 

When we first moved to Bucksport, I had a boyfriend. But when school started - he wasn't the kind of person I thought him to be and dropped him unmercifully. (I also confess that I was often quite rude to those I didn't like...sorry!)

Well - at that point, I decided that I had enough of boyfriends. I would just ignore them and concentrate on finishing high school.  I hung out with the kids from church (boys and girls) and I was happy with that arrangement. The church had an active youth group. We went on hayrides, progressive suppers, worked as leaders at AWANA, etc.

One Saturday in December, we had rented the pool at the Maine Maritime Academy in Castine for the AWANA kids. Of course, they needed chaperones, and all the leaders got to enjoy the outing too. While we were waiting for the last kids to change back into their clothes, Randy Blake, asked me if I would like to go to a basketball game with him and a few other people.

I was stunned and honored and excited and all that goes with realizing that someone notices you. To me, Randy Blake was not a boy. He was a man, a mature adult - out of school. (only 4 years older, but I didn't know that at the time) I couldn't wait to go home and tell my parents about him. Of course, I knew him, but I didn't know that he had been watching me - and even liked me ever since we moved into the area. He was just patiently waited for the right time to say something.

Randy picked me up in his dark green Camaro. (although I wasn't impressed - I didn't know one kind of car from another) The bucket seats were already filled with three other boys. He put a cushion between the front seats for a place for me. (no seat belt laws then)

I don't remember much about the basketball game at the Bangor Auditorium, but I do know that I was tremendously impressed that Randy would not allow the boy in the passenger seat to play rock n' roll music on the radio. He said, "This is my car, and I will choose what kind of music in it." I knew, somehow I KNEW right then, that this was the one I would marry. This is the type of man I wanted -  someone with strong moral convictions.

All evening long, he treated me like a queen - opening doors, helping me with my coat (not something I was used to), paying for my snacks, etc. When he dropped me off, he took my hand and kissed the back of it. (I could have melted! It was so sweet!)

(On a comical side, my father had forgotten that I was out and locked the doors. He never worried about me. He often did the same thing when I was babysitting too. So, Randy hung around until I woke my family, so that they could open the door. He said, "When I have girls, I'll never lock the door on them."  Ha Ha - I don't think our door has ever been locked. )

What Joy! ~ What Excitement! ~ What Fun!

This is Poetry Month.

Today on Polliwog Pages,

we have poem about spring!

Also today, Zeke the Peddler

is stopping at the next blog -

Karlene's Blog "Legacy"

Besides that, you can now purchase

signed copies of

A Home for Phoebe

at a few local bookstores.

(local to me)

Bella Books(Belfast)

Bookstacks (Bucksport)

Bookmarcs (Bangor)

Lamb's Bookstore (Bangor)

The Altered Bee (Bristol, NH)

Bucksport Years - A New School . . . Again

Of all the times I started in a new school, this time was probably my hardest. I really didn't want to be there. It was my senior year, but I wanted to be back in Skowhegan with my classmates who would entering into the excitement of their senior year.

Someone had offered to pay my way to a Christian school, but my father preferred that I not attend there. I knew it was right to obey and submit to him (and my Heavenly Father), but it didn't make things any easier to face the school year.

Since I had worked there, painting all summer, I knew the building, and I knew the custodians. I also knew a few young people, the ones who attended the Evangelical Baptist Church, but none of them were in my classes. I am thankful for the friendship of the Johnsons, the Loziers, the Clements, plus Pickles, Edith, and others who made me feel welcome.

I had acquired enough credits for high school, but I still needed to take another English and U. S. History. (which I never got, because they changed it to Civics instead) I was glad I didn't need anymore math or science, so I filled my schedule with "fun" subjects. I took civics, band, French (with Mrs. Norton), Journalism (with Mr. Dyer), and Black Literature (with Mr. Tardiff). Later, I took creative writing (with Mr. Harriman) and Am. Literature. (teacher?)

This school had rotating schedules. It took me such a long time to get used to it. You'd think by now I'd be able to adjust to new things quite easily. Band practice at 8:00 was the hardest - especially when the director didn't show up and you realized that you could have gotten some homework done during that time. I did like the privilege of going home early after lunch, if I didn't have anymore classes.

Sports didn't appeal to me, but I joined the French Club and the Future Teachers of America. I marched in the band during the football games and wrote a speech for Voice of America (and even went to a radio station to record it).

In Journalism class, Raphael Gonzales sat in front of me, an exchange student from Ecuador. He and I worked together on a magazine article, "Where Have All the Red Paints Gone?" which took us to the University of Maine to interview an archeologists.

There were pleasant memories of walking home with Kerry - well, we would walk to the church to say "hi" to her mother, working as the church secretary. Then often she would walk across the bridge with me to my house on Verona and visit until she had to go home.

So much happened that year that it will take a while to remember it and write it down. (and that doesn't include the things that happened at church and at home)