It started snowing early this morning. It has snowed hard all day. It's supposed to wind down around 10 tonight, but at that point the wind will kick up to 45 mph. Oh joy!
Given the circumstances, when I went to the basement to do laundry, I thought, why not start the wood furnace? It's been pretty clearly demonstrated to me that the gloom and doom scenario I had been presented about my chimney could be disregarded. Where the wood furnace vents into the chimney, the tiles are fine.
So, I surveyed the situation and ultimately, realizing that I needed to climb up into the cobwebs above the furnace in order to remove the newly installed (last year) pipe insulation (which would melt near the stovepipe) and try to put the t.v. cable as far away from the pipe as possible, I said, oh well, maybe tomorrow.
Around mid-day, I thought, come on, you can do it, and descended to the basement and did all of the above, and then opened various valves, turned a switch and built a fire. Then I stood there for what seemed like forever, to try to see if I had built a fire that would burn in the "good" range on the stovepipe thermometer, and could get hot enough to push the temperature of the water in the wood furnace to 195. The temperature of the fire can be regulated only by one small damper at the bottom of the furnace. I easily got the fire into the "good" range, but it took a while to get the water temperature up high enough to kick the valve open to send hot water to the system.
I have actually spent the rest of the day remembering what it is like to be warm! It is now 72 in the living room, and I'm feeling hot. I have a suspicion that the valve that sends hot water to the house is permanently open, and therefore if I build a fire too big, the house is going to turn into a sauna. As with so many things, it's a delicate balance.
So......yesterday I had two new windows installed, and my study already felt warmer today, and now, real, actual, steady HEAT all through the house.....tomorrow, 3 more new windows are going into the living room....who knows what that will do to the temperature in the house!! Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!!!
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Saturday, December 20, 2008
On Being Grateful
In general, I think I am usually grateful for the many good things in my life. My regular practice of yoga serves as a good reminder, though, in case I am feeling the least bit down in the dumps. The different teachers I have almost always include in their closing meditation the fact that "We all have something to be grateful for every day."
I am always grateful for my family and friends. On the day of the ice storm, Eileen, who lives nearby, had a generator, and immediately called to see if I'd like to come there for a hot dinner. (I never turn down dinner!) Even though I had my power back by dinner time, the invitation stood, and it was way better than eating by myself! Later that night, Donna, a friend in nearby Berwick, called to see if I was all right and did I need a place to stay. My nearest neighbor, who has a generator came to see if I needed to borrow the generator to pump water out of my basement. These small acts of kindness made me feel so much less alone, under circumstances which were less than ideal. It also motivated me to try to offer the same kinds of assistance to friends who were without power for so much longer than I!!
My two children have also been constant sources of support and help when needed, and constant sources of joy ( and yes, some sorrow at times). Todd came with his kids last Saturday, after the storm, and he dragged all the willow branches into one big pile, and rehung my birdfeeders. Emily and Nate helped with the smaller branches. Later they all helped put up and decorate the Christmas tree, which I perhaps could have done myself, but it sure was a whole lot more fun to do it with them!
Sarah was first to call to see if I was o.k. and had power. In fact, while I was talking to her my power came back on, so she had a chance to share my joy at the simple sound of the refrigerator humming!! She has brightened many days with her phone calls sharing her delight with a particular Christmas present she has found, or a question about a gift for someone else. Today she shared her time and a new friend in her life for lunch and the afternoon, and visited my mom, brightening her day as well. Other people might have been tempted to cancel the drive up here after the snowy night, but I knew Sarah would come if she possibly could.
A recent scientific study has actually proved how happiness spreads through friendship and kinship networks. To those of us who are blessed with those networks, the results of the study come as no surprise. It reinforces what Thich Nhat Hanh says in his book "Being Peace," about the importance of smiling at another person, and how that simple act can spread peace in the world. If only it were just that simple; on the other hand, at least on one level, it IS just that simple.
I am always grateful for my family and friends. On the day of the ice storm, Eileen, who lives nearby, had a generator, and immediately called to see if I'd like to come there for a hot dinner. (I never turn down dinner!) Even though I had my power back by dinner time, the invitation stood, and it was way better than eating by myself! Later that night, Donna, a friend in nearby Berwick, called to see if I was all right and did I need a place to stay. My nearest neighbor, who has a generator came to see if I needed to borrow the generator to pump water out of my basement. These small acts of kindness made me feel so much less alone, under circumstances which were less than ideal. It also motivated me to try to offer the same kinds of assistance to friends who were without power for so much longer than I!!
My two children have also been constant sources of support and help when needed, and constant sources of joy ( and yes, some sorrow at times). Todd came with his kids last Saturday, after the storm, and he dragged all the willow branches into one big pile, and rehung my birdfeeders. Emily and Nate helped with the smaller branches. Later they all helped put up and decorate the Christmas tree, which I perhaps could have done myself, but it sure was a whole lot more fun to do it with them!
Sarah was first to call to see if I was o.k. and had power. In fact, while I was talking to her my power came back on, so she had a chance to share my joy at the simple sound of the refrigerator humming!! She has brightened many days with her phone calls sharing her delight with a particular Christmas present she has found, or a question about a gift for someone else. Today she shared her time and a new friend in her life for lunch and the afternoon, and visited my mom, brightening her day as well. Other people might have been tempted to cancel the drive up here after the snowy night, but I knew Sarah would come if she possibly could.
A recent scientific study has actually proved how happiness spreads through friendship and kinship networks. To those of us who are blessed with those networks, the results of the study come as no surprise. It reinforces what Thich Nhat Hanh says in his book "Being Peace," about the importance of smiling at another person, and how that simple act can spread peace in the world. If only it were just that simple; on the other hand, at least on one level, it IS just that simple.
Winter Solstice
Winter has struck southern NH somewhat suddenly, it seems to me. In reality, we usually have snow by now, so I wonder why it seems early. Upon reflection, I would have to say that it's not that it's sudden, but that it has been so vicious so early in the season.
A week ago yesterday, I awoke to what appeared to be a war zone in my backyard, where my magnificent willow tree had been decimated by the now famous ice storm. Large branches and small littered the entire back yard. Additional branches were hanging from the willow, waiting to drop on the unsuspecting. My power, along with that of about 400,000 others had been knocked out as well. I was among the lucky few whose power returned quickly, due in part, I suspect to my proximity to the University of NH, where 7500 students were in unheated, dark dorms.
Yesterday, our first snowstorm added insult to injury for those who were still without power and for those who were working so hard to restore it. We had about a foot of snow - a bit unusual for this part of the state. Most of our snow turns to rain or freezing rain, so it was kind of a nice change to be greeted by light powder this morning. On the other hand, shoveling, even light powder, isn't a whole lot of fun, and I wouldn't mind if this were our first and last storm for the winter. Mother Nature has other ideas, and we are slated for the next storm tomorrow and overnight into Monday. This one is carrying a lot more moisture, and is predicted to end as sleet and freezing rain.
As I got up this morning, I contemplated the fact that we are at the solstice, when we will have the least amount of daylight of all the days of the year. That is a heartening thought, because the days will grow longer now, and soon it will be spring. At least that was my thinking this morning. As the day wore on, and snow kept falling and lightly swirling in the air, covering everything that I had already shoveled (twice), I thought that the solstice has a lot in common with the 45th parallel (see a previous entry) in that supposedly I was half way between the equator and the North Pole but it sure felt a lot more like I was way closer to the North Pole......in this case, the reality is that the solstice is just the beginning of winter, deep winter, and though it is true that the days will be getting longer by almost miniscule amounts, we are a long, long, long way from spring.
Sigh!
A week ago yesterday, I awoke to what appeared to be a war zone in my backyard, where my magnificent willow tree had been decimated by the now famous ice storm. Large branches and small littered the entire back yard. Additional branches were hanging from the willow, waiting to drop on the unsuspecting. My power, along with that of about 400,000 others had been knocked out as well. I was among the lucky few whose power returned quickly, due in part, I suspect to my proximity to the University of NH, where 7500 students were in unheated, dark dorms.
Yesterday, our first snowstorm added insult to injury for those who were still without power and for those who were working so hard to restore it. We had about a foot of snow - a bit unusual for this part of the state. Most of our snow turns to rain or freezing rain, so it was kind of a nice change to be greeted by light powder this morning. On the other hand, shoveling, even light powder, isn't a whole lot of fun, and I wouldn't mind if this were our first and last storm for the winter. Mother Nature has other ideas, and we are slated for the next storm tomorrow and overnight into Monday. This one is carrying a lot more moisture, and is predicted to end as sleet and freezing rain.
As I got up this morning, I contemplated the fact that we are at the solstice, when we will have the least amount of daylight of all the days of the year. That is a heartening thought, because the days will grow longer now, and soon it will be spring. At least that was my thinking this morning. As the day wore on, and snow kept falling and lightly swirling in the air, covering everything that I had already shoveled (twice), I thought that the solstice has a lot in common with the 45th parallel (see a previous entry) in that supposedly I was half way between the equator and the North Pole but it sure felt a lot more like I was way closer to the North Pole......in this case, the reality is that the solstice is just the beginning of winter, deep winter, and though it is true that the days will be getting longer by almost miniscule amounts, we are a long, long, long way from spring.
Sigh!
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Capital Punishment
The news in NH is full of the trial of Michael Addison, who shot and killed a police officer, Michael Briggs. Addison has been found guilty of murder, and is eligible for the death penalty, and the poor jury is now deliberating on his fate. According to NHPR, the state currently doesn't possess the means for an execution, and no one has been executed since 1931 or some such date.
Why is it that we feel the need to take a person's life in exchange for the life they have taken? I've always believed that the greater punishment for the murderer was to have to live the rest of his/her life behind bars, thinking about the crime they have committed and the freedom they have lost. What could be worse?
Not only that, but what does it profit anyone to snuff out another life? The original victim will not come back, and, the executioner, representing the state, has just become a murderer. A murder for a murder. It just doesn't make sense. We are not a barbaric society. We are supposedly a predominantly Christian society, and the last time I looked, it was the Old Testament that called for an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. I thought that with the coming of Christ and before his MURDER, he preached a new theology, that of the New Testament, which suggested that we should turn the other cheek, that we should practice forgiveness, that we should love others as we love ourselves. Even those who interpret the Bible absolutely literallly can't miss these tenets of the gospel preached by Christ and his disciples. This half of the Bible superseded the theology of the Old Testament, at least that is what I was taught.
Tonight's news featured Michael Briggs's parents testifying about what their son's death has meant to them. Of course it was emotional testimony. But do they think that the death of Michael Addison will really make them feel any better? Will it ease their grief and sense of loss? I can't see how it will.
I am in favor of bringing a criminal to justice. I guess I just think we don't need to take a life in order to accomplish justice. Michael Addison committed a heinous crime. He deserves to be punished and removed from society. He doesn't deserve to be murdered.
Why is it that we feel the need to take a person's life in exchange for the life they have taken? I've always believed that the greater punishment for the murderer was to have to live the rest of his/her life behind bars, thinking about the crime they have committed and the freedom they have lost. What could be worse?
Not only that, but what does it profit anyone to snuff out another life? The original victim will not come back, and, the executioner, representing the state, has just become a murderer. A murder for a murder. It just doesn't make sense. We are not a barbaric society. We are supposedly a predominantly Christian society, and the last time I looked, it was the Old Testament that called for an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. I thought that with the coming of Christ and before his MURDER, he preached a new theology, that of the New Testament, which suggested that we should turn the other cheek, that we should practice forgiveness, that we should love others as we love ourselves. Even those who interpret the Bible absolutely literallly can't miss these tenets of the gospel preached by Christ and his disciples. This half of the Bible superseded the theology of the Old Testament, at least that is what I was taught.
Tonight's news featured Michael Briggs's parents testifying about what their son's death has meant to them. Of course it was emotional testimony. But do they think that the death of Michael Addison will really make them feel any better? Will it ease their grief and sense of loss? I can't see how it will.
I am in favor of bringing a criminal to justice. I guess I just think we don't need to take a life in order to accomplish justice. Michael Addison committed a heinous crime. He deserves to be punished and removed from society. He doesn't deserve to be murdered.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Dreaded Cranberry Cocktail
Yes folks, it's that time of year when I contemplate what we will have to start Thanksgiving dinner. In years past, it was simple. We started with Cranberry Cocktail, a recipe my mother has made since I can remember. In fact, until probably around 1998 or so, she made it for Thanksgiving and brought it to our house for the celebration. Probably around that same time, the younger generation began to indicate that they really didn't like it all that much. Hmmmmmm. I have a comment written by one of that generation, who shall remain nameless (Sarah) who wrote right on my recipe card, "Yummy, Highly recommendable."
So, after the moaning and groaning began, we tried other "starters," such as squash soup, crackers and cheese, etc. In 2005, after my trip to Ukraine, I made borscht. That went over almost as well as the Cranberry Cocktail. Last year, I think I remember buying already-made squash soup and heating it up. How tacky.
This year, I'm feeling particularly nostalgic for lost traditions, and, since it very well may be my mom's last Thanksgiving with us, I have unilaterally decided (since I am the only one here, anyway) to make the dreaded Cranberry Cocktail. Here are a few differences between the way my mother made it and my proposed dish.
1. She made several gallons of it. It often lasted in the fridge until Christmas. I am making barely enough for a small serving for each of us.
2. She peeled (!!!) a ton of grapes (and seeded them in the days before seedless grapes were invented) ((Yes, I am that old.))
3. She included chunks of grapefruit, which really did taste awful mixed with the cranberry
We'll see how my recipe holds up with the younger set this year.
1. Small amount
2. Regular green grapes cut in half
3. Only oranges, no grapefruit
4. Slice banana into the dish just before serving. Voila, the first course is almost ready to eat, as we speak. The cranberries have been cooked and sieved, the sugar has been added and the lovely red mixture is cooling (chillin') in the fridge, ready for the fruit to be added tomorrow. I bet it would be good with some kind of liqeur added to it......hmmmmm...there's really old Amaretto in the cupboard....(just kidding).
What could be next? For Christmas, there was always mom's strawberry jello with cream cheese salad.........
So, after the moaning and groaning began, we tried other "starters," such as squash soup, crackers and cheese, etc. In 2005, after my trip to Ukraine, I made borscht. That went over almost as well as the Cranberry Cocktail. Last year, I think I remember buying already-made squash soup and heating it up. How tacky.
This year, I'm feeling particularly nostalgic for lost traditions, and, since it very well may be my mom's last Thanksgiving with us, I have unilaterally decided (since I am the only one here, anyway) to make the dreaded Cranberry Cocktail. Here are a few differences between the way my mother made it and my proposed dish.
1. She made several gallons of it. It often lasted in the fridge until Christmas. I am making barely enough for a small serving for each of us.
2. She peeled (!!!) a ton of grapes (and seeded them in the days before seedless grapes were invented) ((Yes, I am that old.))
3. She included chunks of grapefruit, which really did taste awful mixed with the cranberry
We'll see how my recipe holds up with the younger set this year.
1. Small amount
2. Regular green grapes cut in half
3. Only oranges, no grapefruit
4. Slice banana into the dish just before serving. Voila, the first course is almost ready to eat, as we speak. The cranberries have been cooked and sieved, the sugar has been added and the lovely red mixture is cooling (chillin') in the fridge, ready for the fruit to be added tomorrow. I bet it would be good with some kind of liqeur added to it......hmmmmm...there's really old Amaretto in the cupboard....(just kidding).
What could be next? For Christmas, there was always mom's strawberry jello with cream cheese salad.........
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Winter has come to northern New Hampshire
Today reminded me of why I am happy I live in southern NH. Not that I don't love northern NH, because I do. I just don't want to live here. It is cold: 20 degrees with a 15 mph wind. Snow covers the ground from Groveton to Pittsburg. It is barren; most of all, it is COLD.
Yesterday I drove up through Franconia Notch, where the air was thick with snow, but nothing had really accumulated on the road, and once through the Notch, as is so often the case, the snow stopped, and it was just cloudy. A highlight of the trip was seeing a large flock of wild turkeys in a large field just outside of Whitefield. A big highlight was discovering that the restaurant in the motel is open (it had been closed last year), so I didn't have to venture out in the cold to get dinner.
A lowlight was the fact that the hot tub is broken and the women's locker room had little heat. The large pool, however, was a big highlight.
Today was......interesting!! The wild kingdom highlight was a gorgeous pheasant standing beside the road, green feathers on head and neck sort of irridescent as he turned his head. If the road had not been slick in spots where cars had packed the snow, I would have tried to stop and take a picture.
Somewhere on the road between Colebrook and the Poore Farm (my first destination) I passed the 45th parallel, which is noted by an historic marker. I couldn't stop to read what the marker said, but visited Google when I got back, and discovered that I was halfway between the Equator and the North Pole. If you ask me, I was much closer to the North Pole than to the Equator!! A milestone of sorts, and one I'm not sure I've crossed before. Check it out on Wikipedia.
The Poore Farm is a wreck of a house, built in the 1830s, and lived in from about 1850 to 1980 by the same family. A family of savers of stuff, of everything, of letters, newspapers, tools, clothes, of STUFF from every generation of the family. All of it was there in this house when it was taken over by a group who wants to preserve it. This was a vision of my house gone very, very wrong. (See my previous entry on harpsichords and orange blossoms). I will not soon forget the way this place looked today, even after tons of junk has been carted away.
There are other reasons I won't forget it......the temperature inside the house was the same as outside, and though I had dressed "warmly" in layers, my fingers turned white and froze inside my gloves, and my toes were well on the way to frostbite by the end of an hour and a half of touring the wreckage of this place. Though I was assured that the foundation of the house is stable, the floors sag badly and many of the ancient plaster walls looked like only the stained floral wallpaper was holding them together....sort of.
The barn is in better condition, and holds an interesting assortment of displays which reveal the huge array of artifacts saved by this family. There was everything from the old farming implements to early maple sugar taps, a recreated Civil War campsite (one family member fought for the Union Army and lived to come home with a pack full of.....stuff), a display of patent medicine bottles, labels, advertising flyers, a display of circus posters.....and on and on. By the time we were finished in the barn, the 3 of us were so cold our lips could hardly move......We huddled in the only heated area, a small hut where they collect admission fees until we had thawed out enough to go out and start our cars.
