Guest Post by Stephen, aka The Blog Pirate (formerly known as The Letter Pirate). Excerpted from communication to the Howe Family (yes, a "pre-emptive" family letter).
This weekend we made a quick escape to the Berkshires! We got up at a regular work time on Saturday morning, got dressed and hopped into the car. The weather was perfect for driving--in the 40s mid-day and a bright, clear blue winter sky. We took the New York Thruway up to Albany, exited onto 787 towards Troy (when RPI was a fire hydrant, Union was a pup . . .ed. note: this is a song that Stephen's dad sings whenever we mention Albany or Troy, NY because of its proximity to Union College), and headed east towards Massachusetts on 7. We found our way to Route 2 which carries us over the Berkshires into North Adams. Route 2 is one of those wind-y, mountain roads with lots of curves going up and down hills with steep ravines dropping off to one side. It is the type of road with lots of signs screaming brake warnings to truckers and where choruses of "DON'T HEEL, DON'T HEEL" would echo out if we happened to be on a boat. (ed. note: growing up, Stephen's mom would shout "don't heel!" whenever their boat would tip on the ever-placid Lake Minetonka...much to the chagrin of the rest of the family, who made sure to tease her about this behavior mercilessly. Families...gotta love 'em).
North Adams is your typical worn-out, seen better days, Western Mass (or even Upstate New York) type of town, with one exception: they have a burgeoning arts scene and a very modern art museum (Mass MoCA) built into the sight of a former printing factory on the Hoosac river (repeat to yourself many many times for fun: HOOSAC HOOSAC HOOSAC HOOSAC HOOSAC). We stopped here first had lunch in their little cafe and went off to see some art. The exhibits were good (and different from the last time we were here) but not spectacular. Although there was one structure composed of a Ford Taurus in various states of being rolled over and flung through the air (each car was like a freeze-frame of a car rolling over--no connection to Route 2, mind you). Shooting from the cars were strings of light to look like either explosions or fireworks. We also saw an exhibit on alternative housing called the Interventionists (and despite beingcalled the Interventionists, one could not intervene with the art at all,always blocked by do not touch and do not step signs), and a piece on race called The Black Factory (by a Bates Professor, William Pope.L). Somehow at the end of all this we got snookered into going into the museum bookstore and bought books. Shocking, I know.
After the museum we drove arond the corner to the Porches, our hotel (www.porches.com). Similiar to the museum, the porches is constructed from a set of Victorian row of houses that formerly housed the mill workers. The houses have been thoroughly rennovated and now resembles a set of Adorondack cabins, although much nicer. All of them are painted in burnt wooden colors: gray, wash-out reds, ochres, mustards, and pale greens. There is a heated outdoor pool, sauna, etc. The hotel was rather full, surprising to us for the dead of winter in Massachusetts. That afternoon we walked into town to see the highlights (not much) and found ourselves at one of the few open stores, a cafe called Brew-Ha-Ha. In the evening we walked back to Mass MoCA where we ate at their restaurant, "11".
This morning, we woke up, had breakfast at the hotel (continental breakfast comes with the room and they have a little eating area or you can sit in the lounge--they TV trays that you can set up next to your chair and a fire in the fireplace). There was organic yogurt, chocolate croissants, cereal, fresh grapefruit, fresh bed, hard-boiled eggs, juice and of course coffee. After breakfast we loaded up the car and headed back to Jersey. We stopped to fill the tank at a Cumberland Farms and Michaela had me practice my Boston accent over and over by saying Cumbah-lin Fahms (ed. note: I think we know who instigated repeating the phrase over and over...). This time time we took 7 South until we reached the Mass Pike, took the Mass Pike into New York and picked up the Taconic Parkway right over the border. The Taconic parkway is a nice alternative to the Thruway and cuts through the mountains heading south. From there we picked up 84, back to the Thruway and on into Jersey on the GSP.
2.06.2005
2.03.2005
Thoughts on Lunch
For years, the word "lunch" has struck fear in my heart.
