I hate irony. I also have deep feelings of loathing for the Canon PowerShot G2, a digital camera I carried with me Wednesday night.

The scene was the Lewiston Pawn Shop at Lisbon and Cedar streets. Three teenage boys had been captured inside the business, and a girl was identified as the lookout.

As local break-ins go, this one was clever, with an elaborate swinging panel opening up on an upper floor to allow the culprits access to a window into the pawn shop. I got an up-close view of this elaborate tunnel system and of the suspects themselves.

Later, on the street, the four were walked out of the building through the front door, hands cuffed, looks of shame and defiance on their faces. More than a half-dozen cops were arranged around them.

I positioned myself on the sidewalk with the G2 and framed the perfect photo. But the flash did not reach the subjects and so the image was too dark. I moved closer and tried another shot, but the camera took too long to shoot and that image was blurred. I tried another from a different angle and got only darkness again, with vague shapes buried within shadow.

The forlorn suspects were growing older by the minute. Police walked them to cruisers for the short drive to the county jail. I got myself in front of them and aimed the camera one more time. One of the teen boys looked away. The girl stared in my direction with an admirable expression of rage. I pushed the button.

Nothing happened. I eased my finger down on the button more tenderly and still nothing. I tried again, hoping I might get a picture before the suspects were booked, arraigned, tried and released to the world where they would grow into adults, become professionals and start families.

I’m still waiting. The G2, as it has done before, utterly let me down. And the irony of the night was that I stood outside a pawn shop, just feet from where glorious rows of fine working cameras were no doubt set out for sale. I asked a police officer to let me inside so that I might get one, but he did not respond. The G2 remained unblinking in my hand, no more than a fancy paperweight with buttons that respond to nothing.

I hate irony, and I hate the G2. May it rest in pieces.

– Mark LaFlamme
September: Eat and be wary

The Maine Center for Economic Policy brought to our attention this week that September is Emergency Preparedness Month. With only a few days left to celebrate, it’s also:

National Food Safety Education Month.

National Potato Month.

National Cholesterol Education Month.

Library Card Sign-Up Month.

Ovarian Cancer Awareness Month.

Women in Medicine Month.

Whole Grains Month. (The Whole Grains Council suggests serving hamburgers on whole-wheat buns and taste-testing three loaves of whole-wheat bread.)

Clearly, this month’s a mouthful. Act fast, only two days left, because you know what October is: National Roller Skating Month.

The Maine Center for Economic Policy’s “State of the State” on preparedness will air today and tomorrow at 11:30 a.m. on Time Warner, Channel 9.

– Kathryn Skelton
Gold Star Mother’s Day

The governor has proclaimed Sunday as Gold Star Mother’s Day throughout Maine in recognition of those who have lost a son or daughter in military service.

“My mother used to say that the most unnatural thing to occur in anyone’s life is when they have to bury their own child,” Gov. John Baldacci said. “Our hearts go out to the mothers who have had to endure such a horrible pain.”

The number of Gold Star mothers in Maine has increased with the war in Iraq. Thirty-three Maine service members died between Sept. 11, 2001, and Sept. 17, 2007, Baldacci said. Their bios and photos are listed on the Maine Fallen Heroes Web site: http://www.maine.gov/dvem/bvs/Maine_Fallen_Heroes.htm

In 1936, Congress designated the last Sunday in September as Gold Star Mother’s Day and authorized the president to issue a proclamation in its observance. In addition to proclaiming the day in Maine, Baldacci encouraged all to display the American Flag on Sunday to honor mothers and to remember the sons and daughters who gave their lives.

– Bonnie Washuk