The best part was still to come, and that was going with one of the board members back to Colebrook to Le Rendevous bakery where we bought hot split pea soup and homemade bread and proceeded to her house to eat lunch. One of the worst moments came when I tried to get in her car to ride from Colebrook to her home, and her dog, a large Bouvier (sp) lunged, snarling at me from the back seat. I have never closed a car door quite as quickly as I did at that moment. She calmed the dog, but I have to say that I was a bit scared of trying to get in the car again. All's well that ends well, and the dog and I became "acquaintances," if not friends.
This woman turned out to be a kindred spirit. She has been working for 8 years transcribing the collection of letters and diaries found in the Poore Farm. She has also identified and catalogued all the clothing, which of course begins with garments from the earliest days and ends with the garments of the last woman to live in the house in the 1960s. The letters and diaries are what held my interest, and I would frankly like to give up everything else I'm doing and sit and read the Civil War letters written to and from John Calvin Poore, who saw a lot of action in the war and wrote fascinating letters home.
After an enjoyable (and warm) 2 hours, I was on my way to Pittsburg, where I had another great meeting at the tiny high school there - typical graduating classes have 10 to 20 students. The librarian and the social studies teacher are eager to involve their students in some oral history gathering, and so we talked about that project, and I think they have a good plan in place. There's not much to the town of Pittsburg, but it has some interesting history, and people who are eager to try to engage students in the life and history of their community.
Back in the car, I descend past the 45th parallel, and at least am headed toward the Equator again. It was a horizon-broadening day for me, for sure. I passed the "Douanes" sign for people coming down from Canada; I managed to avoid being shot by the hunters who are everywhere; I saw the telltale signs of an economy headed toward the Equator - snowmobiles for sale in many front yards - ; I have yet to see a moose, though I tried to be vigilant, especially wherever there were "Moosecrossing" signs. I suppose that the Moose don't always know that there are certain places where they are supposed to cross the road........
Yesterday I drove up through Franconia Notch, where the air was thick with snow, but nothing had really accumulated on the road, and once through the Notch, as is so often the case, the snow stopped, and it was just cloudy. A highlight of the trip was seeing a large flock of wild turkeys in a large field just outside of Whitefield. A big highlight was discovering that the restaurant in the motel is open (it had been closed last year), so I didn't have to venture out in the cold to get dinner.
A lowlight was the fact that the hot tub is broken and the women's locker room had little heat. The large pool, however, was a big highlight.
Today was......interesting!! The wild kingdom highlight was a gorgeous pheasant standing beside the road, green feathers on head and neck sort of irridescent as he turned his head. If the road had not been slick in spots where cars had packed the snow, I would have tried to stop and take a picture.
Somewhere on the road between Colebrook and the Poore Farm (my first destination) I passed the 45th parallel, which is noted by an historic marker. I couldn't stop to read what the marker said, but visited Google when I got back, and discovered that I was halfway between the Equator and the North Pole. If you ask me, I was much closer to the North Pole than to the Equator!! A milestone of sorts, and one I'm not sure I've crossed before. Check it out on Wikipedia.
The Poore Farm is a wreck of a house, built in the 1830s, and lived in from about 1850 to 1980 by the same family. A family of savers of stuff, of everything, of letters, newspapers, tools, clothes, of STUFF from every generation of the family. All of it was there in this house when it was taken over by a group who wants to preserve it. This was a vision of my house gone very, very wrong. (See my previous entry on harpsichords and orange blossoms). I will not soon forget the way this place looked today, even after tons of junk has been carted away.
There are other reasons I won't forget it......the temperature inside the house was the same as outside, and though I had dressed "warmly" in layers, my fingers turned white and froze inside my gloves, and my toes were well on the way to frostbite by the end of an hour and a half of touring the wreckage of this place. Though I was assured that the foundation of the house is stable, the floors sag badly and many of the ancient plaster walls looked like only the stained floral wallpaper was holding them together....sort of.
The barn is in better condition, and holds an interesting assortment of displays which reveal the huge array of artifacts saved by this family. There was everything from the old farming implements to early maple sugar taps, a recreated Civil War campsite (one family member fought for the Union Army and lived to come home with a pack full of.....stuff), a display of patent medicine bottles, labels, advertising flyers, a display of circus posters.....and on and on. By the time we were finished in the barn, the 3 of us were so cold our lips could hardly move......We huddled in the only heated area, a small hut where they collect admission fees until we had thawed out enough to go out and start our cars.
The best part was still to come, and that was going with one of the board members back to Colebrook to Le Rendevous bakery where we bought hot split pea soup and homemade bread and proceeded to her house to eat lunch. One of the worst moments came when I tried to get in her car to ride from Colebrook to her home, and her dog, a large Bouvier (sp) lunged, snarling at me from the back seat. I have never closed a car door quite as quickly as I did at that moment. She calmed the dog, but I have to say that I was a bit scared of trying to get in the car again. All's well that ends well, and the dog and I became "acquaintances," if not friends.
This woman turned out to be a kindred spirit. She has been working for 8 years transcribing the collection of letters and diaries found in the Poore Farm. She has also identified and catalogued all the clothing, which of course begins with garments from the earliest days and ends with the garments of the last woman to live in the house in the 1960s. The letters and diaries are what held my interest, and I would frankly like to give up everything else I'm doing and sit and read the Civil War letters written to and from John Calvin Poore, who saw a lot of action in the war and wrote fascinating letters home.
After an enjoyable (and warm) 2 hours, I was on my way to Pittsburg, where I had another great meeting at the tiny high school there - typical graduating classes have 10 to 20 students. The librarian and the social studies teacher are eager to involve their students in some oral history gathering, and so we talked about that project, and I think they have a good plan in place. There's not much to the town of Pittsburg, but it has some interesting history, and people who are eager to try to engage students in the life and history of their community.
Back in the car, I descend past the 45th parallel, and at least am headed toward the Equator again. It was a horizon-broadening day for me, for sure. I passed the "Douanes" sign for people coming down from Canada; I managed to avoid being shot by the hunters who are everywhere; I saw the telltale signs of an economy headed toward the Equator - snowmobiles for sale in many front yards - ; I have yet to see a moose, though I tried to be vigilant, especially wherever there were "Moosecrossing" signs. I suppose that the Moose don't always know that there are certain places where they are supposed to cross the road........
Sunday, November 16, 2008
The $209.00 Rose
The days continue, each one as strange as the next.....or so it seems to me. Last Friday featured a visit from the chimney sweep and his helper at 8 am. After they spread drop cloths from the front door to the fireplace, across the newly-shampooed rug (here's a shout out to Gino Bertini), the younger man started to clean the fireplace chimney, while I went to the basement with the older man. He has a wood furnace just like mine, so we had a good chat about heating with wood, and I said I was looking forward to a warmer house this winter. We shared stories of what happens when a particular valve sticks open and heat, heat, heat pours into the house. We've had days when the windows and doors had to be open in the middle of winter and everyone wore t-shirts! But I digress.
One of the things the sweep had to do was take the wood furnace pipe and the oil furnace pipe out of the flue to inspect that chimney. When he did, he called me downstairs. The news wasn't good. The ceramic tile chimney liner is crumbling and there were large holes visible between the liner and the chimney wall, a situation which could be dangerous in the event of a wood fire that is too hot, and allowing the possibility of carbon monoxide in the oil furnace exhaust to leach into the "guts of the chimney" and then into the house. I'm not so worried about that, but I'm distressed that I need to have a new liner, which may cost anything from $1500.00 - $3000.00 dollars. Hmmm, that renders heating with wood a whole lot more expensive than it was going to be......plus, he says I shouldn't run the wood furnace until the chimney is re-lined.
So, feeling somewhat bummed out, I bid farewell to the chimney sweep, and closed the front door. The cost of cleaning the chimney was $209.00. I went back to my computer, only to hear a knock on the front door. The older sweep was on the front porch, holding a single, long-stemmed red rose. "Here," he said, handing me the rose. "This will brighten up your day."
And it did.
One of the things the sweep had to do was take the wood furnace pipe and the oil furnace pipe out of the flue to inspect that chimney. When he did, he called me downstairs. The news wasn't good. The ceramic tile chimney liner is crumbling and there were large holes visible between the liner and the chimney wall, a situation which could be dangerous in the event of a wood fire that is too hot, and allowing the possibility of carbon monoxide in the oil furnace exhaust to leach into the "guts of the chimney" and then into the house. I'm not so worried about that, but I'm distressed that I need to have a new liner, which may cost anything from $1500.00 - $3000.00 dollars. Hmmm, that renders heating with wood a whole lot more expensive than it was going to be......plus, he says I shouldn't run the wood furnace until the chimney is re-lined.
So, feeling somewhat bummed out, I bid farewell to the chimney sweep, and closed the front door. The cost of cleaning the chimney was $209.00. I went back to my computer, only to hear a knock on the front door. The older sweep was on the front porch, holding a single, long-stemmed red rose. "Here," he said, handing me the rose. "This will brighten up your day."
And it did.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Sucker? Who, me?
I scarcely know where to begin. Probably at the beginning.....however, it's tempting to start by saying that I already know that I'm going to hell because I have occasionally used my handicapped parking permit (issued because of my mom) when I haven't been able to find a parking space.....so NOW, I'm also going to vacuum cleaner hell......
This is an old story. One that many others have experienced. It's called almost total humiliation at the hands of the Kirby vacuum cleaner salesman. They ask you to vaccum before they arrive. That's so they can re-vacuum your rug, your floor, your piano keys and your chairs to show you over and over how poorly your vacuum cleaner (and by implication you as a vacuumer) performs. They even spill baking soda all over your floor and rug and show just how much your vacuum cleaner leaves behind......ah, my poor expensive Sears Kenmore.....how badly you clean the dust, the dust mites, the allergens, the pet dander, the dead skin cells and all the accumulated crap of 20 years or so which is lodged in the living room rug.
The hook? Well, I was on my way out the door to go visit my mother when the 2 front men arrived and offered to shampoo my rug for free, if I would allow them to demo the vacuum cleaner. The rug shampooer was FREE along with the vacuum cleaner only on this day, and they wanted to do it. I told them that I knew that I didn't want to buy their vacuum cleaner, but I did need my rug cleaned. I walked them in to look at the many stains from cat throw-up, to make sure they really wanted to do this for me. They did. So.....off I went, planning to return by 4:30 so they could do their darndest to clean my rug.
Much to my surprise, a third man, Gino Bertini was the one who showed up to do the demo and shampoo. He kept reminding me that he didn't come along with this fabulous, 17 different-machines-in-one-vacuum cleaner. He was a very enthusiastic demonstrater, and after about an hour, he had covered my rug with round white pieces of filter paper covered with......the above mentioned accumulation of crap. It was pretty clear that I am a bad housekeeper and I use an inferior vacuum cleaner. To show what a nice guy he was, he threw in a free shampoo of my recliner chair, after he vacuumed all the dead skin off of it. About this time, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry......ha ha. And speaking of ha, ha, ha, his cell phone rang in the middle of the chair shampoo, and it was his mother calling. He got off the phone quickly, but that precipitated over 45 minutes of his life story, his mother's brain aneurysm, his father on oxygen, his deadbeat older brother living at home for 2 years and not paying any rent and then his dead-beat ex-wife showing up with their 3 kids to move in to the parents' 2 bedroom condo, how this ex-wife person had stolen his (Gino's) wife's identity a few years earlier and it had taken them 2 years and $4000.00 to straighten that mess out........Wow! No vacuuming or shampooing took place during this narrative. After a glass of juice (by this time he was pretty worked up and sweating profusely), he began to work on the most obvious of the cat throw-up stains. Oh, did I mention that it is now 7:00 p.m. and we've been at this for 2 1/2 hours????
While the shampoo is working its way into the fibers of my gross rug, he gives me the run-down on how cheap he is going to make this purchase for me. The price to start was $1995.00. He could subtract the shampooer for $250, give me a $200.00 trade-in on my vacuum and the crapola Dirt Devil I have in the basement; I got a discount for being "elderly," and for being a member of AARP. And on top of that, he was willing to subtract $100.00 of his $160.00 commission to bring the price down to something like a measley $1200.00. What did I think? I said, no, I didn't want to buy the vacuum. On the other hand, I hadn't had my rug shampooed yet either. What to do, what to do? I told him I didn't have the money. He offered an interest free loan. I said no. He asked what it would take? I said nothing. I didn't want to buy a new vacuum cleaner.
Fortunately for me, his cell phone rang again, and it was the 2 front men, having found another live one. He told them to come get him to do the next demo, and asked one of them to stay and shampoo my rug. Wow, I dodged a big bullet on that, I thought. I was going to get my rug shampooed after all......Before Gino left, though, he took me aside and said sotto voce, that if I wanted the machine, I should call him, and he would get the head guy, to give it to me at his cost, which was $1000.00. By now, it was 7:30, and all I wanted was to get my rug cleaned and get them out so I could eat dinner. At 8:30, I breathed a big sigh of relief, having fended off several other sales pitches from Zack, the shampooer.
Oh yeah, how could I forget.....I had to give names and phone numbers of people to call, and that's where the vacuum cleaner hell comes in. I went down the list of people at my former place of employment, and chose people I wasn't particularly fond of, and put their names and phone numbers on the list.......sorry guys! If you have 4 hours, you get a good looking rug and chair out of the deal.
This is an old story. One that many others have experienced. It's called almost total humiliation at the hands of the Kirby vacuum cleaner salesman. They ask you to vaccum before they arrive. That's so they can re-vacuum your rug, your floor, your piano keys and your chairs to show you over and over how poorly your vacuum cleaner (and by implication you as a vacuumer) performs. They even spill baking soda all over your floor and rug and show just how much your vacuum cleaner leaves behind......ah, my poor expensive Sears Kenmore.....how badly you clean the dust, the dust mites, the allergens, the pet dander, the dead skin cells and all the accumulated crap of 20 years or so which is lodged in the living room rug.
The hook? Well, I was on my way out the door to go visit my mother when the 2 front men arrived and offered to shampoo my rug for free, if I would allow them to demo the vacuum cleaner. The rug shampooer was FREE along with the vacuum cleaner only on this day, and they wanted to do it. I told them that I knew that I didn't want to buy their vacuum cleaner, but I did need my rug cleaned. I walked them in to look at the many stains from cat throw-up, to make sure they really wanted to do this for me. They did. So.....off I went, planning to return by 4:30 so they could do their darndest to clean my rug.
Much to my surprise, a third man, Gino Bertini was the one who showed up to do the demo and shampoo. He kept reminding me that he didn't come along with this fabulous, 17 different-machines-in-one-vacuum cleaner. He was a very enthusiastic demonstrater, and after about an hour, he had covered my rug with round white pieces of filter paper covered with......the above mentioned accumulation of crap. It was pretty clear that I am a bad housekeeper and I use an inferior vacuum cleaner. To show what a nice guy he was, he threw in a free shampoo of my recliner chair, after he vacuumed all the dead skin off of it. About this time, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry......ha ha. And speaking of ha, ha, ha, his cell phone rang in the middle of the chair shampoo, and it was his mother calling. He got off the phone quickly, but that precipitated over 45 minutes of his life story, his mother's brain aneurysm, his father on oxygen, his deadbeat older brother living at home for 2 years and not paying any rent and then his dead-beat ex-wife showing up with their 3 kids to move in to the parents' 2 bedroom condo, how this ex-wife person had stolen his (Gino's) wife's identity a few years earlier and it had taken them 2 years and $4000.00 to straighten that mess out........Wow! No vacuuming or shampooing took place during this narrative. After a glass of juice (by this time he was pretty worked up and sweating profusely), he began to work on the most obvious of the cat throw-up stains. Oh, did I mention that it is now 7:00 p.m. and we've been at this for 2 1/2 hours????
While the shampoo is working its way into the fibers of my gross rug, he gives me the run-down on how cheap he is going to make this purchase for me. The price to start was $1995.00. He could subtract the shampooer for $250, give me a $200.00 trade-in on my vacuum and the crapola Dirt Devil I have in the basement; I got a discount for being "elderly," and for being a member of AARP. And on top of that, he was willing to subtract $100.00 of his $160.00 commission to bring the price down to something like a measley $1200.00. What did I think? I said, no, I didn't want to buy the vacuum. On the other hand, I hadn't had my rug shampooed yet either. What to do, what to do? I told him I didn't have the money. He offered an interest free loan. I said no. He asked what it would take? I said nothing. I didn't want to buy a new vacuum cleaner.
Fortunately for me, his cell phone rang again, and it was the 2 front men, having found another live one. He told them to come get him to do the next demo, and asked one of them to stay and shampoo my rug. Wow, I dodged a big bullet on that, I thought. I was going to get my rug shampooed after all......Before Gino left, though, he took me aside and said sotto voce, that if I wanted the machine, I should call him, and he would get the head guy, to give it to me at his cost, which was $1000.00. By now, it was 7:30, and all I wanted was to get my rug cleaned and get them out so I could eat dinner. At 8:30, I breathed a big sigh of relief, having fended off several other sales pitches from Zack, the shampooer.
Oh yeah, how could I forget.....I had to give names and phone numbers of people to call, and that's where the vacuum cleaner hell comes in. I went down the list of people at my former place of employment, and chose people I wasn't particularly fond of, and put their names and phone numbers on the list.......sorry guys! If you have 4 hours, you get a good looking rug and chair out of the deal.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
The Pacifist In Me
I'm always surprised at the things that get a reaction from deep in my gut. I know that I'm opposed to war, but sometimes I find that my opposition sneaks up and surprises me.
A couple of days ago I got an email that featured photographs of the USS New York, a new warship. The unusual thing about this warship is that it was constructed out of the scrap metal recovered from the World Trade Center. On one level, I could appreciate the recycling of that material, and that it was probably somewhat labor intensive to create something out of masses of tangled scrap. Or maybe not, if all the steel was just put in a large smelter and reconstituted.
