WMEO Special Report: September Birthdays are Special

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An orange cat and a black cat sit behind the WMEO 9 news desk like anchors, with a microphone and papers in front of them and a blurred newsroom backdrop behind the desk.

⭐Filed by Banner & Balboa — WMEO 9 News

🎙️ Banner: Good morning, viewers. This is Banner reporting live from the WMEO News Desk, where we’re kicking off our annual coverage of September Birthdays — one of the busiest celebration months in the WMEO calendar. Cats, humans, and honorary critters alike seem to have chosen September as their preferred arrival date, and we’re here to bring you the latest.

🐾 Balboa: That’s right, Banner. I’ve been reviewing the files — very official, very important — and let me tell you, September is PACKED. I tried to count all the birthdays, but I got distracted by a snack, so Banner will handle the math part.

🎙️ Banner: Thank you, Balboa. As always, your dedication to snacks is unmatched. For full historical coverage, WMEO has archived last year’s September Birthday Report, which you can find right here: Your Birthday Is in September—Are You Special? It’s a classic.

“Colorful illustrated infographic titled Coolest Things That Happened in September, showing drawings of the Mayflower ship, a newspaper, a California map, a stick of chewing gum, and a film reel representing historical events like the Mayflower’s departure, first American newspaper, California’s discovery, first chewing gum sale, and the inaugural Cannes Film Festival.”

🐾 Balboa: A classic. I give it two paws up. Maybe three if I had them.

🎙️ Banner: This year, we’re celebrating all our September friends — furry, human, and otherwise — with the same WMEO enthusiasm you’ve come to expect. Whether you’re turning one, turning ninety‑one, or simply turning over for a nap, WMEO salutes you.

🐾 Balboa (breaking news): 🍕 Fun Fact #7: My Personal Favorite—September 20 Is National Pepperoni Pizza Day. That’s right. You can celebrate your birthday with pizza and cake. Two major food groups, one glorious day. Yum!

“Festive birthday scene featuring a round cake with orange, red, and green frosting swirls and lit multicolored candles beside a thick‑crust pepperoni pizza with melted cheese and browned toppings, set against a bright orange background with colorful streamers and confetti.”

 

🎙️ Banner: From all of us here at WMEO 9 News, we wish our September birthday crew a wonderful month filled with joy, treats, naps, and the occasional dramatic zoomie.

🐾 Balboa: Happy Birthday, September people! WMEO out.

An orange cat and a black cat sit behind the WMEO 9 news desk in a studio setting, with a message on the front panel that reads “Thank you for watching.”

 

Baked Alaska The Dessert, Not The State

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A large lakeside resort complex on Green Island in Lake George, New York, featuring white buildings with brown roofs, outdoor pools, landscaped grounds, and a long dock extending into the lake. The resort is surrounded by dense green forest and distant mountains under a clear sky.

Growing Up a Resort Town Kid

Here we go again, falling down the nostalgia rabbit hole.

A friend of mine posted some vacation photos on Instagram, and one of them was captioned Sagamore Hotel. I immediately dropped him a note: Is that the Sagamore on Lake George? The one on Green Island in Bolton Landing?

When he said yes, they were vacationing there, I of course responded, That’s my hometown! Not the Sagamore itself, of course, but Bolton Landing. To this day it still surprises me when anyone says they know where it is. Everyone has heard of Lake George, but not Bolton Landing.

But I’m getting off track.

The Sagamore was a big convention hotel when I was growing up. They catered to business conferences, and then came the “social season,” when the rich folks from New York City arrived to enjoy the lake. That’s how us locals thought of them. After all, we couldn’t afford to stay at The Sagamore — so obviously the people who did must be rich, right? It was just one of those unspoken small‑town truths.

A spacious hotel lobby with rustic décor, featuring a large round wooden table with decorative vases, comfortable seating areas with earth‑tone armchairs and sofas, stone tile flooring, framed photos on the wall, and a mounted deer head creating a cozy lodge‑style atmosphere.

 

I had a summer job working with the local photographer. Mostly it meant sitting in the lobby next to a display board of photos and taking orders, but occasionally he’d bring me along for banquet night as his assistant. My job was simple: keep the film cartridges loaded and ready to hand over fast. This was especially important when the banquet started.