It's a meal that too often gets lost in the frenzy of the day--some days I can't pull it together enough to take lunch until 2pm (far too late when breakfast is at 8am)--and most often, I eat sitting in front of my computer, fantasizing about how I would like to eat curled up in a chair while reading a novel. (I maintain, however, that my keyboard is relatively clean, considering...I make sure to disinfect it and go after it with canned air at least once a week ;) )
And it's not just making the time to eat. The big stress is WHAT to eat. There are quite a few options in my work neighborhood (walk outside to get a sandwich from the fantastic French bakery "J'adore", order in from the Chinese run cheap Mexican place, Subway, the prepared food or salad bar from Whole Food)--maybe the problem is that there are too many options and not enough brain-space to think about what I want. So lately I've started *bringing* my lunch to work. (I know this is not nearly as shocking to other people as it is to me--I've been ordering in for years).
Today's offering is smoked Atlantic salmon wrapped around Neufchatel and sprinkled with freshly ground pepper on top of Melba toast...the ground pepper is what really makes it good (and no one said that bringing lunch was supposed to be healthier, right??). Sometimes Stephen makes sandwiches for us with organic salami, which allows me to say "it's okay to eat salami--it's Organic!" But the best part of the whole thing is that I don't have to sit at my desk and figure out what's for lunch. It's the little things...
It's a meal that too often gets lost in the frenzy of the day--some days I can't pull it together enough to take lunch until 2pm (far too late when breakfast is at 8am)--and most often, I eat sitting in front of my computer, fantasizing about how I would like to eat curled up in a chair while reading a novel. (I maintain, however, that my keyboard is relatively clean, considering...I make sure to disinfect it and go after it with canned air at least once a week ;) )
And it's not just making the time to eat. The big stress is WHAT to eat. There are quite a few options in my work neighborhood (walk outside to get a sandwich from the fantastic French bakery "J'adore", order in from the Chinese run cheap Mexican place, Subway, the prepared food or salad bar from Whole Food)--maybe the problem is that there are too many options and not enough brain-space to think about what I want. So lately I've started *bringing* my lunch to work. (I know this is not nearly as shocking to other people as it is to me--I've been ordering in for years).
Today's offering is smoked Atlantic salmon wrapped around Neufchatel and sprinkled with freshly ground pepper on top of Melba toast...the ground pepper is what really makes it good (and no one said that bringing lunch was supposed to be healthier, right??). Sometimes Stephen makes sandwiches for us with organic salami, which allows me to say "it's okay to eat salami--it's Organic!" But the best part of the whole thing is that I don't have to sit at my desk and figure out what's for lunch. It's the little things...
1.31.2005
This Post Exists So Stephen Has Something To Look At In His Thunderbird Aggregator...
It occured to me today that not only had I better start practicing for The Garden Street Quartet's recital on the 27th, but that I have to start on the program notes, too...eek. So if anyone out there has any fabulous thoughts on Brahms, Op. 25, the Faure c-minor (no, I can't remember the opus number right now, sigh...), or the Turina, Op. 67...feel free to share :) (We're just performing the first movements of the Brahms and Faure, a practice which I generally despise, but which in this case suits me just fine. I cannot stand the second movement of the Faure, and I can't imagine our audience sitting through a program that long, either.)
More later...
p.s. I checked Bloglines and saw that I have a subscriber! (Thanks, Sam!) Maybe that'll keep me posting more often...blogs are pretty damn boring otherwise.
Edit: Faure, Op. 15. Next I'll learn the key commands for the accent that should appear of the "e" in the composer's name...
More later...
p.s. I checked Bloglines and saw that I have a subscriber! (Thanks, Sam!) Maybe that'll keep me posting more often...blogs are pretty damn boring otherwise.
Edit: Faure, Op. 15. Next I'll learn the key commands for the accent that should appear of the "e" in the composer's name...