Aside from the "ingenuity" of it, I found myself feeling saddened and offended, that someone thought it was a good idea to use the World Trade Center remains to make a weapon of war. Under the last of the photos was the caption: "It is the fifth in a new class of warship - designed for missions that include special operations against terrorists. It will carry a crew of 360 sailors and 700 combat-ready Marines to be delivered ashore by helicopters and assault craft." This ship is a massive new weapon in the war on terror. Why don't we realize that war IS terror?
I know my reaction to this is heavily colored by the fact that my next-door-neighbor's brother was killed in the Cantor Fitzgerald offices on 9/11, and her parents were the ones to write the NY Times to say to the whole country, "Don't retaliate in our son's name. Don't bring this kind of pain and anguish to other families." Another one of my friends, who lost her husband on one of the planes that flew into the Trade Center is a founding member of September 11th Families for Peaceful Tomorrows. Through these people, I have met others who lost their loved ones on 9/11, but who have chosen to pursue a pathway to healing through forgiveness. They have worked tirelessly to forge connections with others around the world who are working for peace through understanding and education. They have raised my consciousness regarding the human capacity to forgive, to "love your enemy as yourself," and to witness for peace every day.
Could we have used the 24 tons of steel to build a school or hospitall? Could we have used the steel to build new bridges in this country or to help rebuild the bridges we have wrecked in Iraq? Why did we have to use the wreckage of so many human lives to create another weapon which may be instrumental in wrecking more lives?
Martin Luther King, Jr. said, " Wars make poor chisels for carving out peaceful tomorrows." I would amend that to say, "Warships make poor chisels for carving out peaceful tomorrows."
A couple of days ago I got an email that featured photographs of the USS New York, a new warship. The unusual thing about this warship is that it was constructed out of the scrap metal recovered from the World Trade Center. On one level, I could appreciate the recycling of that material, and that it was probably somewhat labor intensive to create something out of masses of tangled scrap. Or maybe not, if all the steel was just put in a large smelter and reconstituted.
Aside from the "ingenuity" of it, I found myself feeling saddened and offended, that someone thought it was a good idea to use the World Trade Center remains to make a weapon of war. Under the last of the photos was the caption: "It is the fifth in a new class of warship - designed for missions that include special operations against terrorists. It will carry a crew of 360 sailors and 700 combat-ready Marines to be delivered ashore by helicopters and assault craft." This ship is a massive new weapon in the war on terror. Why don't we realize that war IS terror?
I know my reaction to this is heavily colored by the fact that my next-door-neighbor's brother was killed in the Cantor Fitzgerald offices on 9/11, and her parents were the ones to write the NY Times to say to the whole country, "Don't retaliate in our son's name. Don't bring this kind of pain and anguish to other families." Another one of my friends, who lost her husband on one of the planes that flew into the Trade Center is a founding member of September 11th Families for Peaceful Tomorrows. Through these people, I have met others who lost their loved ones on 9/11, but who have chosen to pursue a pathway to healing through forgiveness. They have worked tirelessly to forge connections with others around the world who are working for peace through understanding and education. They have raised my consciousness regarding the human capacity to forgive, to "love your enemy as yourself," and to witness for peace every day.
Could we have used the 24 tons of steel to build a school or hospitall? Could we have used the steel to build new bridges in this country or to help rebuild the bridges we have wrecked in Iraq? Why did we have to use the wreckage of so many human lives to create another weapon which may be instrumental in wrecking more lives?
Martin Luther King, Jr. said, " Wars make poor chisels for carving out peaceful tomorrows." I would amend that to say, "Warships make poor chisels for carving out peaceful tomorrows."
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Kidneys, man, kidneys
With the election only one week away, I feel as if I should be commenting on the two campaigns, the polls, and prognosticating the outcome. I can say it in a sentence. I'm tired of the negative ads (McCain); I'm pleased by the polls (Obama leads); and I'm surprised that Sarah Palin thinks she will play a role in future national Republican affairs. That's it. I'm equally tired of alleged friends who send me Obama smear material, hoping I will .....what, rise to the bait? Disprove the information? Still believe they are my friend? Fuggetaboutit.
No, my attention has been on my mother who has been in the hospital since last Wednesday, with apparent kidney failure and possible pneumonia. Without going into the whole episode, I would like to make a few observations about healthcare in our country, or at least in my local area. If you are reading this blog entry, you may wish to start stockpiling drugs, so that you can avoid this scenario in your future.
I took mom to her primary care physician on Oct. 12, to seek treatment for a bad cough which seemed to be getting worse. He prescribed Robitussin D and scheduled her for a kidney ultrasound 3 days later because her blood chemistry was bad i.e. she was building up toxins in her blood which meant the kidneys weren't fully functional.
We go to the ultrasound and mom confesses to total exhaustion and is unable to eat lunch upon return to Langdon Place.
I purchase juice boxes and try to get her to drink one morning and afternoon. Mom does worse and worse, eats little and drinks less.
By last Wed., she can't get out of bed, can't eat, and has bad pain in her back in addition to her worsening cough. We're waiting for an appt. with the kidney specialist, and numerous contacts with the nurse at her primary care office and the kidney specialist doesn't produce anything. The staff at Langdon Place is happy to wheel her into the dining room where she sits and can't eat her food.
On Wed. morning I take over applesauce and bouillon cubes for some broth, but I find her in such bad shape that I insist she go to the ER by ambulance.
My most favorite moment occurs when the ambulance driver arrives and asks if I am her sister. WOW! Time for me to get more rest, dye my hair, go to the gym, or SOMETHING.
My second favorite moment occurs when the ER physician pronounces that she can go back to LP, and I go off to fill prescriptions, somewhat incredulous that they think she can go back to the lack of care at Assisted Living. I go off to fill prescriptions (which may be sitting at Hannaford's as we speak), get a coat for mom to wear, and return to the ER, to find that mom has vomited the food they tried to feed her, and they have decided to admit her.
She has an acute bronchial infection, and failing kidneys. Not in her favor is the fact that she is nearly 93 years old. She has not had a good few days, nor, might I add, have I. Yesterday was the worst, when she started crying as I tried to help her eat some "dinner." No matter what I did or said, she couldn't stop crying, nor could she say what was causing her to cry. I kept trying to get someone to come in to see what they might do (sedate her? sedate me?) to no avail. Finally, in a momentary lull, at 6:30 p..m., I left. It was a two-glass-of-wine night for me, and predictably a bad night's sleep.
By the light of day, I thought about how no wonder she was crying; how I had done all I could; how my lying awake worrying wouldn't make anything better; how I needed to insist (again) that the nurse's aide be there to help her at mealtime, not me; and how I needed to curtail my visits to about 45 minutes and let the chips fall where they may. I also thought about how by today, she wouldn't even remember that she had cried last night. These realizations made it momentarily easier for me to go to yoga this morning, and time my visit this afternoon so that I could chat, read to her, and then firmly leave when it was still light enough for me to go for a walk.
None of this is easy. She has the doctors somewhat buffaloed, I think. Her kidney numbers are improving each day; the new scan of arteries yesterday showed no blockages in the arteries feeding the kidneys; a chest x-ray today didn't show pneumonia. Still, she doesn't feel good, and is improving in microscopic ways. On the other hand, there was talk of discharging her tomorrow, which her nurse today vigorously opposed. (me too).
I asked the nurse to sign her up for a Reiki massage. It can't hurt, and mom thought it sounded like it would be "kind of neat." On that note, I said my good-bye for today, and I will end this blog entry. In yoga, my intention was "to be peaceful, to be joyful and to stay strong,." Namaste.
No, my attention has been on my mother who has been in the hospital since last Wednesday, with apparent kidney failure and possible pneumonia. Without going into the whole episode, I would like to make a few observations about healthcare in our country, or at least in my local area. If you are reading this blog entry, you may wish to start stockpiling drugs, so that you can avoid this scenario in your future.
I took mom to her primary care physician on Oct. 12, to seek treatment for a bad cough which seemed to be getting worse. He prescribed Robitussin D and scheduled her for a kidney ultrasound 3 days later because her blood chemistry was bad i.e. she was building up toxins in her blood which meant the kidneys weren't fully functional.
We go to the ultrasound and mom confesses to total exhaustion and is unable to eat lunch upon return to Langdon Place.
I purchase juice boxes and try to get her to drink one morning and afternoon. Mom does worse and worse, eats little and drinks less.
By last Wed., she can't get out of bed, can't eat, and has bad pain in her back in addition to her worsening cough. We're waiting for an appt. with the kidney specialist, and numerous contacts with the nurse at her primary care office and the kidney specialist doesn't produce anything. The staff at Langdon Place is happy to wheel her into the dining room where she sits and can't eat her food.
On Wed. morning I take over applesauce and bouillon cubes for some broth, but I find her in such bad shape that I insist she go to the ER by ambulance.
My most favorite moment occurs when the ambulance driver arrives and asks if I am her sister. WOW! Time for me to get more rest, dye my hair, go to the gym, or SOMETHING.
My second favorite moment occurs when the ER physician pronounces that she can go back to LP, and I go off to fill prescriptions, somewhat incredulous that they think she can go back to the lack of care at Assisted Living. I go off to fill prescriptions (which may be sitting at Hannaford's as we speak), get a coat for mom to wear, and return to the ER, to find that mom has vomited the food they tried to feed her, and they have decided to admit her.
She has an acute bronchial infection, and failing kidneys. Not in her favor is the fact that she is nearly 93 years old. She has not had a good few days, nor, might I add, have I. Yesterday was the worst, when she started crying as I tried to help her eat some "dinner." No matter what I did or said, she couldn't stop crying, nor could she say what was causing her to cry. I kept trying to get someone to come in to see what they might do (sedate her? sedate me?) to no avail. Finally, in a momentary lull, at 6:30 p..m., I left. It was a two-glass-of-wine night for me, and predictably a bad night's sleep.
By the light of day, I thought about how no wonder she was crying; how I had done all I could; how my lying awake worrying wouldn't make anything better; how I needed to insist (again) that the nurse's aide be there to help her at mealtime, not me; and how I needed to curtail my visits to about 45 minutes and let the chips fall where they may. I also thought about how by today, she wouldn't even remember that she had cried last night. These realizations made it momentarily easier for me to go to yoga this morning, and time my visit this afternoon so that I could chat, read to her, and then firmly leave when it was still light enough for me to go for a walk.
None of this is easy. She has the doctors somewhat buffaloed, I think. Her kidney numbers are improving each day; the new scan of arteries yesterday showed no blockages in the arteries feeding the kidneys; a chest x-ray today didn't show pneumonia. Still, she doesn't feel good, and is improving in microscopic ways. On the other hand, there was talk of discharging her tomorrow, which her nurse today vigorously opposed. (me too).
I asked the nurse to sign her up for a Reiki massage. It can't hurt, and mom thought it sounded like it would be "kind of neat." On that note, I said my good-bye for today, and I will end this blog entry. In yoga, my intention was "to be peaceful, to be joyful and to stay strong,." Namaste.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Orange Blossoms and Harpsichords
What do hundred year old orange blossoms and harpsichords have to do with anything???? They both belong to me. In the case of the harpsichord, make that belonged.
For reasons somewhat unknown to me, I have become the family historian and collector of family "stuff." Some would say "junque." It started in 1988 when my oldest brother died suddenly and I was the child close enough to help clean up his apartment and clear out his extensive holdings of musical instruments, art, books, records, dollhouse furniture, raku pottery and miniature trains. My grief-stricken parents couldn't bear to think that his possessions were being thrown away, and so, they migrated to my basement. Some migrated upstairs.
More migrated upstairs when my first divorce occurred and my ex-husband took the stereo system, our record collection, etc. Space opened up for some of my brother's furniture. I did sell his 3000 records and all of his books. I hung many of his paintings. I moved the harpsichord he had built out of my moldy basement and into the living room.
For twenty years I have held onto things that were his, thinking that somehow that preserved his memory. In some way, it certainly has. Recently, though, I've been able to let go of some of his things, and not feel badly about it.
Last Friday, I had a new media center delivered. As the delivery men walked into the living room, one of them spotted the harpsichord. "Oh wow," he said. "Is that a harpsichord?" "Yes," I said. "Could I see it?" he asked. "Of course," I said, starting to unload enough of the junk on the flat surface so that I could open it partially to expose the keyboard. The delivery guy began to play the keys. "This is awesome," he said. I was looking on, horrified at the dust and mildew on the keys. I showed him the little tuner and unloaded the rest of the top so we could upen it all the way up to see how many strings might need to be replaced. "It needs a lot of work," I observed. "It's awesome," he said. "Would you like to have it?" I asked. "Are you serious?" he asked. "How much...." I interrupted by saying, "I don't want to sell it, I'd like to give it away." He looked at me as if I had a screw loose.
Within a few minutes, they walked out the front door with Rob's harpsichord and loaded it into the back of the Holmwood Furniture truck. I felt a momentary pang of disloyalty, and then I thought, "The universe sent this guy to me, and he will take care of this instrument and maybe even play it. Rob would have liked that."
The orange blossoms are another story. My cousin Mary Kay came to visit a couple of weeks ago, with a box of letters and odds and ends of things she had found in the closet of her dad's apartment when they had to move him into smaller quarters. One box says on the outside: "Orange blossoms worn by Katherine May Sherer (my grandmother) on her wedding day, April 5, 1909 to Theodore T. Redington." Sure enough, inside are pieces of what must have been a coronet of orange blossoms mixed in with some kind of white tear-dropped shaped beads. It's incredible that the blossoms have sort of petrified as if they had been waxed, as opposed to turning brown and shriveling up.
What does one do with an "heirloom" like this? I am not a museum, after all. Another box held pearl beadwork on a Satin ribbin (white) which I think must have come from her wedding dress. In my cedar chest I have baby clothes made by a great great grandmother......I have scrapbooks kept by that same great great grandmother. I have a mourning ring with real hair in it, and a wedding ring. I have a water color painted in 1795 by the man whose chair I also have - that item having been given to my grandparents on the occasion of my father's birth in 1912. The chair is cherry, made from a tree in their yard and pegged together in the pre-nail days of the 1700s. I have recipe boxes and a collection of 19th century letters which I published in book form in 1996; and another collection of letters written by a member of the family who was a missionary in India in the early 19th century.
JunK? Antiques? Of interest to anyone? No one? Saved all these years by people in the family who felt the importance of a connection to an earlier time in the life of our family. Am I to be the one to throw it all out? It seems like a heavy responsibility to be the decider of these matters. I imagine that earlier savers of these relics felt this same way. I see these things as artifacts of our nation's cultural history, not just of our particular family history. It seems as if there should be somewhere where these items could be preserved, interpreted, and shared with future generations.
Or, it could be that some day, the right delivery guy will walk in the door, and I will be delivered of the box of orange blossoms, my great grandmother's copybook, my great, great Aunt Mary's autograph book and the last of my brother's bonsai pots. Or not.
For reasons somewhat unknown to me, I have become the family historian and collector of family "stuff." Some would say "junque." It started in 1988 when my oldest brother died suddenly and I was the child close enough to help clean up his apartment and clear out his extensive holdings of musical instruments, art, books, records, dollhouse furniture, raku pottery and miniature trains. My grief-stricken parents couldn't bear to think that his possessions were being thrown away, and so, they migrated to my basement. Some migrated upstairs.
More migrated upstairs when my first divorce occurred and my ex-husband took the stereo system, our record collection, etc. Space opened up for some of my brother's furniture. I did sell his 3000 records and all of his books. I hung many of his paintings. I moved the harpsichord he had built out of my moldy basement and into the living room.
For twenty years I have held onto things that were his, thinking that somehow that preserved his memory. In some way, it certainly has. Recently, though, I've been able to let go of some of his things, and not feel badly about it.
Last Friday, I had a new media center delivered. As the delivery men walked into the living room, one of them spotted the harpsichord. "Oh wow," he said. "Is that a harpsichord?" "Yes," I said. "Could I see it?" he asked. "Of course," I said, starting to unload enough of the junk on the flat surface so that I could open it partially to expose the keyboard. The delivery guy began to play the keys. "This is awesome," he said. I was looking on, horrified at the dust and mildew on the keys. I showed him the little tuner and unloaded the rest of the top so we could upen it all the way up to see how many strings might need to be replaced. "It needs a lot of work," I observed. "It's awesome," he said. "Would you like to have it?" I asked. "Are you serious?" he asked. "How much...." I interrupted by saying, "I don't want to sell it, I'd like to give it away." He looked at me as if I had a screw loose.
Within a few minutes, they walked out the front door with Rob's harpsichord and loaded it into the back of the Holmwood Furniture truck. I felt a momentary pang of disloyalty, and then I thought, "The universe sent this guy to me, and he will take care of this instrument and maybe even play it. Rob would have liked that."
The orange blossoms are another story. My cousin Mary Kay came to visit a couple of weeks ago, with a box of letters and odds and ends of things she had found in the closet of her dad's apartment when they had to move him into smaller quarters. One box says on the outside: "Orange blossoms worn by Katherine May Sherer (my grandmother) on her wedding day, April 5, 1909 to Theodore T. Redington." Sure enough, inside are pieces of what must have been a coronet of orange blossoms mixed in with some kind of white tear-dropped shaped beads. It's incredible that the blossoms have sort of petrified as if they had been waxed, as opposed to turning brown and shriveling up.
What does one do with an "heirloom" like this? I am not a museum, after all. Another box held pearl beadwork on a Satin ribbin (white) which I think must have come from her wedding dress. In my cedar chest I have baby clothes made by a great great grandmother......I have scrapbooks kept by that same great great grandmother. I have a mourning ring with real hair in it, and a wedding ring. I have a water color painted in 1795 by the man whose chair I also have - that item having been given to my grandparents on the occasion of my father's birth in 1912. The chair is cherry, made from a tree in their yard and pegged together in the pre-nail days of the 1700s. I have recipe boxes and a collection of 19th century letters which I published in book form in 1996; and another collection of letters written by a member of the family who was a missionary in India in the early 19th century.
