In just a few weeks, Biddeford voters will face a rather unique set of choices.

For the first time in more than 20 years, all three of the city’s incumbent state representatives are facing challenges from members of their own party for the June 12 Primary election — well . . . up until an hour or so ago.

Although both Alan Casavant and Paulette Beaudoin are hoping to serve a fourth and final term in Districts 137 and 135, respectively; the District 136 race took an unexpected turn today when city councilor Bobby Mills announced he was dropping out of the Democratic Party and will not challenge incumbent Megan Rochelo in the June 12 Primary.

On his campaign Facebook page, Mills announced his sudden departure as a philosophical awakening of sorts….what recovering alcoholics generally refer to as a “moment of clarity.”

Mills says he is “too conservative” for the Democrats and “too liberal” for the Republicans.

Of course, there is also the technical fact that he just bought a home not located in District 136.

So, voila…Mills is now an Independent, just like Angus King, Eliot Cutler and Jesse Ventura.

Funny how a real estate transaction can alter your political priorities.

Fortunately for those of us who live in District 135, we will now have a third choice in November as Mills stakes out the ground between whomever wins the Democratic Primary (Paulette Beaudoin or Joanne Twomey) and Republican Perry Aberle, a former city councilor.

So, who cares? What’s the big deal? The same people who have been running for office for more than a decade are back at it again. Yawn.

Maine voters overwhelming approved the adoption of legislative term limits in 1993, and most political observers point to the scandal involving then Speaker of the House John Martin as the catalyst for the referendum that was approved by 68 percent of Maine’s voters.

But according to a 2004 report by Richard J. Powell of the University of Maine and Rich Jones of the National Conference of State Legislatures, Maine’s term limits law is “relatively weak compared to the other states because the law applies only to consecutive terms.”

Thus, people like Nancy Sullivan can turn around and swap seats instead of returning to the dreaded private sector.

The strategy of toggling between the House and Senate every eight years has worked wonderfully for Martin, even though he was described as the “poster boy” of Maine’s term limits law.

According to the report by Powell and Jones, Maine’s term limits law was enacted after an especially tumultuous turn of political events that included the slim re-election victory of Republican John McKernan and the “ballot-gate” scandal involving John Martin.

Voters were further dismayed by sheer partisanship in Augusta. A protracted budget fight between McKernan and the Democrats who controlled both the House and Senate in 1991 caused a 17-day state shut down.

Those who support term limits say it prevents an entrenched system of government and prohibits the development of professional politicians.

Someone ought to explain that to Martin, the Earl of Eagle Lake, one of the most hated, yet simultaneously respected, members of the Maine Legislature.

Martin was first elected to the Maine Legislature in 1964, the same year I was born. And he got real comfy, real fast in Augusta. For nearly 50 years, Martin has been the proverbial leader of the Legislature.

Those who oppose term limits say it takes almost two years for new lawmakers to learn how to submit legislation, work in their caucus, find the washroom or learn how to stuff a ballot box.

And, of course, we cannot forget about the dreaded lobbyists, most of whom have been wandering the Capitol Hallways since Elvis was alive. Term limit opponents invariably ask the same question: “Do we really want to have lobbyists with more experience than legislators?”

Just remember, everyone hates lobbyists, except their lobbyist.

Whether it’s renewable energy, labor rights, the ACLU, the banking industry or realtors, just about everyone, with the exception of overweight bloggers from Biddeford, is represented in Augusta by a powerful lobbyist.

So what will Biddeford’s Democrats do in June, when they are asked whether to stay the course with the incumbents or choose some not-so-fresh blood?

If past election results mean anything, it’s likely that most Democrats will skip the Election and head to the beach, the movies or stay at home sticking hot needles in their eyes.

Casavant is facing a serious challenge by Sullivan, who is a savvy campaigner, tenacious and hungry for the job.

Although Casavant easily overwhelmed Twomey in last year’s mayoral race, he has a whole new set of challenges, including a looming municipal budget battle and the appearance of divided loyalties.

Can Casavant simultaneously serve as Biddeford’s leader while also representing a portion of Biddeford and Kennebunkport in the Legislature? The odds, for better are worse, are in Sullivan’s favor.

Meanwhile, Paulette Beaudoin, the sweet little old lady who does exactly as told by her caucus, is facing a very serious threat from Joanne Twomey, one of the best campaigners since Huey Long.

Beaudoin might stand a chance if she could figure out how to use a telephone to return calls or how to raise her needed seed money for a Clean Elections campaign. Here again, the incumbent is in trouble and Twomey can expect an easy and overwhelming win.

I have no dog in this fight, but I can assure you this much: when the November general election rolls around, you can expect to see a lot of the same faces you’ve seen for the better part of the last decade.

