“The best real estate investment i ever made.”

Yup, that’s what he told me during the cross examination.

He’s a gardener. His specialty is transplant. He is particularly fond of transplanting trees.

The L.L.Bean-green pickup was exiting the driveway when I noticed a swaying movement about 15 feet above the bed of the truck.

It was no surprise for me to see a swaying tree in the bed of the pickup. But when the truck turned left at the end of the driveway — well, that was a potential problem.

He drove that truck right down to Kimball’s Pasture cemetery, then down the rustic pathway to his double plot. Biggest plot there is (in the new section of Kimball’s Pasture), and he bought it for 50 cents on the dollar. “Was worth twice that amount!” (So he says.)

Except for the newly-arrived gravestones, the new section of the cemetery is nude. The old section is filled with groomed shrubs, knarled trees, granite markers, obelisks, rugged crosses, terraced plots — it has the look of aristocracy. The old Kimball’s has patina and shade. The new Kimball’s is more weed than grass.

Last year he designed the granite cornerstones for his plot and had them professionally made and installed. The day lilies were planted next. His lilies were to be the beginning of a planned re-vegetation. One lily was planted at each cornerstone. Those lilies lasted only as long as the first lawn mowing. Clearly, the lilies were compromised.

He was absent about an hour. On his return, I started with the questions. Where did you take that tree I saw bumping around in the back of the truck? Is that so? Is that allowed?

Later, the small dog and I walked the short distance to Kimball’s. There was the tree, planted right in the center of the plot. The only tree in the new section of Kimball’s Pasture.

Later and again, I asked, “Is that allowed?” He answered “It doesn’t say anywhere that it isn’t.”

So there you have it. Another exciting true moment from Maine.

shmata defined

SHMATA: I used to own a man-finder dress (these images are not of that dress). It did not matter when or where I wore that dress — the dress was always a magnet for men. The heartbreakers, the soon-to-be heartbroken, the machismo, the shy, the married, and the artistic men — they all flocked to that dress. The dress was “approachable.” Ballet slippers and work boots were the perfect accessory. Yup, I really believed in the power of that dress. So when “J” asked me, "what was I going to wear that night.... the answer was, of course, the dress. J. quickly replied “CRAP, not that OLD shmata!”

So there there you have it. My man-finder was just another old shmata! A rag. Past its prime. Too many washings.

The dress remained in my closet for another year. Then, in a moment of despondency, I impulsively discarded that old shmata. Big mistake. I still yearn for that old magical dress.

So, I collect Shmatas. I know a shmata when I see one. This is a recent addition to the collection. Probably from the 1960's or early 1970's, a full circle skirt, giant butterflies and made from polyester. Slightly past its prime, but it still has the magic.

Selling shmatas at incognitoinmaine.etsy.com

Apprentice. Read it and weep Donald.

My apprentice. She has been shopping, sorting and collecting with me for 10 years. She knows all the thrift shops, the volunteers, the buzz words, the fabrics, the styles and the sub-culture of the antiques and collectible business. With a gypsy spirit she darts into a garage sale, flea market or thrift store looking for the catch of the day.

Last weekend as we were leaving for the hunt, I gave her my wish list. Three stops into the morning, I heard her clear voice as she scanned the offerings at a church thrift; “i have goth here!”

Recently she stated: “You know, don't you? I’m not like other kids.”

I watch her with her glasses on the tip of her nose, waiting in the checkout line with her cache of goth and I feel sorry for the “donald.” He never had an apprentice like mine.

night out in the country

The “Vagina Monologues” played in a theater near us this week. He & I had tickets for the second show which included a free dessert bar.

We are either enlightened or OTL, but it never occurred to us that there would be more women in attendance than men. We entered a lobby filled with beautiful women and two other men.

He once told me that growing up with four sisters almost made him eligible for a menstrual cycle — but not quite :) Still, a theater full of women paying rapt attention to a monolog about vaginas and women’s sexulaity was more than he had planned for.

We enjoyed ourselves and left with two whole-wheat chocolate chip cookies tucked inside his jacket pocket.

that nasty skunk keeps giving payback

The snow has melted. The ice is "out." The loons are back. The mosquitoes and black flies have not arrived. Sun and warm temperatures for the weekend. You would think this was perfection....and it is

But, last fall, a skunk sprayed (and died) near the entry way to our home. With the snow cover gone, the smell is back!!! We (of course, "we" means "he" even in Maine) are going to dig up an area of dirt near the doorway, load it into a wheelbarrow and cart it into the woods. This is a desperate attempt to move the smell to another location. It's the smell or me.

dog id tag, skunk, hardware store, lovell, maine

Good thing I had that id tag engraved for the small dog. With all the snow we have on the ground, he found a way out of his fenced run by jumping and climbing over snow piles. My husband received the inevitable phone call, and retrieved the small dog (safe & smelling of skunk) at the local hardware store. Holding the now-reclaimed small, smiling nuisance in his arms, he explained to the staff at the store that his wife loved that small dog more than she loved him.

Here is my plan: I’m going to visit the hardware store today and thank the staff for rescuing the small dog, and then confide to them that my husband loves that small dog more than he loves me. Subtle, right? In a small town this could be a good story.

inventory, stash and hoard

Today I am wondering about the difference between inventory, stash and hoard. If one brings their new-found "treasures" back to their bricks and mortar store — those "treasures" might be defined as inventory. If one doesn't have a bricks and mortar store, they probably bring their "treasures" to their home.

Every nook and cranny in a store is filled with the store's inventory. But, when every nook and cranny in a home is filled with "treasure", it might be defined as a "hoard." And stash? Well, in my opinion, Stash likes to sit on the park bench next to Hoard. This has been worrying me lately :)