JunK? Antiques? Of interest to anyone? No one? Saved all these years by people in the family who felt the importance of a connection to an earlier time in the life of our family. Am I to be the one to throw it all out? It seems like a heavy responsibility to be the decider of these matters. I imagine that earlier savers of these relics felt this same way. I see these things as artifacts of our nation's cultural history, not just of our particular family history. It seems as if there should be somewhere where these items could be preserved, interpreted, and shared with future generations.
Or, it could be that some day, the right delivery guy will walk in the door, and I will be delivered of the box of orange blossoms, my great grandmother's copybook, my great, great Aunt Mary's autograph book and the last of my brother's bonsai pots. Or not.
Friday, October 17, 2008
A death in the family
Today brought the news of the death of my cousin, Carlie, from cancer. I got the news by means of a mass email to her friends and family, written as a "reply all" to a message that Carlie herself had sent to all of us on Sept. 10, describing her condition. The message today came like a kick in the stomach, in the middle of my morning of sending emails to invite historical societies to a workshop day November 5th. I saw the indication of a new message and clicked on it, assuming I was hearing back from one of my earlier emails. It was from someone I didn't know, and it brought this terrible news. I sat at my computer and wept, and wondered what to do next.
Carlie and I were girls together; she was four years older than I, and in some ways she functioned as an older sister to me. It was she who taught me to shave my legs (and told me I should). And it was from her that I learned about what high school life was like. Often I wore her hand-me-down clothes, even if i didn't share the same taste in colors or styles.
Since we lived in the same town, and for years her family lived right on the beach, we spent lots of time lying on beach towels, tanning, and body surfing in the warm Southern California ocean. We shared a love of reading and horses. The two of us had an annual date to spend the night with our Redington grandparents in Santa Barbara and attend the horseshow with them. An event that seemed like the hugest thing in the world to me. Together we read our way through our grandparents collection of mystery books, then Carlie moved on to reading Dostoevsky and huge, thick paperbacks that were beyond me at the time. Any time we've been together as adults, books would be at the heart of what we talked about.
After high school, Carlie began on a college career that took her down many paths. Just as she would almost finish, she would change her major and start over. She joined the Navy, she married, but divorced after one year, acknowledging that she was a lesbian in a culture that didn't accept homsexuality. I don't think she ever graduated from college, but she was a highly skilled and very smart person, and did very well designing microchips for Xerox for many years. She became a breeder and shower of dogs, and bought a house which would accommodate her and the dogs. She moved to Arizona; I moved across the country, and we saw each other very infrequently when she would make business trips to New England and include a visit to my parents in her itinerary.
She inherited the family gene for cancer, and in her late 30s underwent her first mastectomy. When the cancer recurred 18 months ago, and then spread to various parts of her body, I thought the prognosis was poor. She was always upbeat and optimistic in her emails, and I think that's why I was so shocked to learn of her death this morning. Her brother was with her when she died, and according to a second email that came from another friend, but was written on Carlie's computer, so it appeared to come from her, she was not aware of much during the last few days, and under the good care of hospice, slipped into death. I mourn her loss. I celebrate her life. I hope she was happy. I wish I could be there when they scatter her ashes on Superstition Mountain.
Carlie and I were girls together; she was four years older than I, and in some ways she functioned as an older sister to me. It was she who taught me to shave my legs (and told me I should). And it was from her that I learned about what high school life was like. Often I wore her hand-me-down clothes, even if i didn't share the same taste in colors or styles.
Since we lived in the same town, and for years her family lived right on the beach, we spent lots of time lying on beach towels, tanning, and body surfing in the warm Southern California ocean. We shared a love of reading and horses. The two of us had an annual date to spend the night with our Redington grandparents in Santa Barbara and attend the horseshow with them. An event that seemed like the hugest thing in the world to me. Together we read our way through our grandparents collection of mystery books, then Carlie moved on to reading Dostoevsky and huge, thick paperbacks that were beyond me at the time. Any time we've been together as adults, books would be at the heart of what we talked about.
After high school, Carlie began on a college career that took her down many paths. Just as she would almost finish, she would change her major and start over. She joined the Navy, she married, but divorced after one year, acknowledging that she was a lesbian in a culture that didn't accept homsexuality. I don't think she ever graduated from college, but she was a highly skilled and very smart person, and did very well designing microchips for Xerox for many years. She became a breeder and shower of dogs, and bought a house which would accommodate her and the dogs. She moved to Arizona; I moved across the country, and we saw each other very infrequently when she would make business trips to New England and include a visit to my parents in her itinerary.
She inherited the family gene for cancer, and in her late 30s underwent her first mastectomy. When the cancer recurred 18 months ago, and then spread to various parts of her body, I thought the prognosis was poor. She was always upbeat and optimistic in her emails, and I think that's why I was so shocked to learn of her death this morning. Her brother was with her when she died, and according to a second email that came from another friend, but was written on Carlie's computer, so it appeared to come from her, she was not aware of much during the last few days, and under the good care of hospice, slipped into death. I mourn her loss. I celebrate her life. I hope she was happy. I wish I could be there when they scatter her ashes on Superstition Mountain.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Fantasy Money
I know I don't suffer fools gladly. And I also know that I can be adamant about something and be completely wrong. About the current state of the election in this country, I'm adamantly appalled. I'm at the point of yelling at the t.v. ads put out by the McCain campaign which are obviously lies. How can Sarah Palin repeat over and over that Obama "pals around" with domestic terrorist Bill Ayers?" (And of course, this is also about the stupidity of the American public). Does she want some nutcase out there to decide to fight the war on terror by doing away with Obama? Every time I see the ad, I think she's just ratcheted up the chance of an assasination attempt. Can she be that stupid? Or that insensitive? Or is it just about winning the election?
I am heartened to see that Obama is up in the polls by 10 points. I hope he wins by a landslide and buries the McCain campaign and the right-wing bigots who support him and his lovely vice-presidential candidate. The famous beauty queen will be at Dover High School on Wed., and I will be outside helping to hold the American Friends Service Committee banners which spell out the financial disaster that is the war in Iraq. Remember the war? We thought the election would be a referendum on that, until the massive collapse of the financial system. Money will always trump concern for peace.
So....let's talk about Fantasy Money - yours, mine and ours. Where, exactly will the 700 billion come from that will enable the government to a) buy up bad debt (how do you buy a bad debt?) or b) buy equity in a big bank, or a big business, thereby expanding each of our persoal portfolios to include shares of say, AIG, or Fannie Mae? Will we have to borrow the money from China? Will we just print a bunch more money? Or are these just "paper transfers" of fantasy money?? And while I'm at it, could we focus on the irony of a Republican administration essentially nationalizing the banks and financial institutions in this country? Talk about eating crow......I hope George Bush gags all the way back to the ranch in Crawford, Texas. And takes a whole lot of Credit Default Swaps with him.
So, to recap this ramble, we, the American taxpayers, have been gouged for the past year on gas and oil prices; we've spent trillions of dollars on a war which was designed to expand the powers of the President and justified by lies, and now, we've had the opportunity to watch our life savings and pensions lose 40% of their value over the last 7 days while the Wall St. fat cats make out like bandits. The Republican house of cards has collapsed. Sadly, the collapse has taken the rest of us along with it, through pre-emptive war to moral and financial bankruptcy. Fantasy money and fantasy government. Indeed.
I am heartened to see that Obama is up in the polls by 10 points. I hope he wins by a landslide and buries the McCain campaign and the right-wing bigots who support him and his lovely vice-presidential candidate. The famous beauty queen will be at Dover High School on Wed., and I will be outside helping to hold the American Friends Service Committee banners which spell out the financial disaster that is the war in Iraq. Remember the war? We thought the election would be a referendum on that, until the massive collapse of the financial system. Money will always trump concern for peace.
So....let's talk about Fantasy Money - yours, mine and ours. Where, exactly will the 700 billion come from that will enable the government to a) buy up bad debt (how do you buy a bad debt?) or b) buy equity in a big bank, or a big business, thereby expanding each of our persoal portfolios to include shares of say, AIG, or Fannie Mae? Will we have to borrow the money from China? Will we just print a bunch more money? Or are these just "paper transfers" of fantasy money?? And while I'm at it, could we focus on the irony of a Republican administration essentially nationalizing the banks and financial institutions in this country? Talk about eating crow......I hope George Bush gags all the way back to the ranch in Crawford, Texas. And takes a whole lot of Credit Default Swaps with him.
So, to recap this ramble, we, the American taxpayers, have been gouged for the past year on gas and oil prices; we've spent trillions of dollars on a war which was designed to expand the powers of the President and justified by lies, and now, we've had the opportunity to watch our life savings and pensions lose 40% of their value over the last 7 days while the Wall St. fat cats make out like bandits. The Republican house of cards has collapsed. Sadly, the collapse has taken the rest of us along with it, through pre-emptive war to moral and financial bankruptcy. Fantasy money and fantasy government. Indeed.
Monday, October 6, 2008
PDSS....Post Debate Stress Syndrome
I've been waiting for the Biden-Palin debate to sink in. I know I should write a blog entry about it, but......about what? My main reaction was that I doubted that I could stand 4 more years of a "leader" in the White House who pronounces the word "nuclear" as if it were spelled "Nuke-u-ler." Is that a genetic defect in Republicans?
My other distinct feeling was perhaps that Sarah Palin was the Virgin Mary dressed up to look like a Barbie doll.....It's the whole hockey mom thing plus winking at the camera, plus having just come home from Italy where we saw hundreds of Madonna and child paintings, and one tapestry where the eyes of Christ follow you no matter where you stand relative to the tapestry. Very spooky.
And in case none of this is of interest to anyone but me, I have to say that seeing Sarah Palin as the Vice Presidential candidate makes me think long and hard about my brand of feminism. Shouldn't I be delighted to see a woman make it onto the ticket? Shouldn't I be rubbing my hands in glee that finally it's legitimate for women to use the fact of their motherhood as a qualification for high office? I can think of countless times when I looked for management-type jobs that could spring me out of teaching, but alas, other than managing my classroom and managing my household, I could list no management experience, and I certainly thought I couldn't list being a mom or "home manager" as a qualification. So....now, Sarah Palin, a woman who seems to be able only to parrot the McCain Straight Talk, and who shoots from the hip, both literally and figuratively, has opened the way for countless other moms, hockey or not, to qualify for every job, regardless of their other qualifications.....
Well, as you may imagine, I'm still appalled that she has risen to the level of her incompetency, and I am heartened by today's polls which show Obama ahead by 51% to 39% despite the McCain attempt to smear him by association with Bill Ayers of the Weather Underground. I hope that one month from now, Sarah Palin will be a small footnote to the history of women in politics, and that the next female candidate will be someone who actually has credentials which qualify her in addition to whatever motherly instincts she may have. The big question remains....does Sarah P. have to "rat" her hair to make it into that beehive???
My other distinct feeling was perhaps that Sarah Palin was the Virgin Mary dressed up to look like a Barbie doll.....It's the whole hockey mom thing plus winking at the camera, plus having just come home from Italy where we saw hundreds of Madonna and child paintings, and one tapestry where the eyes of Christ follow you no matter where you stand relative to the tapestry. Very spooky.
And in case none of this is of interest to anyone but me, I have to say that seeing Sarah Palin as the Vice Presidential candidate makes me think long and hard about my brand of feminism. Shouldn't I be delighted to see a woman make it onto the ticket? Shouldn't I be rubbing my hands in glee that finally it's legitimate for women to use the fact of their motherhood as a qualification for high office? I can think of countless times when I looked for management-type jobs that could spring me out of teaching, but alas, other than managing my classroom and managing my household, I could list no management experience, and I certainly thought I couldn't list being a mom or "home manager" as a qualification. So....now, Sarah Palin, a woman who seems to be able only to parrot the McCain Straight Talk, and who shoots from the hip, both literally and figuratively, has opened the way for countless other moms, hockey or not, to qualify for every job, regardless of their other qualifications.....
Well, as you may imagine, I'm still appalled that she has risen to the level of her incompetency, and I am heartened by today's polls which show Obama ahead by 51% to 39% despite the McCain attempt to smear him by association with Bill Ayers of the Weather Underground. I hope that one month from now, Sarah Palin will be a small footnote to the history of women in politics, and that the next female candidate will be someone who actually has credentials which qualify her in addition to whatever motherly instincts she may have. The big question remains....does Sarah P. have to "rat" her hair to make it into that beehive???
Thursday, September 11, 2008
What is the meaning of maverick?
Today I had a lot of time to think while I was driving (and watching for moose). I also had a lot of time to listen to NPR and hear the same stories over and over. One show focused on the new book titled Beyond Tolerance. In some part of the discussion, a caller referenced the possibility of a nuclear strike from a "rogue" state.....or maybe it was the incapacity of North Korean leader Kim Jong Il and the chaos which may ensue if he dies, and what would happen to their nuclear capability that prompted my line of thinking. In any case, what occurred to me is that one who is a "maverick," defined by online dictionary.com as "One that refuses to abide by the dictates of or resists adherence to a group; a dissenter" might also be considered to be a "rogue," defined as "no longer obedient, belonging, or accepted and hence not controllable or answerable; deviating, renegade: a rogue cop."
We're very worried about nuclear technology falling into the hands of a "rogue" government. I wonder if the rest of the world is worried about the possibility that the U.S. may elect two top leaders who are touting themselves as "mavericks." If they're so all-fired likely to "stand up" to their party, and they have the lock on what is "good" versus what is "evil," then who will control them? I think we've come very close to a rogue president in George Bush - he seems to think he is only answerable to God - and we cannot afford to have the next President and V.P. so far outside the mainstream of American history and philosophy that they don't understand the separation of church and state; they don't understand that just because they think something is true doesn't mean it is; they don't understand that until Bush II, we have never pre-emptively struck at another nation. In a democracy, mavericks have no business being at the head of government. Our government is allegedly government of the people, by the people and for the people. That seems to have escaped them so far.
Charlie Gibson's interview with Sarah Palin tonight did nothing to allay my fears. She clearly didn't know what was meant by the "Bush Doctrine," and she was able to say with a straight face, that because she was able to see Russia from her state that she somehow had foreign policy experience. She also can't pronounce the word nuclear, choosing instead, the Bush pronunciation, "nuculer." UGH. When asked about her understanding of national security issues, she talked about her work in Alaska on energy matters. I can only hope that she firmly plants her foot in her mouth during her debate with Joe Biden.
And could she get a real hair do??
We're very worried about nuclear technology falling into the hands of a "rogue" government. I wonder if the rest of the world is worried about the possibility that the U.S. may elect two top leaders who are touting themselves as "mavericks." If they're so all-fired likely to "stand up" to their party, and they have the lock on what is "good" versus what is "evil," then who will control them? I think we've come very close to a rogue president in George Bush - he seems to think he is only answerable to God - and we cannot afford to have the next President and V.P. so far outside the mainstream of American history and philosophy that they don't understand the separation of church and state; they don't understand that just because they think something is true doesn't mean it is; they don't understand that until Bush II, we have never pre-emptively struck at another nation. In a democracy, mavericks have no business being at the head of government. Our government is allegedly government of the people, by the people and for the people. That seems to have escaped them so far.
Charlie Gibson's interview with Sarah Palin tonight did nothing to allay my fears. She clearly didn't know what was meant by the "Bush Doctrine," and she was able to say with a straight face, that because she was able to see Russia from her state that she somehow had foreign policy experience. She also can't pronounce the word nuclear, choosing instead, the Bush pronunciation, "nuculer." UGH. When asked about her understanding of national security issues, she talked about her work in Alaska on energy matters. I can only hope that she firmly plants her foot in her mouth during her debate with Joe Biden.
And could she get a real hair do??
Monday, September 8, 2008
Are we a nation of sheep???
I know I live in a bubble of educated, liberal people here in the Seacoast of NH. And I remember traveling to Keokuk, Iowa in 1992 and realizing just how differently people think in "the heartland" of this country. That said, the polls tonight showing McCain and Obama neck and neck make be sick to my stomach.
How is it that the McC/P. campaign has pre-empted the message of change? How is it that they are now the more "experienced" ticket? How is it they are drawing crowds of thousands? How is it possible that the people out of work, losing their homes, and unable to pay for health care could turn to the Republican party, the folks who believe in Social Darwinism, small government and lack of regulation???
And how can the Republicans themselves pretend that they believe in a free market society while they jump in to "save" Bear Stearns, Freddie and Fannie et al. at taxpayers' expense??? (I do understand that it may be necessary to "save" these institutions so as to continue to help people buy homes and get mortgages, but the question is still out there as to how these corporations were allowed to get so big and be so unregulated).
And just what is a "hockey mom?" Someone who drives her kid to hockey and goes to watch his/her games, right? I did that in my past. (Field hockey, that is). Does that qualify me to be Vice President?? Does being a prisoner of war qualify a person to be President? Last time around, they elected the candidate they'd rather have a beer with. This time, it's the candidate they will want to go out into the duck blind with. Give me a BREAK! Let's hope she's a better shot than Dick Cheney.....
There's no question in my mind that those of us who can't stomach the idea of 4 more years of the Bush/Cheney expansion of presidential power had better get out and work our tails off for Obama/Biden. Talk to your friends, talk to your acquaintances, talk to your nearest and dearest. We need everyone to counteract the media juggernaut which is bound and determined to choose the winner for us. That will be baaaaa-d.
How is it that the McC/P. campaign has pre-empted the message of change? How is it that they are now the more "experienced" ticket? How is it they are drawing crowds of thousands? How is it possible that the people out of work, losing their homes, and unable to pay for health care could turn to the Republican party, the folks who believe in Social Darwinism, small government and lack of regulation???
And how can the Republicans themselves pretend that they believe in a free market society while they jump in to "save" Bear Stearns, Freddie and Fannie et al. at taxpayers' expense??? (I do understand that it may be necessary to "save" these institutions so as to continue to help people buy homes and get mortgages, but the question is still out there as to how these corporations were allowed to get so big and be so unregulated).