I am not a believer in term limits. I believe in voters, and I also believe this will be one of the most interesting June elections Biddeford has seen in a very long time.

Just remember, if nothing changes…then nothing changes.

For those of you who think I am a world-class prick, what you are about to read should only confirm your suspicions.

It is a recounting of my reaction, more than three years ago, when I was about to learn that my wife, Laura, was diagnosed with MS.

The only way I can even begin to assuage some of that guilt is to do what I do…tell a story, share that story and hope that maybe you will feel compelled to help . . . just a little bit

If the following story moves you, if it makes you angry or if it makes you sad . . . please consider clicking this link.

If my words about that crappy day, full of self-righteous indignation, make you smile or laugh . . . please consider clicking that link.

If my words make you wonder how a world-class prick can end up with such a wonderful wife. . . well, you get it. . . click that link.

Enough of this…here’s the story one more time . . .

December 2008

It is paper-thin and measures only 8 by 3-1/2 inches, but it scares the hell out of me.

It has been sitting on the dashboard of my truck for several days, just there. Always visible. Always reminding me of what I cannot escape.

It is a placard that allows parking in disabled parking spaces. You know the one. The little, gender-neutral stick figure that sits in a wheelchair against a crimson-blue backdrop.

I have been struggling with writing this post for the last several days because I am terrified of both its content and the potential reaction from those who read it.

The reason I have the placard is because Laura was diagnosed with MS in December 2008. Since then, she has experienced fluctuating levels of mobility; and I do my best to ignore it. To brush it off. To think it will eventually go away.

Some days are better than others.

That’s how it goes with MS, people tell me. I try to pretend that Laura is just tired or maybe a bit depressed. Maybe if I work just a bit harder, just a bit more, it will go away. That is a child’s thinking. That has been my thinking.

Make no mistake, Laura is lucky. Her MS is fairly manageable. She is able to go to work each day and leads a more than productive life.

But still, I wonder. Me, the eternal pessimist. This disease is slowly, but deliberately, taking away a little piece of my wife each day, no matter how much I try to deny or ignore it.

I still remember the day she was diagnosed. It was just a few days after Christmas. Laura had been experiencing a strange numbing sensation on her face. She made an appointment with her doctor. He recommended that she see a neurologist. At the time, we both thought it was no big deal.

I was home and knee-deep in ethernet cables when Laura called me on her way back from the doctor’s office.

I didn’t take her to the appointment. My mother-in-law drove her to and from the neurologist’s office.

I regret that decision to stay and work on hooking up my kids’ computer to the internet. But I don’t regret that decision nearly as much as I regret the things I said to Laura when she finally got me on the phone.

“Hey,” she said in a soft-spoken tone which belied the news that should have followed. She wanted to tell me in person, face-to-face.

“What,” I shot back, only half paying attention, much more focused on the twisted mass of blue wires wrapped around my feet.

“I was wondering if you could start a pot of coffee,” she asked.

I was livid. I had already done three loads of laundry, paid the bills and vacuumed the living room. The computer wiring was near the end of my “to-do” list and the thought of one more thing sent me over the edge. Idiot, that I am.

“You want coffee? Make it yourself,” I barked. “Do you know what kind of day I’ve had? Pick up a cup from Dunkin’ Donuts or whatever, but just leave me alone.”

Silence.

“What’s your problem?” I continued. “You’ve been out shopping with your mother, and you want me to make the fucking coffee? Could you be any more lazy?”

“Sorry, ” she said. “I didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll take care of it myself.” And the phone went silent.

She arrived home maybe 20 minutes later. I was still up to my knees in tangled cords. She brought me a cup of coffee and asked if we could talk.

I was still exasperated. “What?”

“They diagnosed me with MS,” she said, trying very hard to hold back the tears.

I let go of those silly cords. We sat down at the dining room table and began our latest adventure.

If you think I was a prick then, I can assure you that I haven’t done much better since.

I avoid conversations about MS. I avoid the annual MS Walk. I don’t want to think about it. I want it to go away.

Every other night is “shot night” at our home. Every other night, Laura injects herself with Betaseron to keep the illness at bay. Every other night, I turn away and find something else to occupy my thinking.

I love my wife. Honestly, I do. And I know she needs my support. Again, some days are better than others.

So today, marks the first day that I used the placard. We took Laura’s mother to Wal-Mart. We parked in one of the disabled spaces. Betty was moving through the store like a speed demon, anxiously making her way toward what would hopefully be her new television. She is 66 years old and she left me in the dust.

Instinctively, I paused, and turned back to check on my wife. I could tell that Laura’s energy level was dropping quickly. “Are you okay,” I asked.

“Yeah, she nodded. “I’m fine.”

I knew it was a lie, and once again…I played along.