Opinion & Comment
February 9, 2012, The Bridgton News, Page B
Front Row Seat by Tom McLaughlin News Columnist
Life with a laptop
First, I moved my laptop and power cord upstairs to my office, where the printer, fax machine, filing cabinets and phones reside. When I want to go online, I go up there. The laptop used to be next to my recliner in the living room. For years, that was where I’d do my writing, bill paying, and news gathering. I could pick it up during commercials for a quick check of e-mail or news, but it began to bother me when my wife and grandson would say, “You’re always on the computer.” That wasn’t literally true but it’s how they perceived me and I didn’t like that. So, I began to observe myself. What I noticed was that when I picked up my computer and opened it on my lap, I was taken away. Much of me wasn’t in the room anymore. My body was, but most other parts were somewhere else. Then, I began to alter how I began my day. After showering, putting coffee on, exercising, praying, and getting dressed, my habit had been to go into my office and open the laptop on my desk. During winter, I’d exercise, pray and dress in the dark and preferred it that way. I could see stars through my windows. If the moon was still up, I could see the horizon with the white peak of Mount Washington most distinct. A few stars would be twinkling above it when the sky was clear. I liked that few, if any others in my area of the world were awake. I liked watching the world outside my window fill up with light. But when I went to my office first and opened the laptop, it shined light into my face. My dilated pupils would contract and all I’d see was my screen. My awareness of the house I lived in and the peaceful world outside altered. My contemplative mood changed. Rather than be aware of myself and my immediate surroundings, I’d be taken away again to other parts of the world, other times and other places. Third, I noticed how my mind would be pulled in several directions in a very short period of time. There were e-mails to trash, to read, and to answer. Some were business-related, some social, some informative. Others contained links to stories and commentaries. It was all quite stimulating and part of me loved it. Another part of me, however, felt robbed. The me who pondered the quiet, cold sky, the vague outlines of the hardwoods outside my window with stars twinkling between the fingers of their upper branches, the part still contemplating my Creator and listening for response to my prayer, the me who felt residual warmth and strength in muscles after exercise, and sensation of caffeine from my first cup of coffee. Those parts felt deprived, just as my wife and grandson felt deprived when my laptop was so often open as I sat in their presence. So, I’m moving away from those things — substantially, but not entirely. I’m starting my day differently. I’m reading hard copy — currently a novel called The Father’s Tale by Michael O’Brien. It’s the novel I fell asleep reading before going into dream state, and the resumption of reading it the next morning provides a more gentle segue into my new day. Some dreams I will have remembered large parts of, but of others only a few scattered images and feelings. With some dreams come vague understandings of their symbols, but with others only incoherent jumbles which may never be sorted out.
MOON RISING — Local Photographer Ed Stevens recently captured this winter moonrise on Shorey Park. More images of Bridgton can be seen at agencyoflight.com
Red-bellied visitor
On chilly winter days, we find ourselves watching our bird feeders more than usual, but we have not yet tired of seeing our favorite regular visitors. A busy flock of more than forty goldfinches dominates the scene most of the time. Half a dozen of them hold onto the feeder, lounging on the little perches and leaning out aggressively with open beak to chase away others who try to land there. When the chickadee flies in, he grabs a seed and is off again in a flash, so quickly the goldfinches hardly have time to object, but when a tufted titmouse, who is a little bigger than a goldfinch, flies in, a goldfinch sometimes has to give way. The downy woodpecker and the hairy A good novel is not unlike that. Images and feelings are generated in our woodpecker are more interested in the suet cage than the seed MCLAUGHLIN, Page B
feeder, so there is rarely any conflict with the goldfinches, but this morning a hairy woodpecker was in the mood for a seed snack. He clung vertically to the tube shaped seed feeder and was so large he took up the whole thing. A feisty goldfinch tried to sneak onto one of the perches, but when he found himself facing the sharp beak of the woodpecker he beat a fast retreat. After watching our feeders for many years, we have come to know what to expect, so we were startled this morning when an unfamiliar bird showed up. It flew down from the maple tree, barely touched the suet cage, and then abruptly fled back up to the tree. After doing this a couple of times, the bird finally landed and began to eat
Bird Watch by Jean Preis News Columnist
suet, but we had seen enough by then to know it was a red-bellied woodpecker. While not a first for our yard, we have seen this woodpecker here only once before, when one stopped by for just a moment. The bird on our suet feeder was noticeably larger than the hairy woodpecker, and she was mostly a lovely soft creamy tan color (field guides describe her as gray, but to us she looked tan — perhaps because of the light), with black and white horizontal barring on her back and wings. Bright red feathers, with a yellowish tint,
covered the back of her neck and head, but the top of the head was soft gray, which indicated she was female. On males, the red extends over the top of the head. Her head was smoothly rounded, unlike the head of the downy or the hairy woodpecker, and there was a blush of red on the front of her face, at the base of her very long sharp bill. We could not see the blush of red on her belly, which was facing the feeder, and which is a subtle field mark at best. Later in the day, we were VISITOR, Page B