It contains information for the convention - and a little something extra.
ACB of Maine
2025 Annual
Convention
When: Saturday,
November 8, 2025
9:00 AM - 4:00 PM
Where: Homewood Suites Hotel
377 Western Ave. Augusta, ME 04330
For additional details, please go to the October newsletter.
Remember, you can pay for dues and
the convention by going to The Exchange
Go to - The Exchange
Under product - select "Other"
Under Organization - select ACBMaine - last one in the list
Then select - Next-Proceed to Payment
Once at the payment options - enter the amount of money you are submitting and the card information.
Dues are $20.00 and the conference is $10.00. It's easiest to enter $30.00 and cover both at the same time.
You are invited to a Zoom webinar!
When: Nov 8, 2025 09:00 AM Eastern Time (US and Canada)
Topic: Maine Convention
Join from PC, Mac, iPad, or Android:
Https://acb-org.zoom.us/j/83492760028
Phone one-tap:
+13126266799,,83492760028#
Phone:
+1 312 626 6799
Webinar ID: 834 9276 0028
Editor's Note - The last newsletter had lots and lots of information, so I saved this for a lighter time. Thank you Steve for sending this along. It's great when we all contribute.
from Steve Lambert
I cut myself this morning, while felling yonder
tree.
It wasn’t very serious, a gash across my knee.
I had some
bar and chain oil that I always bring along,
And put some on my wounded
knee as i began this song.
The words did not come easily,
the way they often do.
You see I was distracted by the blood and all
the goo.
I did not let that slow me down, tree limbs I cut
away,
Until I noticed one of mine was missing: what a
day.
I thought myself a lucky man for I could walk
around.
My legs were still beneath me, yes, still anchored to the
ground.
My left arm had been severed, though, as I could plainly
see.
And my left hand, accusingly, was pointing up at
me.
Now I don’t want to brag about how cool I was that
day,
But had I been a lesser man I’d not been here to say
That in
a plight so serious I did not lose my head,
For though I was delirious
my chainsaw now was dead.
I always carry duct tape, for
that’s simply who I am.
And I am not ashamed to say I love the taste
of Spam.
But I digress for I have eaten not a thing today.
Return I
will, though hungrily, to what I have to say.
I grabbed
my left arm from the ground, assessed the urgent need,
And placed it
neatly where it was before the gruesome deed.
Then carefully I bound it
with precision born of skill,
Acquired at the slaughter house I worked
at up the hill.
As I prepared to go back home to get some
needed rest,
My right arm held my chainsaw and my oil can to my
chest.
But how was I to haul the tree that I had just cut
down?
I’d hoist it with my left arm to assure that it was
sound.
So up I went as I approached the home where I
abide,
As tools and tree I carried with efficiency and pride.
So
masterful was duct tape work that I’d done on my arm,
That good as
new it had been healed. My work had done the charm.
Now
if I was just half the man that I purport to be,
I would be here in
person for to boast of limb and tree.
And rightfully you’d slap my
back and tell me I was grand,
Despite the fact that slapping me did
damage to your hand.
But as it was my destiny had
something else in mind.
The little cut upon my knee would soon bite my
behind.
Infection had set in, a thing that I was soon to dread,
But
not for long, as time would tell; for sadly I am dead!
So
if, per chance, you ever find that you have cut your knee,
Remember
what my arrogance and pride have done to me.
Do not insist that you
must feast on pizza laced with ham.
Content yourself with humbler fare,
like eggs fried up with Spam!