And just what is a "hockey mom?" Someone who drives her kid to hockey and goes to watch his/her games, right? I did that in my past. (Field hockey, that is). Does that qualify me to be Vice President?? Does being a prisoner of war qualify a person to be President? Last time around, they elected the candidate they'd rather have a beer with. This time, it's the candidate they will want to go out into the duck blind with. Give me a BREAK! Let's hope she's a better shot than Dick Cheney.....
There's no question in my mind that those of us who can't stomach the idea of 4 more years of the Bush/Cheney expansion of presidential power had better get out and work our tails off for Obama/Biden. Talk to your friends, talk to your acquaintances, talk to your nearest and dearest. We need everyone to counteract the media juggernaut which is bound and determined to choose the winner for us. That will be baaaaa-d.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Things that make no sense
So yesterday, in an attempt to be ready to go to Italy on the 17th, I called Chase Bank to let them know the dates I would be in Italy (so they wouldn't block my credit card thinking it was being used fraudulently)and to get a PIN number for said credit card so I could use it as an ATM card to buy Euros. Well, silly me. Of course I couldn't get a live person on the line, so I couldn't share the dates. I could access a place to get a PIN number, and the electronic voice told me they would mail it to me, which would take 7 - 10 days.
Step Two. I activate a replacement card for one I've had for 20 some years and which had expired in March. Then, I call customer service and DO get a live person whom I notify of my travel dates. Then I ask for a PIN number and she sends me to an 800 number. I hang up and call the 800 number. When asked to enter the last 4 digits of the card, I do. The electronic message back is that it is an invalid account. Back to customer service person number two. She tells me I should have entered the last 4 digits on the MASTER CARD which accesses the same account. I tell her I haven't activated the Master Card, because I never use it, so why would that account number work. She says it just does. She proceeds to try it. Invalid account. I suggest that maybe it's just because I had only moments before activated my new card. She doesn't think so and tries again. No soap. So....she suggests that they mail me a PIN number, which will take 5 - 7 days. I say thanks, and hang up, figuring that my best bet is to take some Euros with me and then use my ATM Visa card which accesses my checking account at the Federal Credit Union to change money in Italy.
Step Three: I try to buy Euros. I call Ocean Bank in Durham. Do I have an account with them? No. Sorry, they can't sell me Euros. I walk into TD Banknorth in Dover, where I have a $50,000 equity line of credit. Yes, they sell Euros, do I have an account? Yes, I have the above account. Wait a minute, I have to ask my Manager. Gee, no, I'm sorry, you have to have a checking or savings account or we can't sell you Euros. What? I have a $50,000 line of credit and I can't write a check to buy $200.00 worth of Euros? I can write a check for $50,000 to build a new garage, but not a check for Euros.....Sorry ma'am, that's our policy. Would you like to open a checking account?
Step Four: Stop at Citizens Bank, where I am joint owner of a CD with my mother and a signatory on her checking account. May I buy Euros. YES!! Do they have some? NO....it will take 7 - 10 days to order them for me.......But the good news is, the Portsmouth Branch has Euros, but the bad news is, that by the time I drive to Portsmouth, they will be closed.
Fortunately, I did all this Euro shopping after Yoga, so I just did some deep breathing, and drove on home. Monday will be another opportunity to try this again.
OHMMMMMMMMMMM
Step Two. I activate a replacement card for one I've had for 20 some years and which had expired in March. Then, I call customer service and DO get a live person whom I notify of my travel dates. Then I ask for a PIN number and she sends me to an 800 number. I hang up and call the 800 number. When asked to enter the last 4 digits of the card, I do. The electronic message back is that it is an invalid account. Back to customer service person number two. She tells me I should have entered the last 4 digits on the MASTER CARD which accesses the same account. I tell her I haven't activated the Master Card, because I never use it, so why would that account number work. She says it just does. She proceeds to try it. Invalid account. I suggest that maybe it's just because I had only moments before activated my new card. She doesn't think so and tries again. No soap. So....she suggests that they mail me a PIN number, which will take 5 - 7 days. I say thanks, and hang up, figuring that my best bet is to take some Euros with me and then use my ATM Visa card which accesses my checking account at the Federal Credit Union to change money in Italy.
Step Three: I try to buy Euros. I call Ocean Bank in Durham. Do I have an account with them? No. Sorry, they can't sell me Euros. I walk into TD Banknorth in Dover, where I have a $50,000 equity line of credit. Yes, they sell Euros, do I have an account? Yes, I have the above account. Wait a minute, I have to ask my Manager. Gee, no, I'm sorry, you have to have a checking or savings account or we can't sell you Euros. What? I have a $50,000 line of credit and I can't write a check to buy $200.00 worth of Euros? I can write a check for $50,000 to build a new garage, but not a check for Euros.....Sorry ma'am, that's our policy. Would you like to open a checking account?
Step Four: Stop at Citizens Bank, where I am joint owner of a CD with my mother and a signatory on her checking account. May I buy Euros. YES!! Do they have some? NO....it will take 7 - 10 days to order them for me.......But the good news is, the Portsmouth Branch has Euros, but the bad news is, that by the time I drive to Portsmouth, they will be closed.
Fortunately, I did all this Euro shopping after Yoga, so I just did some deep breathing, and drove on home. Monday will be another opportunity to try this again.
OHMMMMMMMMMMM
Friday, September 5, 2008
Appealing or Appalling - Sarah Palin
I can't sit back and say nothing. I've been warned by a feminist friend that we shouldn't make sexist comments about Sarah Palin so I'm not going to comment on her beehive hairdo, because I had one of those myself, back in the late 60s, early 70's; I'm not going to comment on the fact that she brought her 4 month old to a large convention hall full of germs, loud noises and bright lights, because it's certainly her right to choose her parenting style. I'm not even going to comment on the apparent failure of the abstinence only approach to family planning, or wonder out loud if Bristol really had a choice in whether or not she would keep the baby.
I will say that for those pundits who think that women who would have voted for Hillary Clinton will now vote for John McCain because Sarah Palin is on the ticket, THEY ARE CRAZY. In Sarah Palin, we have the antithesis of most of what feminism stands for. My first vision of her on the night she was named as the nominee was that the McCain campaign had rented an actress from Saturday Night Live to do some stand-up comedy. That impression was reinforced in her "speech" at the convention a few nights ago. She is the Idaho/Alaska version of Lily Tomlin. She gave some one-liners and zingers at Barack Obama (most of which were patently false) with a cute smile and disingenous look. A look-alike actress has already parodied her in a Youtube video.
Sarah Palin may have "electrified" the convention and the socially conservative base of the Republican Party, but I can't believe that Hillary Democrats find her appealing. She favors the teaching of creationism, drilling in the Arctic Wildlife Refuge, and no control on gun ownership. She is against abortion, even in the case of rape or incest, against stem cell research, and she sees the war in Iraq as a holy war, sanctioned personally by God. In many ways, she out-Bushes Bush. She went to college (4 colleges in 5 years) to become a journalist, but she has trouble sticking to the facts. Most of what she cited as "facts" about the Obama campaign have been fact-checked and proved false. Even her own line about the Bridge to Nowhere isn't true. Congress had begun to rescind the earmark for the bridge before she rejected it.
Overall, I am appalled by her as a choice for Vice President. She is like a cartoon outline of Hillary Clinton, a caricature of a serious candidate for the office of President or Vice President. She may actually qualify to be a rimless zero. And if I hear the word "electrified" one more time connected to her name, I think I may permanently turn off my television.
I will say that for those pundits who think that women who would have voted for Hillary Clinton will now vote for John McCain because Sarah Palin is on the ticket, THEY ARE CRAZY. In Sarah Palin, we have the antithesis of most of what feminism stands for. My first vision of her on the night she was named as the nominee was that the McCain campaign had rented an actress from Saturday Night Live to do some stand-up comedy. That impression was reinforced in her "speech" at the convention a few nights ago. She is the Idaho/Alaska version of Lily Tomlin. She gave some one-liners and zingers at Barack Obama (most of which were patently false) with a cute smile and disingenous look. A look-alike actress has already parodied her in a Youtube video.
Sarah Palin may have "electrified" the convention and the socially conservative base of the Republican Party, but I can't believe that Hillary Democrats find her appealing. She favors the teaching of creationism, drilling in the Arctic Wildlife Refuge, and no control on gun ownership. She is against abortion, even in the case of rape or incest, against stem cell research, and she sees the war in Iraq as a holy war, sanctioned personally by God. In many ways, she out-Bushes Bush. She went to college (4 colleges in 5 years) to become a journalist, but she has trouble sticking to the facts. Most of what she cited as "facts" about the Obama campaign have been fact-checked and proved false. Even her own line about the Bridge to Nowhere isn't true. Congress had begun to rescind the earmark for the bridge before she rejected it.
Overall, I am appalled by her as a choice for Vice President. She is like a cartoon outline of Hillary Clinton, a caricature of a serious candidate for the office of President or Vice President. She may actually qualify to be a rimless zero. And if I hear the word "electrified" one more time connected to her name, I think I may permanently turn off my television.
Cape Cod, July, 2008
Cape Cod Diary
There are so many things to do when you are with friends…..upon arrival yesterday, there was a trip to the beach for swimming in water gloriously warm and reminiscent of the Pacific Coast…..and then a garden tour of lush flowers, zucchini, tomatoes, cucumbers and a chance to sit on the deck and read in the shade of an umbrella…..
Today, after yoga, a picnic on the boat moored off a point where the beach is off limits because of nesting piping plovers, followed by a swim in more gloriously warm salt water, and a chance to fish in salt water, hurling a ridiculous red herring lure out into the water and reeling it in so fast so that it would appear to dance on the water…..and now, back to check out the wardrobe for Italy and then more reading in the novel Frost Falls, which has caught my attention and holds me in its grip like no other book has in a while…..until Pat gives her afternoon piano concert and it is happy hour, and Mike and I sit and listen with our g & t’s beside us. Lobster and corn await us, and an evening of who knows what, and who cares? It’s just so nice to be with people who have been friends for 40 years and who know me as well as I know myself, or perhaps even better!!
Day Two: Today began at 6:30 when we drank some coffee and headed for the beach to dig for soft-shell clams. This involved a short trip in the two person kayak to transport the three clamming rakes, rubber gloves, a wire basket in which to pile the clams, and a can of Off in case the greenheads attacked. After a little more than an hour we had found enough clams to fill the wire basket. This may make it sound easy, but, after the initial euphoria wore off regarding how this scooping of sand and piling it beside the hole was like building drip castles in California eons ago, my knees grew tender and my back was good and tired from hacking into the wet sand with a 3-pronged clam rake. I was a champion at finding clams that were too small to keep and alternatively, driving the tine of the rake through the shell of some that were big enough to keep. We all agreed that if we HAD to do this to gather food to live, we would tire of it quite quickly!
Back home, we all showered and ate breakfast. Then it was off to T.J. Maxx for about 3 hours of shopping ☺ Following a successful ‘spotition, Pat and I ate lunch at a restaurant in Wellfleet with a water view. We got home in time for a brief rest before it was time for “happy hour” and a dinner of fried clams (the ones we smashed by accident) and then a trip to the drive-in for a double feature. Home around midnight!! Whew!
Day Three: No new adventures today – but a chance to read the paper and lie around on a lazy summer morning. Then I cut pieces for 8 quilt blocks. We went to the beach this afternoon and swam in good-sized swells which just made me laugh as they broke over our heads! Again, I felt like a child in California again. We swam against the wind going down the beach and let the swells carry us back to shore as we swam back.
A trip in the red convertible to get ice cream tonight, after a dinner of baked stuffed zucchini out of their garden, and another great day has come to a close. Time to regroup my suitcases and think about driving home tomorrow. Sigh. Vacation is coming to a close.
There are so many things to do when you are with friends…..upon arrival yesterday, there was a trip to the beach for swimming in water gloriously warm and reminiscent of the Pacific Coast…..and then a garden tour of lush flowers, zucchini, tomatoes, cucumbers and a chance to sit on the deck and read in the shade of an umbrella…..
Today, after yoga, a picnic on the boat moored off a point where the beach is off limits because of nesting piping plovers, followed by a swim in more gloriously warm salt water, and a chance to fish in salt water, hurling a ridiculous red herring lure out into the water and reeling it in so fast so that it would appear to dance on the water…..and now, back to check out the wardrobe for Italy and then more reading in the novel Frost Falls, which has caught my attention and holds me in its grip like no other book has in a while…..until Pat gives her afternoon piano concert and it is happy hour, and Mike and I sit and listen with our g & t’s beside us. Lobster and corn await us, and an evening of who knows what, and who cares? It’s just so nice to be with people who have been friends for 40 years and who know me as well as I know myself, or perhaps even better!!
Day Two: Today began at 6:30 when we drank some coffee and headed for the beach to dig for soft-shell clams. This involved a short trip in the two person kayak to transport the three clamming rakes, rubber gloves, a wire basket in which to pile the clams, and a can of Off in case the greenheads attacked. After a little more than an hour we had found enough clams to fill the wire basket. This may make it sound easy, but, after the initial euphoria wore off regarding how this scooping of sand and piling it beside the hole was like building drip castles in California eons ago, my knees grew tender and my back was good and tired from hacking into the wet sand with a 3-pronged clam rake. I was a champion at finding clams that were too small to keep and alternatively, driving the tine of the rake through the shell of some that were big enough to keep. We all agreed that if we HAD to do this to gather food to live, we would tire of it quite quickly!
Back home, we all showered and ate breakfast. Then it was off to T.J. Maxx for about 3 hours of shopping ☺ Following a successful ‘spotition, Pat and I ate lunch at a restaurant in Wellfleet with a water view. We got home in time for a brief rest before it was time for “happy hour” and a dinner of fried clams (the ones we smashed by accident) and then a trip to the drive-in for a double feature. Home around midnight!! Whew!
Day Three: No new adventures today – but a chance to read the paper and lie around on a lazy summer morning. Then I cut pieces for 8 quilt blocks. We went to the beach this afternoon and swam in good-sized swells which just made me laugh as they broke over our heads! Again, I felt like a child in California again. We swam against the wind going down the beach and let the swells carry us back to shore as we swam back.
A trip in the red convertible to get ice cream tonight, after a dinner of baked stuffed zucchini out of their garden, and another great day has come to a close. Time to regroup my suitcases and think about driving home tomorrow. Sigh. Vacation is coming to a close.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
In the Barn 7/3/08
I keep trying to capture how I feel when I’m in the Franconia, Bethlehem area this summer, and I have a hard time putting it into words. The time I’ve spent at the Frost Place seems to be at the heart of it, and makes me want to say that I’m back at my spiritual or cultural roots, but that isn’t even it, because really, Frost was never my favorite poet.
In this retrospective mode, I attended a poetry reading in the barn last night, and have to say that I just felt a feeling of peace wash over me. The view of Lafayette in the twilight, the smell of citronella candles burning around the edge of the barn, the hard folding chairs, and the magic of a poet reading words written with intention and intensity wrapped me in a feeling of belonging and of a deep connection to this place.
It was a hot summer day, and one of driving, talking, meeting with relative strangers and helping to orient a young college student to the research she would be doing at historical societies in the area. By late afternoon, I was woozy with the heat and lack of food and water and wondered why I even thought I wanted to go to the poetry reading. My room at the Kinsman Lodge was beautifully decorated, simple, and more than adequate for the night, but was about 85 degrees, with the sun pouring through the window as it set over the low-lying hills on the opposite side of the road. I hadn’t realized that the Easton Valley Rd. heads south, and even the direction of the setting sun discombobulated me.
I tried sitting on the porch, where a slight breeze ruffled the leaves of a large lilac bush, but a man was talking to the owner about his gravely ill mother or wife, the doctor’s lack of timely answers about her condition, how he was going to continue to pay for the cost of her care and the sadness of it all, and I thought that this was the last subject I wanted to contemplate as I tried to cool off and wind down. So, I decided to go eat some dinner to see if some food would cure my malaise.
Stopping at the Franconia Inn, a venue I was sure was too expensive, I walked into blissfully air conditioned heaven, and a waiter who took care of my every whim. When I voiced disappointment that gazpacho wasn’t the soup of the day, he remembered that they might have some leftover cold strawberry soup with a touch of brandy in it and brought me a cup, gratis. That was the start of a delightful meal, two glasses of water and a glass of iced tea which revived me and made me realize just how lucky I was to be experiencing this all on an expense account!
From the Inn, I drove the short distance to The Frost Place, feeling revived and looking forward to the poetry reading. I sat among strangers, though made welcome by Jim Schley, who made sure to introduce me to the poets who were present, and I felt myself just relax into the evening and the opportunity to blend past and present, business and pleasure in the small barn where I spent so much time thirty years ago. The evening air was soft and warm, the audience appreciative, and I was transported to a time in my life which has turned out to be the springboard for so much more for me.
In this retrospective mode, I attended a poetry reading in the barn last night, and have to say that I just felt a feeling of peace wash over me. The view of Lafayette in the twilight, the smell of citronella candles burning around the edge of the barn, the hard folding chairs, and the magic of a poet reading words written with intention and intensity wrapped me in a feeling of belonging and of a deep connection to this place.
It was a hot summer day, and one of driving, talking, meeting with relative strangers and helping to orient a young college student to the research she would be doing at historical societies in the area. By late afternoon, I was woozy with the heat and lack of food and water and wondered why I even thought I wanted to go to the poetry reading. My room at the Kinsman Lodge was beautifully decorated, simple, and more than adequate for the night, but was about 85 degrees, with the sun pouring through the window as it set over the low-lying hills on the opposite side of the road. I hadn’t realized that the Easton Valley Rd. heads south, and even the direction of the setting sun discombobulated me.
I tried sitting on the porch, where a slight breeze ruffled the leaves of a large lilac bush, but a man was talking to the owner about his gravely ill mother or wife, the doctor’s lack of timely answers about her condition, how he was going to continue to pay for the cost of her care and the sadness of it all, and I thought that this was the last subject I wanted to contemplate as I tried to cool off and wind down. So, I decided to go eat some dinner to see if some food would cure my malaise.