1.30.2005
List of Current Thoughts
I'm not quite sure where to start after a crazy January, so I'll just plunge in and see what thoughts come up. Here's what I've been thinking about/feeling lately from the sublime to the banal:
1. Upon wandering through Anthropologie on Bolyston Street this past week it occured to me that even though I adore almost every piece of clothing I see in the store (the skirts are too adorable--colors! Rick-rack!), buying any of them at all would require me to overhaul my entire wardrobe and to wear impractical shoes, not to mention the dreaded stockings.
2. I have a book buying problem. I figure this is less of an issue than, say, a drug or alcohol problem--it's cheaper, for one thing, and it doesn't have as negative an impact on those around me. The main issue is that books take up a lot of space. And they're heavy--not that that would stop me from traveling with them. I was unable to leave Boston without buying a book (Alice Hoffman's "The Probable Future," which I chose because of its New England specifc setting).
3. It made me unbelievably happy to run into my favorite English teacher from high school this past weekend.
4. I'd like to find more time to read poetry.
5. I'm never, ever, ever going to carry both my Mac and my IBM in one messenger bag again for fear of separating my shoulder.
6. I wonder if there's a way to find time to blog more consistently. Maybe shorter, more frequent posts....
7. There are a ton of really amazing knitting blogs out there--very inspiring. Here are a few of my current favorites:
Stitch Marker
All Tangled Up
Brainylady
Dogs Steal Yarn
And those four link to many other cool sites...so many sites, so little time...
8. I'm wondering about sending out old-fashioned valentines to people this year...and maybe a chocolate mousee or two...But then I think about how much I hate Valentine's Day--the horror of not getting a carnation in junior high, the stress of "enforced" giving (do you sense a theme here?). Then again, it's fun to give people unexpected gifts (which makes this holiday different from Christmas).
9. Knitting projects: must finish other fingerless glove for Stephen, restart poncho for Rebecca....then there's the chenille blanket for Kate (which she doesn't know about, but she probably hasn't checked in on this blog for a while, so I'm not too worried ;) ) I keep thinking of making something for myself, but it seems so wrong somehow.
10. Lurking deep underneath all of these thoughts are a whole nexus of other thoughts--about how sad I am for Jennie-Rebecca, who just lost her mum; that I'm happy because she's moving back the The Brick Arbor; how I don't want our parents to be ill or die; how losing that generation takes us just that much closer to mortality.
1. Upon wandering through Anthropologie on Bolyston Street this past week it occured to me that even though I adore almost every piece of clothing I see in the store (the skirts are too adorable--colors! Rick-rack!), buying any of them at all would require me to overhaul my entire wardrobe and to wear impractical shoes, not to mention the dreaded stockings
2. I have a book buying problem. I figure this is less of an issue than, say, a drug or alcohol problem--it's cheaper, for one thing, and it doesn't have as negative an impact on those around me. The main issue is that books take up a lot of space. And they're heavy--not that that would stop me from traveling with them. I was unable to leave Boston without buying a book (Alice Hoffman's "The Probable Future," which I chose because of its New England specifc setting).
3. It made me unbelievably happy to run into my favorite English teacher from high school this past weekend.
4. I'd like to find more time to read poetry.
5. I'm never, ever, ever going to carry both my Mac and my IBM in one messenger bag again for fear of separating my shoulder.
6. I wonder if there's a way to find time to blog more consistently. Maybe shorter, more frequent posts....
7. There are a ton of really amazing knitting blogs out there--very inspiring. Here are a few of my current favorites:
Stitch Marker
All Tangled Up
Brainylady
Dogs Steal Yarn
And those four link to many other cool sites...so many sites, so little time...
8. I'm wondering about sending out old-fashioned valentines to people this year...and maybe a chocolate mousee or two...But then I think about how much I hate Valentine's Day--the horror of not getting a carnation in junior high, the stress of "enforced" giving (do you sense a theme here?). Then again, it's fun to give people unexpected gifts (which makes this holiday different from Christmas).
9. Knitting projects: must finish other fingerless glove for Stephen, restart poncho for Rebecca....then there's the chenille blanket for Kate (which she doesn't know about, but she probably hasn't checked in on this blog for a while, so I'm not too worried ;) ) I keep thinking of making something for myself, but it seems so wrong somehow.