 

 

All the diners would be seated, and then the kitchen doors swung open. White‑suited chefs and waiters paraded in with huge trays balanced on their shoulders. And coming up the rear was the pièce de résistance — the flaming Baked Alaska. It was always quite a spectacle.

A row of formally dressed servers carrying dome‑shaped Baked Alaska desserts with browned meringue and small blue flames on top, presenting them in a coordinated procession during a banquet. The warm lighting and flames create a dramatic, celebratory atmosphere.

I had no idea then what Baked Alaska actually was, except that it was a dessert that made a grand entrance in flames. Imagine my surprise when I eventually learned it was basically ice cream. What? Doesn’t it melt?

I’m older now and a bit more kitchen‑wise, but I still don’t know if I’m brave enough to try this retro dessert.

Are you?

A Little History Before We Get to the Recipe

Baked Alaska goes all the way back to the mid‑1800s, when chefs were experimenting with the science of heat insulation. The idea was almost comical: wrap ice cream in a thick layer of meringue, then blast it with high heat. The meringue acts like a fluffy winter coat, protecting the frozen center.

The dessert became famous at Delmonico’s Restaurant in New York City, where chef Charles Ranhofer originallyA close-up slice of Baked Alaska showing layers of sponge cake, chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry ice cream, all covered in a thick coating of toasted meringue with golden-brown peaks. called it Alaska, Florida — cold inside, hot outside. Over time the name evolved into Baked Alaska, and restaurants began presenting it with full theatrical flair: dimmed lights, flaming rum, and waiters parading it through the dining room like royalty.

That’s the version I saw at the Sagamore — the classic banquet‑hall Baked Alaska, flaming and dramatic and absolutely unforgettable.

But the classic version is… well… a production. So here’s a simplified, home‑friendly version that gives you the magic without the stress.

🍨 Simplified Baked Alaska (Home-Friendly Version)

Ingredients

  • 1 pound cake (store‑bought works perfectly)
  • 1 pint ice cream (any flavor you love)
  • 3 large egg whites
  • ½ cup sugar
  • ½ teaspoon vanilla extract
  • Pinch of salt

Instructions

  1. Prepare the base: Cut the pound cake into a circle or square slightly larger than your ice cream dome. Place it on a parchment‑lined baking sheet.
  2. Add the ice cream: Scoop the ice cream into a rounded mound on top of the cake. Freeze for at least 1 hour so it’s firm.
  3. Make the meringue: Beat egg whites and salt until foamy. Gradually add sugar and vanilla. Continue beating until stiff, glossy peaks form.
  4. Cover completely: Spread the meringue over the ice cream and cake, making sure it’s sealed with no gaps. This insulation is what keeps the ice cream from melting.
  5. Bake quickly: Bake at 500°F for 3–5 minutes, just until the meringue is golden. (Or use a kitchen torch for even easier browning.)
  6. Serve immediately: Slice and enjoy the magic — warm meringue outside, cold ice cream inside.

A dome-shaped Baked Alaska covered in toasted meringue with golden-brown peaks, sitting on a decorative plate with fresh strawberries blurred in the background.

Final Thoughts

So there you have it — a little Baked Alaska nostalgia. It’s one of those retro desserts that deserves a comeback. Meringue and ice cream? Yes, please.

 

The Alphabet Life

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A hand holds a small paper note with a motivational message about Plan A and the alphabet, against a softly blurred green‑blue background.

A Slogan That Stuck With Me

I found an old photo today — a slogan I saved back in 2017:

“If Plan A didn’t work. The alphabet has 25 more letters.”

It appealed to me then, and it still does. Maybe because my life has never been a single‑letter plan. It’s been an alphabet — one chapter after another, each one teaching me something, even if it wasn’t “the one.”

My Alphabet Life

Since retirement especially, I’ve lived what I call my alphabet life.

DoorDash was my D‑phase — discovering my limits and my patience for stairs.

Affiliate marketing was my A‑phase — adventurous, experimental, and ultimately a “we’ll see.”

Blogging became my B‑phase — building something steady, creative, and mine.

Etsy printables were my E‑phase — exploring creativity and learning what sparks joy (and what doesn’t).

A yellow background with faint paw prints along the bottom and a small photo of an orange cat in the upper left corner, with the text “Printable by Deborah” centered on the page.

Photography tagging is my P‑phase — preserving memories one image at a time.