Stopping at the Franconia Inn, a venue I was sure was too expensive, I walked into blissfully air conditioned heaven, and a waiter who took care of my every whim. When I voiced disappointment that gazpacho wasn’t the soup of the day, he remembered that they might have some leftover cold strawberry soup with a touch of brandy in it and brought me a cup, gratis. That was the start of a delightful meal, two glasses of water and a glass of iced tea which revived me and made me realize just how lucky I was to be experiencing this all on an expense account!
From the Inn, I drove the short distance to The Frost Place, feeling revived and looking forward to the poetry reading. I sat among strangers, though made welcome by Jim Schley, who made sure to introduce me to the poets who were present, and I felt myself just relax into the evening and the opportunity to blend past and present, business and pleasure in the small barn where I spent so much time thirty years ago. The evening air was soft and warm, the audience appreciative, and I was transported to a time in my life which has turned out to be the springboard for so much more for me.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Reflections 6/10/08
Today has been a day of extremes. I began the day in Durham, NH where it was sunny and hot, and I was glad to spend an hour in the air-conditioned yoga studio where we contemplated our spiritual connection to a higher power. I am ending the day in a torrential thunderstorm in Craftsbury Common, VT, where we just heard a talk in which we were invited to contemplate our spiritual connection to our rural heritage, or to our “place” in the world.
As I drove toward Concord, NH, the temperature on the car thermometer registered 99, which has to have been a record for this date. I was confident that as I drove north, the temperature would drop. Not the case, or at least not by much. It fell to 94 in Littleton, but then, as I crossed the Connecticut River into Vermont, the temperature plummeted to 68, and the Vermont radio station informed me that there was a tornado watch in effect for the entire state. The sky was black and the winds kicked up (the radio said 45 mph gusts) and I wished I did not have the unfamiliar part of the trip ahead of me. With my eye on the sky for funnel clouds, I made my way north on 91, and by a circuitous route to Sterling College in Craftsbury Common, a tiny, picturesque white village hidden in the northeast kingdom of Vermont. If I were Robert Frost, I would no doubt craft a poem about NH and it’s cold relative to the west, and become famous…..
My connection to this place is both rooted and spiritual, and brings me to my next random thought, that these past few days have been filled with connections to several men who are either literally or figuratively dead to me. Today’s connection is to my oldest brother, who died 20 years ago. Even as I write that sentence, I can’t believe that his death was that long ago, as I can still hear his laugh, see his face, and imagine him sitting at the dinner table jiggling his knee, or drumming his fingers on the table, playing a fugue which only he could hear. In any case, here, in Craftsbury, VT, he began his teaching career after his graduation from Dartmouth, and we drove him and his stuff to what seemed to me to be the end of the world, and deposited him, and aforesaid stuff in what looked mostly like a poor excuse for a summer camp. I think he lasted one or maybe 1 ¾ of a year here, being fired for trying to close the school down after he discovered that the headmaster was falsifying the students’ transcripts. Though he was sent packing, the school stayed open only a short time after, though I don’t know if it closed because of Rob’s crusade. I think it was here that he ran into a deer and totaled his VW bug, and then “had” to buy a Porsche, in which he and younger brother Dick drove across the country to spend the summer in California.
Our speaker tonight cautioned against nostalgia, as a romanticization of the past and a substitute for remembering the truth of the past, and I find that it is easy for me to slip into nostalgia as I think about Rob and that time in our lives and in his life. After he left here, he moved to a school in Connecticut, near where I soon landed as a freshman in college, and spent some bizarre weekends with him, perhaps the subject of another blog.
I sat with a woman at dinner who taught for 8 years at White Mt. School, and that precipitated true nostalgia, and thoughts of ex-husband, Bob Whitten and the years we lived at White Mountain. They were, in many ways, the happiest years of our married life, but if I am honest, they were also, for me, some of the unhappiest. For him, I believe they were the happiest, and represented the place he had lived the longest in his entire life and felt the most rooted. He died 8 years ago, and as I prepare to spend 4 days on the WMS campus, actually living in the dorm where we were dorm parents for 2 years, I feel his presence. I wonder how it will affect me while I am there, and I hope, if anything, that it will be a comfortable experience and that it will bring back the happier memories. Will that be nostalgia or truth?
Finally, last night Todd sent me his itinerary for China, and I realized that he would be spending a day or two on the Yangtze River, docking at Yichang. That, I have to admit, made me think of my other ex-husband, whose great uncle spent 3 or 4 winters living in a temple in a small village up the River from what he called I-Chang. I transcribed his wife’s diary, written both from the small village and from the larger town of I-Chang, and always hoped to see and travel the river before the 3 Gorges Dam was built. For 10 years I lived and breathed Walter and Anna Granger, and I can’t say that I would want to re-live that time period, but if anything, I’d like to write to my ex and say “guess what, you turkey, Todd is going to see the very places that Walter and Anna write about in their diaries!” Part of me is smug that a member of my family will be there first.
And so, here I am in the Northeast Kingdom, not far from the birthplace of my grandmother and my mother, and I am thinking about the men who are now lost to me. The thunder, lightning and rain have started again, and tomorrow will bring clearer air, and a brain cleared of these cobwebs from the past, now that I have committed them to paper. (Paper?)
As I drove toward Concord, NH, the temperature on the car thermometer registered 99, which has to have been a record for this date. I was confident that as I drove north, the temperature would drop. Not the case, or at least not by much. It fell to 94 in Littleton, but then, as I crossed the Connecticut River into Vermont, the temperature plummeted to 68, and the Vermont radio station informed me that there was a tornado watch in effect for the entire state. The sky was black and the winds kicked up (the radio said 45 mph gusts) and I wished I did not have the unfamiliar part of the trip ahead of me. With my eye on the sky for funnel clouds, I made my way north on 91, and by a circuitous route to Sterling College in Craftsbury Common, a tiny, picturesque white village hidden in the northeast kingdom of Vermont. If I were Robert Frost, I would no doubt craft a poem about NH and it’s cold relative to the west, and become famous…..
My connection to this place is both rooted and spiritual, and brings me to my next random thought, that these past few days have been filled with connections to several men who are either literally or figuratively dead to me. Today’s connection is to my oldest brother, who died 20 years ago. Even as I write that sentence, I can’t believe that his death was that long ago, as I can still hear his laugh, see his face, and imagine him sitting at the dinner table jiggling his knee, or drumming his fingers on the table, playing a fugue which only he could hear. In any case, here, in Craftsbury, VT, he began his teaching career after his graduation from Dartmouth, and we drove him and his stuff to what seemed to me to be the end of the world, and deposited him, and aforesaid stuff in what looked mostly like a poor excuse for a summer camp. I think he lasted one or maybe 1 ¾ of a year here, being fired for trying to close the school down after he discovered that the headmaster was falsifying the students’ transcripts. Though he was sent packing, the school stayed open only a short time after, though I don’t know if it closed because of Rob’s crusade. I think it was here that he ran into a deer and totaled his VW bug, and then “had” to buy a Porsche, in which he and younger brother Dick drove across the country to spend the summer in California.
Our speaker tonight cautioned against nostalgia, as a romanticization of the past and a substitute for remembering the truth of the past, and I find that it is easy for me to slip into nostalgia as I think about Rob and that time in our lives and in his life. After he left here, he moved to a school in Connecticut, near where I soon landed as a freshman in college, and spent some bizarre weekends with him, perhaps the subject of another blog.
I sat with a woman at dinner who taught for 8 years at White Mt. School, and that precipitated true nostalgia, and thoughts of ex-husband, Bob Whitten and the years we lived at White Mountain. They were, in many ways, the happiest years of our married life, but if I am honest, they were also, for me, some of the unhappiest. For him, I believe they were the happiest, and represented the place he had lived the longest in his entire life and felt the most rooted. He died 8 years ago, and as I prepare to spend 4 days on the WMS campus, actually living in the dorm where we were dorm parents for 2 years, I feel his presence. I wonder how it will affect me while I am there, and I hope, if anything, that it will be a comfortable experience and that it will bring back the happier memories. Will that be nostalgia or truth?
Finally, last night Todd sent me his itinerary for China, and I realized that he would be spending a day or two on the Yangtze River, docking at Yichang. That, I have to admit, made me think of my other ex-husband, whose great uncle spent 3 or 4 winters living in a temple in a small village up the River from what he called I-Chang. I transcribed his wife’s diary, written both from the small village and from the larger town of I-Chang, and always hoped to see and travel the river before the 3 Gorges Dam was built. For 10 years I lived and breathed Walter and Anna Granger, and I can’t say that I would want to re-live that time period, but if anything, I’d like to write to my ex and say “guess what, you turkey, Todd is going to see the very places that Walter and Anna write about in their diaries!” Part of me is smug that a member of my family will be there first.
And so, here I am in the Northeast Kingdom, not far from the birthplace of my grandmother and my mother, and I am thinking about the men who are now lost to me. The thunder, lightning and rain have started again, and tomorrow will bring clearer air, and a brain cleared of these cobwebs from the past, now that I have committed them to paper. (Paper?)
Friday, May 30, 2008
On Polygamy
Like all issues, the removal of children from the polygamous "Yearning for Zion" group because of alleged abuse is complex and has many sides to it. On the face of it, the anonymous phone call from a 16 year old who was claiming abuse, but who then could not be found, seems to render the whole episode suspicious (who REALLY made the call? Were the police looking to close down the community?) and of questionable origins.
Having said that, I want to say how surprised I am that the courts have upheld the parents and ruled that the children will be returned to them soon. I want to go on record as saying that sooner or later, there will be a case which overturns this one. As I watch the news coverage and see the women in 19th century prairie attire, with identical hairstyles from that same era, I am struck that at the very least, the existence of an apparently sanctioned "cult" in which women can be "kept" as a harem, and stuck in a lifestyle over a hundred years old, is, on its face, abusive. Add to that that young girls who are barely teens are "married" to middle-aged men and forced to bear their children, makes the situation even more abhorrent, and in my opinion, illegal.
I always thought that bigamy was illegal. How is it that polygamy is o.k.? Where is the outrage from all those folks who think that gay marriage will undermine "real marriage?" i.e. one man, one woman.....Where is the outrage from the folks that perceive the oppression of women in Muslim cultures because they are kept behind the veil? In our culture, being kept in a compound, wearing identical dresses and hairstyles of another century, and being one of many wives to the same man, seems to me to be equally or more oppressive.
The reason, finally, that I think this case will be overturned some day, is that it reminds me of the progression of court cases from Plessy v. Ferguson in the 1890s, that determined that "separate but equal facilities" for blacks were constitutional, to Brown v. Board of education in 1954, which ruled that "separate facilities are inherently unequal." I would say that polygamous marriage is inherently abusive. How long will the courts take to come to that same conclusion?
Having said that, I want to say how surprised I am that the courts have upheld the parents and ruled that the children will be returned to them soon. I want to go on record as saying that sooner or later, there will be a case which overturns this one. As I watch the news coverage and see the women in 19th century prairie attire, with identical hairstyles from that same era, I am struck that at the very least, the existence of an apparently sanctioned "cult" in which women can be "kept" as a harem, and stuck in a lifestyle over a hundred years old, is, on its face, abusive. Add to that that young girls who are barely teens are "married" to middle-aged men and forced to bear their children, makes the situation even more abhorrent, and in my opinion, illegal.
I always thought that bigamy was illegal. How is it that polygamy is o.k.? Where is the outrage from all those folks who think that gay marriage will undermine "real marriage?" i.e. one man, one woman.....Where is the outrage from the folks that perceive the oppression of women in Muslim cultures because they are kept behind the veil? In our culture, being kept in a compound, wearing identical dresses and hairstyles of another century, and being one of many wives to the same man, seems to me to be equally or more oppressive.
The reason, finally, that I think this case will be overturned some day, is that it reminds me of the progression of court cases from Plessy v. Ferguson in the 1890s, that determined that "separate but equal facilities" for blacks were constitutional, to Brown v. Board of education in 1954, which ruled that "separate facilities are inherently unequal." I would say that polygamous marriage is inherently abusive. How long will the courts take to come to that same conclusion?
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Call Me Crazy
I just checked my email and had a message from Chelsea Clinton.....I know, I know, so did a million other people.....BUT, I just have to say that I'm beginning to wonder if the Clinton campaign is in La-la land. I have been and continue to be a Hillary supporter. On the other hand, for "Chelsea" to email with an opportunity to vote on my favorite campaign t-shirt makes me just say "What???" Why didn't they think of doing this in January? Are they trying to raise money? Do they think that with 3 primaries to go and lagging in the delegate count that anyone really cares about a t-shirt design?
I'm just dumbfounded. I guess my reaction tells me that even I, a diehard Clinton fan, believe that it's over, or may as well be. Sad, but true.
My other reaction is, "Doesn't the campaign have anything better to do with its time?
Yikes!
I'm just dumbfounded. I guess my reaction tells me that even I, a diehard Clinton fan, believe that it's over, or may as well be. Sad, but true.
My other reaction is, "Doesn't the campaign have anything better to do with its time?
Yikes!
Friday, May 23, 2008
Random Thoughts
Random Thought #1
I wish I had a pint of Ben & Jerry's Phish ice cream or coffee heath bar crunch.......I would eat all of it. Instead, I'm reduced to a handful of chocolate chips
RT #2
Spring has been absolutely gorgeous at my house. The tree outside the kitchen door has been full of brilliant pink flowers, and as they fade slowly the petals have blanketed the ground beneath. This tree has been beautiful other years, but I haven't had as much chance to enjoy it, or simply stand at the kitchen door and contemplate it.
Similarly, I have seen more different birds at the feeder this year than ever before. I was actually watching while an indigo bunting, which I've never seen before, stayed at the feeder for 20 minutes or so one morning. A pair of orioles are eating the oranges I have out; some little redpoles (sp) are responsible for cleaning the feeder out every second day; the male cardinal is busy chasing a catbird away from the female. A male and female rose-breasted grosbeak have been at the feeder this week. Several wrens vie for the wren house hanging from the crabapple tree.
RT #3
I've been thinking a lot about my dad this week. First, I thought of him as I tied string (the same string he used to use to tie newspapers together into rolls) in between two stakes at regular intervals so that the peas would have support as they climb. Just the fact that I have vegetables growing this year reminds me of dad and the beautiful gardens he used to tend so faithfully, and the bountiful harvest he always had, and which he shared with others through the Co-op in Laconia.
I thought about him as I hung fencing around the raised bed, carefully pounding in the metal stakes with a hammer that had been his.
I thought how I should write down the date I planted the peas, chard, lettuce and onions and how I should have kept track of how long it took for each to come up. I thought about recording the amount of rain when it fell so I would know when I need to water. Then I thought of all his painstakingly kept records we had thrown out, and thought, what is the point of such record-keeping, as eventually, it will all be thrown out.
I thought how many years dad stacked wood in exact 4 x 4 x 8 rectangles as I moved all my outside wood into the basement into a somewhat less than perfect stack and wondered what fraction of a cord I had. I made a mental plan as to how I would stack the ultra-dry wood I'm going to get from the Geeslins back toward the house under the deck, while putting the newly cut wood from the three choke cherry trees under the outer edge of the deck. I started a stack of the smallest pieces of the choke cherry branches and covered them with corrugated plastic, to keep the rain off, just like dad did.
It's hard to work outside and not think of dad. I wonder how long I'll be able to maintain the lawn and gardens and will I, like dad, find it impossible to hire people to do the work I've always done.
RT#4
I've pondered the fact that at the same time I am marveling over the beauty of Mother Nature, people have died by the thousand in the cyclone in Burma and the earthquake in China. How can the world be so serene here and so dangerous and deadly over there? When Senator Kennedy was discovered to have a malignant brain tumor, I felt that we had experienced our own form of Mother Nature's negativity - a tsunami of grief for the family that has experienced so much already.
RT#4
I returned to the classroom this week to teach two Peace Studies classes and found the kids to be engaged participants, eager to think about how they can become "peace activists." That same night, I had dinner at a friend's house and had a chance to meeet two extraordinary activists - one who works for Non-Violent Peace Force, a group who goes into countries where there is violence and stands beside the victims of the violence hoping to protect them from their aggressors - the theory being that it is harder to bomb a house in which Americans are staying; the other is on her way to Nairobi where she will be running a training program for 15 teams of African women to learn how to build a water filtration system and use a small solar cooker to pasteurize their water. I am privileged to have the chance to meet people like these who are devoting their lives to others.
I wish I had a pint of Ben & Jerry's Phish ice cream or coffee heath bar crunch.......I would eat all of it. Instead, I'm reduced to a handful of chocolate chips
RT #2
Spring has been absolutely gorgeous at my house. The tree outside the kitchen door has been full of brilliant pink flowers, and as they fade slowly the petals have blanketed the ground beneath. This tree has been beautiful other years, but I haven't had as much chance to enjoy it, or simply stand at the kitchen door and contemplate it.
Similarly, I have seen more different birds at the feeder this year than ever before. I was actually watching while an indigo bunting, which I've never seen before, stayed at the feeder for 20 minutes or so one morning. A pair of orioles are eating the oranges I have out; some little redpoles (sp) are responsible for cleaning the feeder out every second day; the male cardinal is busy chasing a catbird away from the female. A male and female rose-breasted grosbeak have been at the feeder this week. Several wrens vie for the wren house hanging from the crabapple tree.
RT #3
I've been thinking a lot about my dad this week. First, I thought of him as I tied string (the same string he used to use to tie newspapers together into rolls) in between two stakes at regular intervals so that the peas would have support as they climb. Just the fact that I have vegetables growing this year reminds me of dad and the beautiful gardens he used to tend so faithfully, and the bountiful harvest he always had, and which he shared with others through the Co-op in Laconia.
I thought about him as I hung fencing around the raised bed, carefully pounding in the metal stakes with a hammer that had been his.
