Crazy Rockland

For those of you who think Maine is just a sleepy New England backwater where the last thing of note that happened was Harriet Beecher Stowe writing Uncle Tom's Cabin, let me quickly disabuse you of that notion. In the past three weeks I have had front row seats from my kitchen window for both a slow motion police foot chase on foot across my back lawn, and this afternoon a two engine fire 20 yards away across my garden on Broad Street. Admittedly, there was more smoke than flame (no flames at all, actually) and most of the Rockland and Thomaston fire departments spent more time struggling in and out of their oxygen tanks and snapping photos of each other in their gear than operating hoses and axing down doors but they did get to use their sirens and lights. The most perplexing thing was the presence of the ubiquitous old lady in a night gown and curlers badgering the fire fighters despite it being three in the afternoon. Is an old lady in a night gown akin to a dalmatian? Do fire fighters carry an old lady in a night gown on the truck at all hours of the day for luck?

I wonder what's next? Maybe the air ambulance will land on the porch.