Facebook Creator is my F‑phase — fun, chaotic, cat‑powered, and still unfolding.

And then there was Welcoming Haven, my online store — my W‑phase. A dream that didn’t quite land, but still part of the alphabet. Still part of the story. Still something I tried with heart.

A logo featuring a house cradled between two stylized hands, with the text “Home Goods & Decor” above and “Welcoming Haven – Love Where You Live” below.

A black T‑shirt featuring a colorful graphic of a rocket launching over mountains at sunset, with bold text that reads “Aim High Fail Big” and smaller text below that says “Go for it!” alongside a crashed airplane and target illustration.Turning the Next Page

I guess I’ve never been someone who stays stuck on Plan A. I just flip to the next letter and see what’s there. Maybe I’m somewhere around Plan R by now. Maybe Plan S is waiting. Maybe Plan T involves cats, photography, or something I haven’t imagined yet.

My online store didn’t work out, but I still catch myself wondering if there’s a little line of merch somewhere in my future. Maybe. Maybe not. The alphabet is long, and I’m still turning pages.

Where the Road Leads

Who knows where that dusty road will take me next.

An illustrated portrait of Deb sitting at a desk with a mug, notebooks, a camera, a pie, and two cats, surrounded by text banners highlighting traits like creativity, organization, problem‑solving, and kindness.

Mini‑Godzilla on the Loose! Rampaging Monitor Terrorizes Mall Parking Lot

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Two cats posed as news anchors sit behind a WMEO‑9 desk, an orange fluffy cat and a sleek black cat, with a microphone and papers in front of them. Behind the desk, a large screen displays a monitor lizard with its tongue extended under a bold “Monitor Lizard” headline, creating a humorous newsroom scene.

WMEO‑9 SPECIAL REPORT

Taunton, MA – Breaking News from the Nature Mews Desk

Banner: What a summer this has been! Jellyfish, sea turtles, raccoons, moose—our newsroom has been busier than a catA monitor lizard resting inside a wood‑lined enclosure, its long speckled body stretched across bark pieces, with its pointed snout and thick tail visible among the naturalistic habitat materials. in a laser-pointer factory. And now we bring you something truly bizarre: an escaped mangrove monitor, an exotic lizard native to northern Australia and the western Pacific islands.

Balboa: This poor fellow must have had a severe case of wanderlust. We’re a long, long way from Australia.

Banner: The adventurous monitor somehow made his way to a Burlington mall parking lot, where an animal control officer finally cornered him. Turns out the lizard had been hiding inside the wheel well of a parked car, probably contemplating his life choices.

Balboa: He was safely captured and handed over to Rainforest Reptile Shows, who immediately gave the feisty traveler a wash and a manicure to trim his tiny claws. Imagine the headline: “Lizard Escapes, Runs Away, and Accidentally Books Himself a Spa Day.”

Banner: Experts say the mangrove monitor—like most monitor species—is illegal to possess in Massachusetts without proper permits. And honestly, if he hadn’t been rescued, he never would’ve survived a New England winter. Not even with a heated cat bed.

Balboa: Sometimes I wonder how any of us do.

Banner: Animal Control is currently searching for the lizard’s owner.

An orange cat and a black cat sit behind the WMEO 9 news desk in a studio setting, with a message on the front panel that reads “Thank you for watching.”

End of Report

This has been a WMEO‑9 Special Bulletin from the Nature Mews Desk. Please resume your regualrly scheduled scrolling.

I

The Remarkable Return of Maine’s Puffins

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Five Atlantic puffins stand together on a large gray rock, their bright orange feet and colorful beaks contrasting with the muted stone. Green vegetation and blurred rocks fill the background, creating a natural coastal island setting.

 

A Personal Puffin Prelude

A scattered group of seabirds floats on choppy ocean water, bobbing among small waves. The birds are spaced across the frame, creating a sense of movement and open sea.I’ve shared my own puffin‑chasing adventures in Maine — from the fog‑soaked boat ride to Eastern Egg Rock to the wild, wind‑whipped journey out to Machias Seal Island in Canadian waters. Those trips were unforgettable, and they gave me the chance to photograph the clowns of the sea up close.

But I don’t think I’ve ever told the story behind why puffins disappeared from Maine in the first place, or how they eventually came home. It’s a tale equal parts heartbreaking and hopeful — and a reminder that humans can cause great harm, but also great healing.