I thought how I should write down the date I planted the peas, chard, lettuce and onions and how I should have kept track of how long it took for each to come up. I thought about recording the amount of rain when it fell so I would know when I need to water. Then I thought of all his painstakingly kept records we had thrown out, and thought, what is the point of such record-keeping, as eventually, it will all be thrown out.
I thought how many years dad stacked wood in exact 4 x 4 x 8 rectangles as I moved all my outside wood into the basement into a somewhat less than perfect stack and wondered what fraction of a cord I had. I made a mental plan as to how I would stack the ultra-dry wood I'm going to get from the Geeslins back toward the house under the deck, while putting the newly cut wood from the three choke cherry trees under the outer edge of the deck. I started a stack of the smallest pieces of the choke cherry branches and covered them with corrugated plastic, to keep the rain off, just like dad did.
It's hard to work outside and not think of dad. I wonder how long I'll be able to maintain the lawn and gardens and will I, like dad, find it impossible to hire people to do the work I've always done.
RT#4
I've pondered the fact that at the same time I am marveling over the beauty of Mother Nature, people have died by the thousand in the cyclone in Burma and the earthquake in China. How can the world be so serene here and so dangerous and deadly over there? When Senator Kennedy was discovered to have a malignant brain tumor, I felt that we had experienced our own form of Mother Nature's negativity - a tsunami of grief for the family that has experienced so much already.
RT#4
I returned to the classroom this week to teach two Peace Studies classes and found the kids to be engaged participants, eager to think about how they can become "peace activists." That same night, I had dinner at a friend's house and had a chance to meeet two extraordinary activists - one who works for Non-Violent Peace Force, a group who goes into countries where there is violence and stands beside the victims of the violence hoping to protect them from their aggressors - the theory being that it is harder to bomb a house in which Americans are staying; the other is on her way to Nairobi where she will be running a training program for 15 teams of African women to learn how to build a water filtration system and use a small solar cooker to pasteurize their water. I am privileged to have the chance to meet people like these who are devoting their lives to others.
Monday, May 12, 2008
What did you do today?
Having an accomplishful day has always been important in my birth family. Now that I am "retired" from teaching, I have many days when I don't feel particularly "accomplishful," and on those days, I feel vaguely ill at ease. Lately, I've been trying to figure out what it is that makes me feel like I have made good use of my time and what it is that makes me feel like I've done absolutely nothing of consequence all day.
Take today, for example. Today, I think I accomplished quite a lot. The day got off to a rocky start when I decided to look at my calendar at 8:30, still in my pajamas, to discover that I had a dentist appointment at 9:00 in nearby Dover.......well, that caused me to take the shortest shower I think I've ever taken, and exceed the speed limit in a way that I haven't been doing lately in my miserly attempt to save gas. After such a come-from-behind start to the day, I proceeded to get the car washed, it having been the target of low-flying birds overnight, and then came home and balanced my bank statement the first time I tried.
I tossed in laundry, and hung it out to dry, in spite of the fact that skies were cloudy and i thought it might rain. While I was outside, I emptied out last year's pots of chrysanthemums and made 3 neat stacks of empty pots under the screen porch, dumped a trashcan full of leaves I had raked a few days ago and rearranged wheelbarrows and garden carts so that I could wheel the lawnmower out and plug in the battery so that I can use the key starter. Before I had lunch, I did 45 minutes or so of raking and cutting back bushes along the back side of the stream that flows through the yard.
When I went inside for lunch, I already felt accomplishful. I read two essays while I ate lunch, then retired to the computer where I sent out multiple emails to try to recruit more people for my summer institute. When I tired of doing that, I worked on a spreadsheet of names and addresses of people who have come to our events this year. At close to 4 o'clock, I remembered to call mly mother, and then I headed back outside to reward myself with some more raking and clean-up of the back lawn. I cultivated between the rows of vegetables coming up in one raised bed and continued my raking of endless willow branches until after 5. I resisted the desire to try to start the lawnmower and do some mowing, knowing that the battery is supposed to charge for 24 hours.
So.....here I sit, feeling good about my day, and watching Dancing With the Stars, and I feel very accomplishful. Since I have to deal with this darn Puritan/Calvinist work ethic, I think I should reflect on what it is that makes today accomplishful. I realize that devoting a chunk of time to something seems to be important. Some days I try to do too many different things. Today I really focused on lawn work, because I thought it was going to rain, and once the back gets soggy, it will be days before I can walk back there. So.....not only did I spend a lot of time out there, the type of work left visible results, and that seems to be important to me as well. I attribute my desire to actually be able to see results to the 33 years of teaching and having mostly intangible results. The work I did on the project was good today as well, but emails are very intangible. I did what I did to reduce the amount of time I will lie awake thinking about what else i can do to try to beat people out of the bushes. Only one person actually answered an email today, but I think I'm closing in on doing all that I can, and then it's out of my hands.
At some point, maybe I'll be able to just do anything with my day and not obsess about needing to accomplish anything. For now, that seems to be a ways away. It's about a lifetime of "doing" and only a short exposure to just "being."
Take today, for example. Today, I think I accomplished quite a lot. The day got off to a rocky start when I decided to look at my calendar at 8:30, still in my pajamas, to discover that I had a dentist appointment at 9:00 in nearby Dover.......well, that caused me to take the shortest shower I think I've ever taken, and exceed the speed limit in a way that I haven't been doing lately in my miserly attempt to save gas. After such a come-from-behind start to the day, I proceeded to get the car washed, it having been the target of low-flying birds overnight, and then came home and balanced my bank statement the first time I tried.
I tossed in laundry, and hung it out to dry, in spite of the fact that skies were cloudy and i thought it might rain. While I was outside, I emptied out last year's pots of chrysanthemums and made 3 neat stacks of empty pots under the screen porch, dumped a trashcan full of leaves I had raked a few days ago and rearranged wheelbarrows and garden carts so that I could wheel the lawnmower out and plug in the battery so that I can use the key starter. Before I had lunch, I did 45 minutes or so of raking and cutting back bushes along the back side of the stream that flows through the yard.
When I went inside for lunch, I already felt accomplishful. I read two essays while I ate lunch, then retired to the computer where I sent out multiple emails to try to recruit more people for my summer institute. When I tired of doing that, I worked on a spreadsheet of names and addresses of people who have come to our events this year. At close to 4 o'clock, I remembered to call mly mother, and then I headed back outside to reward myself with some more raking and clean-up of the back lawn. I cultivated between the rows of vegetables coming up in one raised bed and continued my raking of endless willow branches until after 5. I resisted the desire to try to start the lawnmower and do some mowing, knowing that the battery is supposed to charge for 24 hours.
So.....here I sit, feeling good about my day, and watching Dancing With the Stars, and I feel very accomplishful. Since I have to deal with this darn Puritan/Calvinist work ethic, I think I should reflect on what it is that makes today accomplishful. I realize that devoting a chunk of time to something seems to be important. Some days I try to do too many different things. Today I really focused on lawn work, because I thought it was going to rain, and once the back gets soggy, it will be days before I can walk back there. So.....not only did I spend a lot of time out there, the type of work left visible results, and that seems to be important to me as well. I attribute my desire to actually be able to see results to the 33 years of teaching and having mostly intangible results. The work I did on the project was good today as well, but emails are very intangible. I did what I did to reduce the amount of time I will lie awake thinking about what else i can do to try to beat people out of the bushes. Only one person actually answered an email today, but I think I'm closing in on doing all that I can, and then it's out of my hands.
At some point, maybe I'll be able to just do anything with my day and not obsess about needing to accomplish anything. For now, that seems to be a ways away. It's about a lifetime of "doing" and only a short exposure to just "being."
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Elimination of Unwanted Daughters.....say what?
Once again I find myself taking issue with Jeff Jacoby, my least favorite columnist in the shrinking stable of Boston Globe op ed writers. On Sunday, 4/6, Jacoby writes about a recent study which reveals that Asian-Americans, and Indian-Americans having multiple births, show a marked bias towards boys in second and third births where the first, or first and second births have been girls. The study concludes that in these populations, sex selection is occurring in greater numbers of pregnancies.
Jacoby uses this study to launch a rant against abortion and the “theology of ‘choice’ which elevates the right to abortion above all other considerations.” Jacoby seems to accept (reluctantly) that these practices go on in developing nations, where having boys is obviously a “rational” preference as a consequence of cultural traditions. It’s all right as long as the practice stays where it belongs, in far away China or India. It is not all right in the U.S. of A., where we should know better.
I would like to inform Mr. Jacoby, that the idea of sex selection in this country is not exactly a new one. Old wives tales abound about how one can conceive a boy instead of a girl or vice versa. Thermometers and daily temperature charts used to be the available technology, combined with the timing of intercourse. Did it work? Maybe sometimes. Now, there are ever more accurate and earlier means for determining the gender of the fetus, and hence, earlier opportunities to abort and try again.
As one who subscribes to the idea of a woman’s choice as a guiding principle in the decision to abort, I can’t say that I think aborting a female fetus because you want to have a male child is what I personally would choose. I can, however, see how someone from a culture which has valued boys above girls might want to make that choice. She (and her partner) will have to live with whatever guilt that decision may provoke. Mr. Jacoby thinks there should be a law against such abortions. He is of the ilk who would ban all abortions, and this is yet another way that the pro-life movement can erode the current law of the land, which gives the pregnant mother the right to choose an abortion.
If abortion for sex selection became illegal, then every decision to abort would have to go through the scrutiny of the law to make sure sex selection was not the reason. Currently, women do not have to give a reason as to why they want to abort. And that is because it is no one’s business but theirs.
I think Mr. Jacoby misses the point of what the real issue is, in his effort to use this study to buttress arguments against abortion. The real point is two-fold. First, we have in this instance yet another example of our technology outstripping our ethical understanding and second, we have the dominant culture in this country casting stones at the sub-dominant cultures whose traditions we dislike.
Potential solutions to the use of genetic testing, ultrasound and blood-testing to determine the sex of a fetus, might be to place a moratorium on those tests while ethicists and ordinary people discuss what is morally right and what is morally wrong. Consider also, a discussion with persons of other cultural backgrounds as to why they feel the need or the desire to perpetuate a particular cultural tradition, and just what the tradition means to them. A question which could be taken up in conversations around the country might be “Why are male children more valued than female children?” It is not unusual to hear of families “trying one more time to have a child of the opposite gender, even in our alleged superior, first world culture.
Jacoby ends his column by saying “You don’t have to be a feminist to know that being a girl is not a birth defect, or to be horrified by a practice that lethally reinforces the most benighted forms of sexual discrimination. For what kind of feminist would it be who could contemplate the use of abortion to eliminate ever-greater numbers of girls, and not cry out in horror?” At that conclusion, I want to laugh to hear him on his high horse as if he really supported feminism. In fact, being a girl IS still a birth defect in this culture if you examine women’s wages, the number of women in positions of power, the number of women killed by violent men, etc. And perhaps Mr. Jacoby hasn’t noticed any of the not-so-subtle sexism in the media that Hillary Clinton is trying to overcome in order to become the Presidential nominee of her party.
All I can say is that abortion for sex selection isn’t my cup of tea, but I think it’s way better than the infanticide of girl babies and children previously practiced (and still practiced) in some cultures. Or, say, selling your girl child into slavery or prostitution. So Jeff, I’m not yet prepared to “cry out in horror” at this new phenomenon in our country.
William Saleton wrote in Slate.com, a much more cogent opinion, I thought. To wit:
“Technology can facilitate regression as easily as it facilitates progress. But if you think of yourself as a pro-life conservative, the data should humble you, too. In the populations in which it has increased, sex selection isn't a newfangled perversion. It's a custom, and a patriarchal one at that. If the sex-selection story teaches us all to be a bit more skeptical of both tradition and technology, that'll be real progress.”
Jacoby uses this study to launch a rant against abortion and the “theology of ‘choice’ which elevates the right to abortion above all other considerations.” Jacoby seems to accept (reluctantly) that these practices go on in developing nations, where having boys is obviously a “rational” preference as a consequence of cultural traditions. It’s all right as long as the practice stays where it belongs, in far away China or India. It is not all right in the U.S. of A., where we should know better.
I would like to inform Mr. Jacoby, that the idea of sex selection in this country is not exactly a new one. Old wives tales abound about how one can conceive a boy instead of a girl or vice versa. Thermometers and daily temperature charts used to be the available technology, combined with the timing of intercourse. Did it work? Maybe sometimes. Now, there are ever more accurate and earlier means for determining the gender of the fetus, and hence, earlier opportunities to abort and try again.
As one who subscribes to the idea of a woman’s choice as a guiding principle in the decision to abort, I can’t say that I think aborting a female fetus because you want to have a male child is what I personally would choose. I can, however, see how someone from a culture which has valued boys above girls might want to make that choice. She (and her partner) will have to live with whatever guilt that decision may provoke. Mr. Jacoby thinks there should be a law against such abortions. He is of the ilk who would ban all abortions, and this is yet another way that the pro-life movement can erode the current law of the land, which gives the pregnant mother the right to choose an abortion.
If abortion for sex selection became illegal, then every decision to abort would have to go through the scrutiny of the law to make sure sex selection was not the reason. Currently, women do not have to give a reason as to why they want to abort. And that is because it is no one’s business but theirs.
I think Mr. Jacoby misses the point of what the real issue is, in his effort to use this study to buttress arguments against abortion. The real point is two-fold. First, we have in this instance yet another example of our technology outstripping our ethical understanding and second, we have the dominant culture in this country casting stones at the sub-dominant cultures whose traditions we dislike.
Potential solutions to the use of genetic testing, ultrasound and blood-testing to determine the sex of a fetus, might be to place a moratorium on those tests while ethicists and ordinary people discuss what is morally right and what is morally wrong. Consider also, a discussion with persons of other cultural backgrounds as to why they feel the need or the desire to perpetuate a particular cultural tradition, and just what the tradition means to them. A question which could be taken up in conversations around the country might be “Why are male children more valued than female children?” It is not unusual to hear of families “trying one more time to have a child of the opposite gender, even in our alleged superior, first world culture.
Jacoby ends his column by saying “You don’t have to be a feminist to know that being a girl is not a birth defect, or to be horrified by a practice that lethally reinforces the most benighted forms of sexual discrimination. For what kind of feminist would it be who could contemplate the use of abortion to eliminate ever-greater numbers of girls, and not cry out in horror?” At that conclusion, I want to laugh to hear him on his high horse as if he really supported feminism. In fact, being a girl IS still a birth defect in this culture if you examine women’s wages, the number of women in positions of power, the number of women killed by violent men, etc. And perhaps Mr. Jacoby hasn’t noticed any of the not-so-subtle sexism in the media that Hillary Clinton is trying to overcome in order to become the Presidential nominee of her party.
All I can say is that abortion for sex selection isn’t my cup of tea, but I think it’s way better than the infanticide of girl babies and children previously practiced (and still practiced) in some cultures. Or, say, selling your girl child into slavery or prostitution. So Jeff, I’m not yet prepared to “cry out in horror” at this new phenomenon in our country.
William Saleton wrote in Slate.com, a much more cogent opinion, I thought. To wit:
“Technology can facilitate regression as easily as it facilitates progress. But if you think of yourself as a pro-life conservative, the data should humble you, too. In the populations in which it has increased, sex selection isn't a newfangled perversion. It's a custom, and a patriarchal one at that. If the sex-selection story teaches us all to be a bit more skeptical of both tradition and technology, that'll be real progress.”
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Intersecting circles of life and death
Today was a day that had a roundness to it that I appreciate. I spent the morning cutting pieces for the Home of the Brave quilt I have taken responsibility for making to give to a local family whose son was killed in Iraq in January. As I cut, of course I thought about this family, the grief they must be experiencing, and I thought about the war which has now brought grief to thousands of families in this country and in Iraq. A week ago last night I stood in a vigil to draw attention to the 5th year of the war. Last night and this morning, I heard with a sick feeling about the upsurge in violence in Sadr City and in Basra. Another NH soldier was killed 2 days ago, making 41 casualties in our small state.
This afternoon, I took the quilt pieces to the high school, where seven others joined me in sewing blocks. Together, we made ten blocks in an hour and a half. I was glad to see my former colleagues, and I SO appreciated their willingness to help on this project. Some of us had taught the young man who died, or one of his older brothers. All of us knew the family, and some of us had been on the faculty and two had been students when the oldest son died of brain cancer during his senior year. Every year, the mom makes a beautiful quilt and raffles it off to raise money for the memorial scholarship which they established after the death of their oldest son. It seems more than fitting for those of us who have been part of the extended Oyster River family to be making a quilt to express our desire to comfort them at the time of their second horrific loss.
I was most touched by the presence today of one of my close friends from the English Dept. whose brother happens to be currently stationed in Bagdad. She is not a seamstress and had not even the least idea of how to pin fabric together, but she became our seam presser, and made an important contribution to the ease with which we were able to complete so many blocks. When I thanked her for coming, she said "I have a ton of work to do, but I just thought.....if something happens to my brother, I hope someone will make a quilt for my mom." I was struck by how differently she was perceiving this afternoon's activity from all the rest of us, and just how much fear and anxiety she holds in her heart every day for her brother who is directly in death's path with every day that he remains in Bagdad.
On my way out of the building, a former student, now a sophomore was standing in the entry area, and greeted me warmly. "Hi Ms. Morgan," she said. "Hi," I said, "How are you?" "I'm doing great," she said. "I was just talking about you to one of the interns today," she said. "Oh?" I said. "Yeah," she said. "I was telling her that you were someone who knew how to tame a ninth grade class." "Well, I tried," I said, turning and smiling at her as I walked out into the parking lot. I wish I had said, "Yes, but I hope 'tamed' was not synonymous with 'squashed."" Her name was Gabby, and she was. Gabby, that is. Fortunately, she was also very smart, and had always done her reading and preparation for class. I appreciated her, at the same time that I had to constantly sit on her. So to speak.