10. Lurking deep underneath all of these thoughts are a whole nexus of other thoughts--about how sad I am for Jennie-Rebecca, who just lost her mum; that I'm happy because she's moving back the The Brick Arbor; how I don't want our parents to be ill or die; how losing that generation takes us just that much closer to mortality.
12.28.2004
The Veil is Lifted...
Well, now I know why I used to walk home from school terrified that a gigantic Tyrannosaurus Rex was going to barrel its way down Summer Street and devour me: I clearly had watched too many episodes of "Land of the Lost". I just finished watching the first two episodes of the series (thank you Netflix!) and was transported immediately back to the farthest left cushion on the family room couch where I watched the program growing up. (I never thought I had watched that much TV, but maybe I really did). The sets and production values are totally laughable, the acting bad and earnest, and what drug was the person who invented Sleestak taking?? But despite all that (or maybe because of it...), I still loved the show--with a little pluck and smarts, you can outwit and outrun any T Rex, right? ;)
12.14.2004
Looks like a Must Read...
I don't know how I managed to miss this in bookstores--Stephen Mitchell's translation of the Tao de Ching is my favorite--lucid, flowing, and graceful. Can't wait to dive into Gilgamesh!
Powells.com From the Author - Stephen Mitchell
Powells.com From the Author - Stephen Mitchell
12.10.2004
A Painting a Day
I came across this site via Boing Boing (if you haven't visited Boing Boing, you're missing one of the most eclectic, fun sites on the web...). I particularly love "Egg 8". And what an amazing commitment! Check it out. A Painting a Day
12.06.2004
Test Image
I'm testing out instructions on how to post images (without having to use the Blogger "Hello" application...). This is my first foray into html IMG tags (okay--full disclosure. It is my first foray into html at all, period...). Okay, so here it goes:
This is one of Stephen's photos from Berlin of the Martin Gropius Bau.
This is one of Stephen's photos from Berlin of the Martin Gropius Bau.
12.02.2004
Thoughts on YA Fantasy Literature
I've been reading Pat O'Shea's The Hounds of the Morrigan, a vast and sprawling fairy-tale-like novel published in 1985, and while I'm enjoying it, I keep feeling that it's missing a level of depth that I crave from this genre of fiction. It may be that in most of the other YA fantasy fiction that I love--Madeline L'Engle's Time Trilogy, Susan Cooper's The Dark is Rising Sequence, and Nancy Bond's A String in the Harp, for example--fantasy is an element of the story, and may even drive the plot of the story, but underneath lies an exploration of human relationships, or the personal growth of the protagonist.
The Hounds--while introducing many funny and interesting characters--is not about Pidge and Brigit's growth as a people (and Brigit is shockingly precocious for a five year old--though not as convincingly as Charles Wallace in L'Engle's Time Trilogy). (And in the interest of full disclosure, it is really bothering me that Morrigan's hounds have all the hallmarks of Irish Wolfhounds--creatures I cannot imagine hunting small children, considering my family's first Wolfhound was responsible for watching me in the yard...). The story itself seems too baldly told, and unwittingly brings to the surface undercurrents of gender issues that seem to lurk in Celtic mythology--any time the main "evil" charachters are female and the "good" character is male, I get a little worried (although, to be fair, I would need to take a much closer look at the legends to know that for certain--is the Morrigan completely and thoroughly a destructive goddess? Or is she more like Kali, or while a destroyer, also has positive qualities?)
By contrast, A String in the Harp explores how children who have recently lost their mother adapt to living far from home; the Time Trilogy (in part) explores how the Murray children cope with a "abandonment" by their father, social awkwardness in school (how to cope with "outsiderness"), and the bonds of familial love. I wonder if O'Shea just meant to write a different kind of good vs. evil book, where the clash between good and evil really is the entire point, and the vessels of that clash are really secondary to the story. In any case, I'm glad I'm reading it because at the very least, it's entertaining, and it's piqued my curiosity about Celtic mythology again, so I think it's time to do some research (and write my own YA fantasy novel...)
