Maine is ruined.. and it is all my fault!!!! AAAARRRUUGGGGHHH

I moved to Maine to enjoy the wonderful awesomeness that is the winter snow. I moved here in hopes to enjoy looking out my window and seeing snow falling and the calmness that it brings. Well it is Dec 12th 2015 and I'm sad to report that snow has yet to touch the ground that is Maine. WHY??? Now let me step back and explain something to you. I moved to Utah in the hopes that I could give my daughter a wonderful gift of snow. Well we lived there for over 7 years. And the snow came for a the first 4 years then after that something started to happen. It slowed to a halt. Ugh! I love snow!!!! This can't be happening.

WHY?? WHY?? WHY??



Well I have been laying in bed wondering if the earth is punishing me. I don't know for what reason it would be. But it made me leave Utah. Funny thing about Utah is, it is now snowing there. In fact it started to snow in September. It has been snowing ever since. So we move and Utah is released from it curse. Which is me. Well... you're welcome Utah. I hope I didn't put to much of a damper on the Sking industry for these past years. I didn't mean for that to happen. Maine now has to deal with me now.

I haven't been yelling from the roof top that I'm the reason Maine hasn't gotten any snow. In fact I have been hiding in the shadows. Hoping that what ever hates me will think that I moved and it will allow Maine to receive its wonderful bounty. I even went so far as to color my hair to black. Maybe I won't be seen easily. Maybe the powers that be will overlook me and move forward with winter. I really want to enjoy Christmas with snow as it falls to the ground. I don't think that is much to ask. I mean this is Maine. Snow is part of its culture. So come on, let it snow!!!

The best tearerking Craigslit "Missed Connetion" you will ever read... EVER! (Posted on Craigslist)

I met you in the rain on the last day of 1972 - m4w (Old State House)

Massachusett : Massachusetts

I met you in the rain on the last day of 1972, the same day I resolved to kill myself.

One week prior, at the behest of Richard Nixon and Henry Kissinger, I'd flown four B-52 sorties over Hanoi. I dropped forty-eight bombs. How many homes I destroyed, how many lives I ended, I'll never know. But in the eyes of my superiors, I had served my country honorably, and I was thusly discharged with such distinction.

And so on the morning of that New Year's Eve, I found myself in a barren studio apartment on Beacon and Hereford with a fifth of Tennessee rye and the pang of shame permeating the recesses of my soul. When the bottle was empty, I made for the door and vowed, upon returning, that I would retrieve the Smith & Wesson Model 15 from the closet and give myself the discharge I deserved.

I walked for hours. I looped around the Fenway before snaking back past Symphony Hall and up to Trinity Church. Then I roamed through the Common, scaled the hill with its golden dome, and meandered into that charming labyrinth divided by Hanover Street. By the time I reached the waterfront, a charcoal sky had opened and a drizzle became a shower. That shower soon gave way to a deluge. While the other pedestrians darted for awnings and lobbies, I trudged into the rain. I suppose I thought, or rather hoped, that it might wash away the patina of guilt that had coagulated around my heart. It didn't, of course, so I started back to the apartment.

And then I saw you.

You'd taken shelter under the balcony of the Old State House. You were wearing a teal ball gown, which appeared to me both regal and ridiculous. Your brown hair was matted to the right side of your face, and a galaxy of freckles dusted your shoulders. I'd never seen anything so beautiful.

When I joined you under the balcony, you looked at me with your big green eyes, and I could tell that you'd been crying. I asked if you were okay. You said you'd been better. I asked if you'd like to have a cup of coffee. You said only if I would join you. Before I could smile, you snatched my hand and led me on a dash through Downtown Crossing and into Neisner's.

We sat at the counter of that five and dime and talked like old friends. We laughed as easily as we lamented, and you confessed over pecan pie that you were engaged to a man you didn't love, a banker from some line of Boston nobility. A Cabot, or maybe a Chaffee. Either way, his parents were hosting a soirée to ring in the New Year, hence the dress.

For my part, I shared more of myself than I could have imagined possible at that time. I didn't mention Vietnam, but I got the sense that you could see there was a war waging inside me. Still, your eyes offered no pity, and I loved you for it.

After an hour or so, I excused myself to use the restroom. I remember consulting my reflection in the mirror. Wondering if I should kiss you, if I should tell you what I'd done from the cockpit of that bomber a week before, if I should return to the Smith & Wesson that waited for me. I decided, ultimately, that I was unworthy of the resuscitation this stranger in the teal ball gown had given me, and to turn my back on such sweet serendipity would be the real disgrace.

On the way back to the counter, my heart thumped in my chest like an angry judge's gavel, and a future -- our future -- flickered in my mind. But when I reached the stools, you were gone. No phone number. No note. Nothing.