Arriving back at home, I spent a few minutes re-planting my "Support the Troops, End the war in Iraq" sign in the stump in front of the house. All the wind and weather this winter had partially uprooted it. I will be very happy when I no longer need to have this sign out front, when the Home of the Brave quilt project can come to an end, and when we have a leader in the White House who will not risk the lives of our young people so needlessly.
On television tonight, I flipped channels and saw a rebroadcast of an interview project we carried out in American Studies called the Power of One. My dear friend Emma was the teacher/environmentalist being interviewed by two of the smartest and nicest students I have ever worked with. I had never seen their entire tape, and it was a joy to watch and to think back on the whole project which was designed to encourage kids to realize the difference that one person can make through the way he or she lives his or her life. It's a lesson for me to remember as well, when I become discouraged about the large events in the world over which I have no control.
Today, I felt the threads of my life weave together in an interesting way, through my life as a teacher, a friend, a quilter, an organizer, a political activist . . . . . a tamer of ninth graders.
This afternoon, I took the quilt pieces to the high school, where seven others joined me in sewing blocks. Together, we made ten blocks in an hour and a half. I was glad to see my former colleagues, and I SO appreciated their willingness to help on this project. Some of us had taught the young man who died, or one of his older brothers. All of us knew the family, and some of us had been on the faculty and two had been students when the oldest son died of brain cancer during his senior year. Every year, the mom makes a beautiful quilt and raffles it off to raise money for the memorial scholarship which they established after the death of their oldest son. It seems more than fitting for those of us who have been part of the extended Oyster River family to be making a quilt to express our desire to comfort them at the time of their second horrific loss.
I was most touched by the presence today of one of my close friends from the English Dept. whose brother happens to be currently stationed in Bagdad. She is not a seamstress and had not even the least idea of how to pin fabric together, but she became our seam presser, and made an important contribution to the ease with which we were able to complete so many blocks. When I thanked her for coming, she said "I have a ton of work to do, but I just thought.....if something happens to my brother, I hope someone will make a quilt for my mom." I was struck by how differently she was perceiving this afternoon's activity from all the rest of us, and just how much fear and anxiety she holds in her heart every day for her brother who is directly in death's path with every day that he remains in Bagdad.
On my way out of the building, a former student, now a sophomore was standing in the entry area, and greeted me warmly. "Hi Ms. Morgan," she said. "Hi," I said, "How are you?" "I'm doing great," she said. "I was just talking about you to one of the interns today," she said. "Oh?" I said. "Yeah," she said. "I was telling her that you were someone who knew how to tame a ninth grade class." "Well, I tried," I said, turning and smiling at her as I walked out into the parking lot. I wish I had said, "Yes, but I hope 'tamed' was not synonymous with 'squashed."" Her name was Gabby, and she was. Gabby, that is. Fortunately, she was also very smart, and had always done her reading and preparation for class. I appreciated her, at the same time that I had to constantly sit on her. So to speak.
Arriving back at home, I spent a few minutes re-planting my "Support the Troops, End the war in Iraq" sign in the stump in front of the house. All the wind and weather this winter had partially uprooted it. I will be very happy when I no longer need to have this sign out front, when the Home of the Brave quilt project can come to an end, and when we have a leader in the White House who will not risk the lives of our young people so needlessly.
On television tonight, I flipped channels and saw a rebroadcast of an interview project we carried out in American Studies called the Power of One. My dear friend Emma was the teacher/environmentalist being interviewed by two of the smartest and nicest students I have ever worked with. I had never seen their entire tape, and it was a joy to watch and to think back on the whole project which was designed to encourage kids to realize the difference that one person can make through the way he or she lives his or her life. It's a lesson for me to remember as well, when I become discouraged about the large events in the world over which I have no control.
Today, I felt the threads of my life weave together in an interesting way, through my life as a teacher, a friend, a quilter, an organizer, a political activist . . . . . a tamer of ninth graders.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Back on the Couch.....Potato
What can I say.....the new Dancing With the Stars season has started, and I'm right here, watching with just as much enjoyment as I have watched the previous 2 seasons. Some people, I'm sure, will be surprised to know that I'm a devotee of "Dancing." Others, who know that I harbored hidden desires to be a Solid Gold dancer back in the early 80s know that behind my staid, English teacher demeanor is someone who LOVES to dance, and would have loved even more, to be a dancer on ice!! Along with those two passions (hidden and unrealized) I would have loved to swim on a synchronized swim team.
So....there you have it. I'm trying hard to accept the fact that sychronized swimming, professional dancing and figure skating, along with roller derby, are probably not in the cards for me (at least in this lifetime.) Of course....I could, perhaps, start a "bucket list" and take some steps toward at least TRYING some of these hidden desires.......
Lest anyone think that I have lived an unfulfilled life because of what I've written above, that is not the case. I will let my earlier blog entries, as well as those to come reveal the generally interesting, and sometimes even exciting life I lead!! Why, just a week ago today, I was at the Boston Flower Show with three of my best friends, and that was even better than watching Dancing With the Stars!!
So....there you have it. I'm trying hard to accept the fact that sychronized swimming, professional dancing and figure skating, along with roller derby, are probably not in the cards for me (at least in this lifetime.) Of course....I could, perhaps, start a "bucket list" and take some steps toward at least TRYING some of these hidden desires.......
Lest anyone think that I have lived an unfulfilled life because of what I've written above, that is not the case. I will let my earlier blog entries, as well as those to come reveal the generally interesting, and sometimes even exciting life I lead!! Why, just a week ago today, I was at the Boston Flower Show with three of my best friends, and that was even better than watching Dancing With the Stars!!
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Three Cups of Tea
If you only read one book in 2008, make it Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortenson. It is the true story of his attempt to climb K2, only to fail, but find his calling as a builder of schools in remote Northern Pakistan. Not only is this a riveting story, it throws into sharp relief the failures of our "War on Terror." Mortenson understood very early on that education was the key to peace in the region. Even more, he understood that educating girls held the key to social change.
I had the privilege of hearing him speak a couple of weeks ago, before I had read the book, and he quoted a proverb to the effect that "If you educate a boy, you educate an individual; if you educate a girl, you educate a village." Needless to say, educating girls in some of the more extreme Muslim communities was not always a popular idea. Mortenson has had two fatwahs issued against him, he was kidnapped and caught in a firefight in Afghanistan, where he has continued his school-building in recent years.
I am in awe of the work that he has done almost single-handedly. One of the most impressive parts of what he has done is that he not only builds the schools, he buys supplies and pays or makes sure that teachers are paid. He has more than 60 schools that he keeps up and running - through earthquakes, bombings, landslides and human failures.
Mortenson himself is a self-effacing, shy person. He comes across as an ordinary person who has been able to make a difference. In reality, he is an absolutely extraordinary person, who could be a role model for all of us. Hearing him speak, I felt that he educated the audience to the truths of the history and politics of the Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan region in a way that was both powerful and believable. If only he could have educated the Bush regime before they started bombing the region into oblivion.
The Peace Abbey awarded Greg the Courage of Conscience Award, and indeed, he lives the courage of his convictions every single day. He has joined Atticus Finch in my pantheon of heros. They are two men, one real, one fictional, who live their lives according to the highest principles of compassion and justice. I would like to see every school in our country adopt his book as required reading for students before they graduate.
I had the privilege of hearing him speak a couple of weeks ago, before I had read the book, and he quoted a proverb to the effect that "If you educate a boy, you educate an individual; if you educate a girl, you educate a village." Needless to say, educating girls in some of the more extreme Muslim communities was not always a popular idea. Mortenson has had two fatwahs issued against him, he was kidnapped and caught in a firefight in Afghanistan, where he has continued his school-building in recent years.
I am in awe of the work that he has done almost single-handedly. One of the most impressive parts of what he has done is that he not only builds the schools, he buys supplies and pays or makes sure that teachers are paid. He has more than 60 schools that he keeps up and running - through earthquakes, bombings, landslides and human failures.
Mortenson himself is a self-effacing, shy person. He comes across as an ordinary person who has been able to make a difference. In reality, he is an absolutely extraordinary person, who could be a role model for all of us. Hearing him speak, I felt that he educated the audience to the truths of the history and politics of the Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan region in a way that was both powerful and believable. If only he could have educated the Bush regime before they started bombing the region into oblivion.
The Peace Abbey awarded Greg the Courage of Conscience Award, and indeed, he lives the courage of his convictions every single day. He has joined Atticus Finch in my pantheon of heros. They are two men, one real, one fictional, who live their lives according to the highest principles of compassion and justice. I would like to see every school in our country adopt his book as required reading for students before they graduate.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
A rose by any other name...
Once an English teacher, always an English teacher. Sad, maybe, but true. I've always loved words, and I think in some ways it was impossible to grow up in my family without loving words. It's an inherited trait. The Twomblys (should the plural be Twomblies?) talked, the Redingtons did crossword puzzles and made puns. Over the years, I began to realize the power of words, and woe to the student who used the word "mankind" in my presence, and then professed not to understand what could be wrong with it.....I'll save the full-blown lecture for later.
I would have supposed that most writers would care passionately about words and their correct usage. It is that supposition that caused me to be shocked when I read novelist Elinor Lipman's column in Monday's Globe (2/11), entitled "Chelsea and the kid gloves." In her column, she claimed that it wasn't any big deal that pundit Bill Shuster asked the question "Doesn't it seem like Chelsea is being pimped out in some weird sort of way?" Lipman wonders why the Clintons should have taken umbrage at that. She thinks they overreacted. Wouldn't anyone take umbrage if their daughter was described as "being pimped out?" Should the listener not have assumed any sexual-trafficking connotation as Ms. Lipman claims? In what other context does one use the word "pimp?"
She continues her column to similarly brush aside Don Imus's famous description of the Rutgers' girls bastketball team, saying "Did anyone in his or her right mind need to be disabused of Imus's characterization?" We may well have understood that the young women on the team were not "hos," but that doesn't mean it was o.k. for him to call them that, along with the adjectives he used to precede the word. I am aghast that Ms. Lipman is willing to see language used so imprecisely and scurrilously. If she thinks it's o.k., then I think the degradation of our culture has gone further than I had imagined.
Words both reflect the culture and have the power to shape it. I hope I understand as well as the next person the way language changes, and particularly that the vernacular may expand to include words that previous generations would have had their mouths washed out with soap for using. Acceptance of these kinds of insults as normative, however, I think goes past a boundary that I would rather not see crossed. And here's why, since you asked:
We are living in an age of the manipulation of language much like what George Orwell imagined in 1984. If we grow sloppy in our usage, we accept the deaths of "troops," because that word is more dehumanized than deaths of "soldiers," which is more dehumanized that saying deaths of "men" and "women." It allows us to have a President who will talk about "shock and awe" when our military is dropping bombs on Baghdad. It brought us "Operation Enduring Freedom" and "Desert Storm." In munitions, it brings us "smart bombs" and Focused Lethality Munitions (see previous blog). We can objectify and rename anything until it is unrecognizeable for what it is. I take issue not only with Ms. Lipman, but also with Shakespeare himself, who said "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet." A "ho" is not synonymous with "basketball player" and "pimped out" is not synonymous with "speaking on the campaign trail on behalf of your mother." Ms. Lipman should have known better.
I would have supposed that most writers would care passionately about words and their correct usage. It is that supposition that caused me to be shocked when I read novelist Elinor Lipman's column in Monday's Globe (2/11), entitled "Chelsea and the kid gloves." In her column, she claimed that it wasn't any big deal that pundit Bill Shuster asked the question "Doesn't it seem like Chelsea is being pimped out in some weird sort of way?" Lipman wonders why the Clintons should have taken umbrage at that. She thinks they overreacted. Wouldn't anyone take umbrage if their daughter was described as "being pimped out?" Should the listener not have assumed any sexual-trafficking connotation as Ms. Lipman claims? In what other context does one use the word "pimp?"
She continues her column to similarly brush aside Don Imus's famous description of the Rutgers' girls bastketball team, saying "Did anyone in his or her right mind need to be disabused of Imus's characterization?" We may well have understood that the young women on the team were not "hos," but that doesn't mean it was o.k. for him to call them that, along with the adjectives he used to precede the word. I am aghast that Ms. Lipman is willing to see language used so imprecisely and scurrilously. If she thinks it's o.k., then I think the degradation of our culture has gone further than I had imagined.
Words both reflect the culture and have the power to shape it. I hope I understand as well as the next person the way language changes, and particularly that the vernacular may expand to include words that previous generations would have had their mouths washed out with soap for using. Acceptance of these kinds of insults as normative, however, I think goes past a boundary that I would rather not see crossed. And here's why, since you asked:
We are living in an age of the manipulation of language much like what George Orwell imagined in 1984. If we grow sloppy in our usage, we accept the deaths of "troops," because that word is more dehumanized than deaths of "soldiers," which is more dehumanized that saying deaths of "men" and "women." It allows us to have a President who will talk about "shock and awe" when our military is dropping bombs on Baghdad. It brought us "Operation Enduring Freedom" and "Desert Storm." In munitions, it brings us "smart bombs" and Focused Lethality Munitions (see previous blog). We can objectify and rename anything until it is unrecognizeable for what it is. I take issue not only with Ms. Lipman, but also with Shakespeare himself, who said "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet." A "ho" is not synonymous with "basketball player" and "pimped out" is not synonymous with "speaking on the campaign trail on behalf of your mother." Ms. Lipman should have known better.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Smart, smarter, smartest small bombs
I found the final story on ABC news last night particularly objectionable. Obscene, even. I've spent quite a bit of time wondering just why it bothered me so much. The story was the report on the development of the new, small, smart bomb. The whole point of the bomb is to reduce collateral damage. Now that would be a good thing, and I should have been excited to hear that anyone in the military cares about that. It certainly represents a change from the good old days of carpet bombing in Viet Nam, or say, Dresden, for example.
Jeffrey Kofman reported the story and sounded somewhat like a kid in a candy store, and I think that was what first set me off. Instead of a straight forward story on what it costs to produce this new bomb and how many lives it might actually save (though let us not forget that it is intended to take lives, just more accurately), we have a first-hand opportunity to ride along in the plane with Mr. Kofman while the bomb is tested. He is clearly in awe of the opportunity. I am clearly disgusted by the thrill he is experiencing.
I couldn't help wishing for Peter Jennings "gravitas," much as I have come to feel that is a pompous word as it is bandied about today. Where was Mr. Kofman's understanding of what real bombs to do real people? Where was the analysis of what might be done with the money expended on these ever newer weapons? Where was the discussion of how, as we make "smarter and smarter" bombs, we seem to be producing greater and greater morons who hold the reins of the power to create situations in which to use these lovely weapons. And does anyone think about how much easier it is to launch these weapons from 15,000 feet away from the target with the push of a button? Do the droppers of the bombs see the destruction they cause? Do they care? Why was this considered a news story? What corporations sponsor ABC news and what might their interest be in bomb-making?
For those who may have missed the story last night, I repeat, below, an excerpt from the abcnews.com web site:
"As the Air Force now sees it, in today's warfare smaller is better. With these new Small Diameter Bombs, it hopes to accomplish three things at once: get more weapons on each aircraft; fire those weapons from much further away than JDAMs allow; and, critically, with much less explosive inside, aim to strike with surgical precision."
When the story ended, I must say, I thought that we should all rush off to our nearest FAO Schwartz to pick up the newest edition of our own, small, smart bomb. But wait, don't purchase yours too soon, because:
". . . the next generation of Small Diameter Bomb is already in early development. The FLM, or Focused Lethality Munition, will take surgical precision to a new level. It will be made of hardened plastics that disintegrate on explosion, eliminating the deadly metal fragments, or shrapnel, that causes so much unintended damage and destruction. Clearly, the Air Force is determined to refine what it believes will be the surgical strike weapon of choice for 21st century warfare." Hold the phone, Mr. Kofman may get another chance to ride along when they test the FLM.....who thinks up these names? Focused Lethality Munition???? Good God! Someone should quickly notify the 'collateral damage" that help is on the way!
Jeffrey Kofman reported the story and sounded somewhat like a kid in a candy store, and I think that was what first set me off. Instead of a straight forward story on what it costs to produce this new bomb and how many lives it might actually save (though let us not forget that it is intended to take lives, just more accurately), we have a first-hand opportunity to ride along in the plane with Mr. Kofman while the bomb is tested. He is clearly in awe of the opportunity. I am clearly disgusted by the thrill he is experiencing.
I couldn't help wishing for Peter Jennings "gravitas," much as I have come to feel that is a pompous word as it is bandied about today. Where was Mr. Kofman's understanding of what real bombs to do real people? Where was the analysis of what might be done with the money expended on these ever newer weapons? Where was the discussion of how, as we make "smarter and smarter" bombs, we seem to be producing greater and greater morons who hold the reins of the power to create situations in which to use these lovely weapons. And does anyone think about how much easier it is to launch these weapons from 15,000 feet away from the target with the push of a button? Do the droppers of the bombs see the destruction they cause? Do they care? Why was this considered a news story? What corporations sponsor ABC news and what might their interest be in bomb-making?
For those who may have missed the story last night, I repeat, below, an excerpt from the abcnews.com web site:
"As the Air Force now sees it, in today's warfare smaller is better. With these new Small Diameter Bombs, it hopes to accomplish three things at once: get more weapons on each aircraft; fire those weapons from much further away than JDAMs allow; and, critically, with much less explosive inside, aim to strike with surgical precision."
When the story ended, I must say, I thought that we should all rush off to our nearest FAO Schwartz to pick up the newest edition of our own, small, smart bomb. But wait, don't purchase yours too soon, because:
". . . the next generation of Small Diameter Bomb is already in early development. The FLM, or Focused Lethality Munition, will take surgical precision to a new level. It will be made of hardened plastics that disintegrate on explosion, eliminating the deadly metal fragments, or shrapnel, that causes so much unintended damage and destruction. Clearly, the Air Force is determined to refine what it believes will be the surgical strike weapon of choice for 21st century warfare." Hold the phone, Mr. Kofman may get another chance to ride along when they test the FLM.....who thinks up these names? Focused Lethality Munition???? Good God! Someone should quickly notify the 'collateral damage" that help is on the way!
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