Looking at ourselves in the mirror of our new Maine home is to freshly recognize ourselves. The same, yet not the same.

Delivering the Sunday paper on our route started out in lightly falling snow and a brisk wind. It didn’t stay that way for long.

Among other fundamental changes, you now have a whole lot more time on your hands.

An author is grateful for discarded notebooks and, in other ways, for the child who pitched them.

When we have to slow our usual pace because of a big storm, we play, enjoy a sense of peace and feed the soul.

For the contemplative driver, it’s an ideal opportunity to have some fun exercising powers of observation and reflection.

But a frolicking girl grows into a homeowner and becomes much less enamored of the heavy, water-laden snow.

A grandmother in 1930s South Portland shoos a moose from her yard, to the amazement of Ferry Village kids and neighbors.

The task of taking down holiday decorations stirs recollections of Mom, posh gift wrap and iconic Maine shops of yesteryear.

It is difficult but not impossible to find respite from the saturation of messages urging us to eat, drink and shop.