The Hounds--while introducing many funny and interesting characters--is not about Pidge and Brigit's growth as a people (and Brigit is shockingly precocious for a five year old--though not as convincingly as Charles Wallace in L'Engle's Time Trilogy). (And in the interest of full disclosure, it is really bothering me that Morrigan's hounds have all the hallmarks of Irish Wolfhounds--creatures I cannot imagine hunting small children, considering my family's first Wolfhound was responsible for watching me in the yard...). The story itself seems too baldly told, and unwittingly brings to the surface undercurrents of gender issues that seem to lurk in Celtic mythology--any time the main "evil" charachters are female and the "good" character is male, I get a little worried (although, to be fair, I would need to take a much closer look at the legends to know that for certain--is the Morrigan completely and thoroughly a destructive goddess? Or is she more like Kali, or while a destroyer, also has positive qualities?)
By contrast, A String in the Harp explores how children who have recently lost their mother adapt to living far from home; the Time Trilogy (in part) explores how the Murray children cope with a "abandonment" by their father, social awkwardness in school (how to cope with "outsiderness"), and the bonds of familial love. I wonder if O'Shea just meant to write a different kind of good vs. evil book, where the clash between good and evil really is the entire point, and the vessels of that clash are really secondary to the story. In any case, I'm glad I'm reading it because at the very least, it's entertaining, and it's piqued my curiosity about Celtic mythology again, so I think it's time to do some research (and write my own YA fantasy novel...)
11.28.2004
Nooooo....Not the End of a Holiday Weekend....
So the last time I posted, it was Tuesday afternoon and I was having trouble adapting to being away from work. Now it's Sunday night and I can't imagine going back. I've spent the last six days cooking, walking, experiencing art, knitting, buying yarn, plotting holiday presents, eating, watching football, reading, and sleeping until 8:30 or 9:00 every morning. It's been pure bliss...like breaks during college without the homework or the inevitable cold that would descend as soon as I stopped moving and sat still for two minutes.
Now that the holiday season has "officially" started, I've been thinking about how to face it this year (we're staying at home at entertaining Stephen's parents). I haven't figured out how to square the religious aspects of Christmas (because it is a Christian holiday and I no longer consider myself a Christian) with the cultural aspects of Christmas (the unrepentant, unabashed commercialism). I feel equally uncomfortable and trapped with both the religion and the commercialism.
Maybe it's about managing expectations. I love giving people gifts, and try to do so throughout the year--not just at Christmas time. I strongly dislike giving gifts out of obligation or because I am expected to give, however (managing "obligations" has never been a strong suit. The word enough is enough to make me dig in my heels and refuse to act, whether it makes sense or not). What I've been thinking about is how to escape the feeling that the holidays are obligatory and about giving material objects because "it's that time of year"--especially since I know my closest friends do not feel that the holidays are "obligatory" at all (and I love giving them gifts because I can do it joyfully and without expectations).
I think I'll approach this season as a meditation on expectation and obligation and will keep asking myself: to whom am i giving joyfully? to whom am I giving because I'm "supposed" to? And what am I going to do to change that feeling?
Now that the holiday season has "officially" started, I've been thinking about how to face it this year (we're staying at home at entertaining Stephen's parents). I haven't figured out how to square the religious aspects of Christmas (because it is a Christian holiday and I no longer consider myself a Christian) with the cultural aspects of Christmas (the unrepentant, unabashed commercialism). I feel equally uncomfortable and trapped with both the religion and the commercialism.
Maybe it's about managing expectations. I love giving people gifts, and try to do so throughout the year--not just at Christmas time. I strongly dislike giving gifts out of obligation or because I am expected to give, however (managing "obligations" has never been a strong suit. The word enough is enough to make me dig in my heels and refuse to act, whether it makes sense or not). What I've been thinking about is how to escape the feeling that the holidays are obligatory and about giving material objects because "it's that time of year"--especially since I know my closest friends do not feel that the holidays are "obligatory" at all (and I love giving them gifts because I can do it joyfully and without expectations).