When Feathers Became FashionAn illustrated group of five women wearing elaborate late‑19th‑century hats, each decorated with feathers, bows, or plumes. The women are dressed in high‑collared blouses with lace and ruffles, showcasing the ornate fashion styles of the era.

To understand the puffins’ disappearance, we have to step back to the late 1800s, when extravagant feathered hats were the height of fashion. Women’s hats weren’t just decorated — they were practically entire bird displays. Egrets were especially prized, but they weren’t the only victims.

A feather census in New York City once documented more than 700 women wearing hats adorned with feathers from roughly 40 native bird species. Herons, owls, woodpeckers — all were hunted, plucked, and sold to meet the demand.

Feathers became a global commodity. When the Titanic sailed on its maiden voyage, it carried more than 40 cases of millinery feathers destined for New York. Adjusted for today’s value, those crates were insured for over $2.3 million. In 1912, only diamonds were worth more pound for pound.

The Puffins Pay the Price

An Atlantic puffin stands on a pale rock near the ocean, its bright orange feet and colorful beak contrasting with the blue water in the background.Atlantic puffins once thrived on islands throughout the Gulf of Maine. But the feather trade wasn’t their only threat. Puffins were also hunted for meat and eggs, and their colonies were systematically wiped out.

At the same time, humans were destroying tern colonies — not realizing that terns acted as natural security guards. Without terns to chase off gulls, eagles, and other predators, puffins had no protection. They abandoned their nesting islands.

By the early 1900s, puffins had vanished entirely from the United States.

A Graduate Student With a Big Idea

Fast‑forward to 1971. Stephen Kress, then a young ornithology graduate student from Cornell, was working as a wildlifeAn Atlantic puffin stands on a rocky surface holding several small fish in its colorful beak. Its bright orange feet contrast with the muted rocks, and the scene reflects the bird’s natural coastal habitat. instructor in Maine. He learned that puffins once bred on Eastern Egg Rock, just six miles away — but hadn’t returned in nearly a century.

That discovery lit a fire in him.

Kress launched what became known as Project Puffin, an ambitious effort to reestablish a breeding colony on Eastern Egg Rock. Because puffins spend most of the year floating on the open ocean and only return to land to breed, he had a narrow window — April through August — to make the island feel like home.

The Early Experiments

An Atlantic puffin stands on a rocky surface, its bright orange feet and colorful beak vivid against the gray stones. Mossy patches on the rocks hint at its natural coastal habitat.

Kress and his team built artificial burrows and hand‑raised puffin chicks brought from Newfoundland. Between 1973 and 1981, they transplanted 954 pufflings to Eastern Egg Rock.

The chicks fledged successfully… but none returned to breed.

Mirrors, decoys, artificial burrows — nothing convinced the puffins to stay. For years, Egg Rock was a place to visit, not a place to raise a family.

The Turning Point

Everything changed in 1980 when terns — absent since 1936 — suddenly began nesting on Eastern Egg Rock again. TheirA tern flies low over rippling ocean water with its wings spread wide, holding a small fish in its beak as droplets fall beneath it. return created the protective environment puffins needed.

And then, in 1981, the miracle happened: the first puffling was raised on Egg Rock by puffin parents.

That single chick marked the beginning of a comeback no one had thought possible.

A close-up portrait of an Atlantic puffin, its bright orange-and-red beak and black-and-white plumage sharply detailed against a softly blurred background.A Colony Reborn

Today, Eastern Egg Rock hosts a thriving puffin colony along with roseate terns, black guillemots, razorbills, and other seabirds. Across five Maine islands, there are now roughly 1,300 breeding pairs of Atlantic puffins.

A species once wiped out from U.S. waters is now restored — thanks to persistence, science, and a whole lot of hope.

A Welcome Home

It’s one of the greatest conservation success stories in North America. The puffins — those bright‑beaked, clumsy, wonderful little birds — are back where they belong.

And every time I see them, whether bobbing on the waves or hopping into their burrows with a beak full of fish, I’m reminded that sometimes humans really can fix what humans broke.

An Atlantic puffin floats on calm ocean water, holding several small silver fish in its colorful beak. Its black-and-white plumage contrasts with the rippled blue surface around it.