As strangely as our union had begun, so too had it ended. I was devastated. I went back to Neisner's every day for a year, but I never saw you again. Ironically, the torture of your abandonment seemed to swallow my self-loathing, and the prospect of suicide was suddenly less appealing than the prospect of discovering what had happened in that restaurant. The truth is I never really stopped wondering.

I'm an old man now, and only recently did I recount this story to someone for the first time, a friend from the VFW. He suggested I look for you on Facebook. I told him I didn't know anything about Facebook, and all I knew about you was your first name and that you had lived in Boston once. And even if by some miracle I happened upon your profile, I'm not sure I would recognize you. Time is cruel that way.

This same friend has a particularly sentimental daughter. She's the one who led me here to Craigslist and these Missed Connections. But as I cast this virtual coin into the wishing well of the cosmos, it occurs to me, after a million what-ifs and a lifetime of lost sleep, that our connection wasn't missed at all.

You see, in these intervening forty-two years I've lived a good life. I've loved a good woman. I've raised a good man. I've seen the world. And I've forgiven myself. And you were the source of all of it. You breathed your spirit into my lungs one rainy afternoon, and you can't possibly imagine my gratitude.

I have hard days, too. My wife passed four years ago. My son, the year after. I cry a lot. Sometimes from the loneliness, sometimes I don't know why. Sometimes I can still smell the smoke over Hanoi. And then, a few dozen times a year, I'll receive a gift. The sky will glower, and the clouds will hide the sun, and the rain will begin to fall. And I'll remember.

So wherever you've been, wherever you are, and wherever you're going, know this: you're with me still.

Parkinson's and the heat! Does anyone else have a problem with heat?

I have major heat intolerance. I haven't come across this symptom much in articles relating to Parkinson's. I was wondering if anyone else out there has big problems with heat? My walking gets worse, headache, brain fog and sensory nerves go bizerk. It doesn't take much temperature change for it to start so I watch the temperature real close and if I start to perspire I need to call it quits.

History's most famous athlete was as nimble with word play as he was fleet of foot. He dazzled opponents and global audiences alike with his athleticism in the ring and his unflappable verbosity outside of it.

Gradually these trademark characteristics began to fade. His lightening reflexes slowed. His speech became impaired. His mind was still sharp, but his rhymes failed to dance off his tongue as readily as they once had. Over the years his body co-operated with his mind less and less. Explosive footwork slowed to a deliberate shuffle. A flight of stairs or a car door became as daunting a physical challenge as 15 rounds with Joe Frazier. The famous Mississippi Mouth became barely audible. Ali had fallen victim to a merciless, cruel opponent- Parkinson's disease.

Parkinson's disease attacks the central nervous system, reducing the brains ability to co-ordinate movement. The brain does its best to give instructions but the message gets lost in translation. This results in unimaginable frustration for the sufferer and ultimately renders the individual a prisoner in his or her own body.

SYMPTOMS

Tremors- the most noticeable early symptom. It often begins very localized, such as in a finger of one hand. Over time it spreads throughout the whole arm. Tremors often occur when the limb is at rest or when held in a stiff, unsupported position. Tremors also may occur in the lips, feet or tongue.

Bradykinesia- slowness of motion. The individual's movements become increasingly slow and over time muscles may randomly "freeze".

Akinesia- muscle rigidity. Often begins in the legs and neck. These muscles become very stiff. When it affects the muscles of the face the individual adopts a mask like stare.

Digestion problems- the ability to process food slows down, resulting in low energy and constipation.

Depression- Parkinson's causes chemical changes in the brain that may result in depression. This can be an early warning sign, but as depression becomes more common in older adults, it is not often associated with the disease.

Low Blood Pressure- can result in light headedness and fainting.

Temperature sensitivity- perception of temperature can be affected, and may result in hot flashes and excessive sweating.

Leg discomfort- some patients report burning sensations and cramp in the legs.

Balance- There is a progressive loss of coordination and sense of balance, putting the individual at risk of falls.

Over time, Parkinson's sufferers take on similar external characteristics. There is the continual tremor, the stooped posture, the slow shuffle and the blank stare. At the present time there is no cure and it is not completely understood as to what causes the disease. However, it is manageable through medication and lifestyle, especially when identified in the early stages. As Ali himself so famously proved, just because an opponent has you against the ropes, it doesn't mean the fight is over.

Sweating and intolerance to heat. These are also problems for people with Parkinson's disease. These symptoms are mostly related to changes to the nerves that control automatic body processes (like body heat).

Breaking News: Elder L. Tom Perry dies at age 92