I think I'll approach this season as a meditation on expectation and obligation and will keep asking myself: to whom am i giving joyfully? to whom am I giving because I'm "supposed" to? And what am I going to do to change that feeling?
11.23.2004
Thoughts on Time Off...
This is going to sound a bit odd, but I'm going to throw it out there anyway. I've taken Tuesday and Wednesday off from work (in addition to the Thursday and Friday holiday) and honestly have no idea what to do with that time. I continually forget that I'm so attached to structure, to lists, to "doing." I know that having time is something precious, something to appreciate--so that makes it even more frustrating that I feel unsettled when given time. It's as if no matter how much or little I have to do, I desire of state of having less to do--but when that state of "less" is achieved, it still does not suffice. So having to grocery shop and do laundry today feels burdensome in much the same way that sitting at my desk at work sometimes does.
Maybe it's just the transition from working life to time-off life, from sitting at a desk thinking about people's database questions, writing, or answering questions on the phone, to thinking about grocery lists, what's for dinner, laundry, knitting, reading, and all the other things that sneak into the cracks during daily life but now can come to the front of my mind. (And don't forget about finding a text for the Christmas card and sending Debbie's birthday present....). I always think that I'm going to lie around and read when I take time off and stay at home, but it never works out that way. It seems to be necessary to go somewhere else--where dishes do not need to be done, or where there are many other people to share the load--in order to really get that space and time in the mind.
It's starting to get dark now--grey and forboding, with a nip in the air after the day's surprising warm dampness. I can see door lights popping on across the street, illuminating the brick fronts of the houses. It's a comforting sight, as light often is in darkness.
Okay--there's the alarm for the laundry....more later!
M.
Maybe it's just the transition from working life to time-off life, from sitting at a desk thinking about people's database questions, writing, or answering questions on the phone, to thinking about grocery lists, what's for dinner, laundry, knitting, reading, and all the other things that sneak into the cracks during daily life but now can come to the front of my mind. (And don't forget about finding a text for the Christmas card and sending Debbie's birthday present....). I always think that I'm going to lie around and read when I take time off and stay at home, but it never works out that way. It seems to be necessary to go somewhere else--where dishes do not need to be done, or where there are many other people to share the load--in order to really get that space and time in the mind.
It's starting to get dark now--grey and forboding, with a nip in the air after the day's surprising warm dampness. I can see door lights popping on across the street, illuminating the brick fronts of the houses. It's a comforting sight, as light often is in darkness.
Okay--there's the alarm for the laundry....more later!
M.
11.03.2004
The Day After
I realized today that I have only ever lived in "blue" states: Massachusetts, Maine, Minnesota, New York, and New Jersey. Maybe that's colored my entire approach to life.
It was by no means certain that an Irish Catholic girl growing up in a household dominated by a conservative, Regean-loving father, was going to grow up liberal (in fact, I don't think I disagreed with my father about politics until I was about 17--very late in the game). It's hard to say how I moved from "red" to "blue," so I've been thinking about what it means to be "liberal" and what it means to live in the geographic area of the country I live in. I have a suspicion that the northeast is not like other parts of the country--a suspicion that seems to be borne out by looking at the election map. But what does this divisiveness mean for American? And what America do I belong to?
The whole idea that there are multiple Americas is disturbing to me. Or perhaps I mean that the idea that there are multiple Americas, but only one gets to determine national policy, is disturbing to me. We have no balance in this country, and I am afraid. Afraid of women's rights being eroded, or more soldiers dying in Iraq, or more hatred being aimed out the US because of our foreign policy, of people coming to harm because they do not have access to appropriate medical care, or even jobs. Maybe I've been insulated where I live--in a safe, relatively liberal pocket of the country and am out of touch with the country at large. But I bet, too, that if I talked with people in the rest of the country, got to know them, that they would seem like people and not "conservatives." People are complicated--no one can be labeled "red" or "blue."
But I'm still afraid and I don't know what to do. I guess I have four years to figure it out.
It was by no means certain that an Irish Catholic girl growing up in a household dominated by a conservative, Regean-loving father, was going to grow up liberal (in fact, I don't think I disagreed with my father about politics until I was about 17--very late in the game). It's hard to say how I moved from "red" to "blue," so I've been thinking about what it means to be "liberal" and what it means to live in the geographic area of the country I live in. I have a suspicion that the northeast is not like other parts of the country--a suspicion that seems to be borne out by looking at the election map. But what does this divisiveness mean for American? And what America do I belong to?
The whole idea that there are multiple Americas is disturbing to me. Or perhaps I mean that the idea that there are multiple Americas, but only one gets to determine national policy, is disturbing to me. We have no balance in this country, and I am afraid. Afraid of women's rights being eroded, or more soldiers dying in Iraq, or more hatred being aimed out the US because of our foreign policy, of people coming to harm because they do not have access to appropriate medical care, or even jobs. Maybe I've been insulated where I live--in a safe, relatively liberal pocket of the country and am out of touch with the country at large. But I bet, too, that if I talked with people in the rest of the country, got to know them, that they would seem like people and not "conservatives." People are complicated--no one can be labeled "red" or "blue."
But I'm still afraid and I don't know what to do. I guess I have four years to figure it out.
11.02.2004
Voting Day in Jersey City
So Stephen and I woke up early and got ourselves out of the house by 7:45am to vote. I've never seen lines so long--although it would have helped if I'd actually remembered what district I was supposed to vote in (note to self: E4...E4....E4). People were generally cheery, and I spied much anti-W paraphenalia (which was heartening, but then NJ is a blue state).
The reality of voting is always so banal. Our district voting location is in the lunchroom of the Jersey City Public Library--it's a gorgeous building, but the lunchroom looks could have been a teacher's lounge at an elementary school. I remember going to Smith School with my parents when I was growing up and waiting while they voted--it seemed like the most extraordinary thing. You got to go into a little booth, pull a curtain, and vote! (And bear in mind that I played "library" and "office" as a small child, too) It was always so strange to see the school gym transformed into a room full of adults instead of dodge-ball flinging kids. Voting is extraordinary--but not in the way that I imagined when I was growing up. It isn't glamorous or exciting, and it feels filled with doubt (does my vote count? Will this really make a difference??) But it is important, and I'm really excited that so many people are turning out to vote.
Now all we need to do is elect the right person...
The reality of voting is always so banal. Our district voting location is in the lunchroom of the Jersey City Public Library--it's a gorgeous building, but the lunchroom looks could have been a teacher's lounge at an elementary school. I remember going to Smith School with my parents when I was growing up and waiting while they voted--it seemed like the most extraordinary thing. You got to go into a little booth, pull a curtain, and vote! (And bear in mind that I played "library" and "office" as a small child, too) It was always so strange to see the school gym transformed into a room full of adults instead of dodge-ball flinging kids. Voting is extraordinary--but not in the way that I imagined when I was growing up. It isn't glamorous or exciting, and it feels filled with doubt (does my vote count? Will this really make a difference??) But it is important, and I'm really excited that so many people are turning out to vote.
Now all we need to do is elect the right person...
10.30.2004
The New York Times > Magazine > Susanna Clarke's Magic Book
The New York Times > Magazine > Susanna Clarke's Magic Book
This isn't a review of the book, but it's a great article about Susanna Clarke and how "Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell" came into being (and it gives hope to all of us who write very slowly, considering that her book had a gestation period of approximately 10 years...)
This isn't a review of the book, but it's a great article about Susanna Clarke and how "Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell" came into being (and it gives hope to all of us who write very slowly, considering that her book had a gestation period of approximately 10 years...)
Catching up!
EEK--it's been six weeks since we've had a post on The Salt Water Chronicles--sorry about that! I don't know where to start (and it doesn't help that I'm distracted by "Monsters, Inc." on TV...)--with travels (past and upcoming), or all the books I've been reading, or the whole new world that's opened up because Stephen bought a color printer so we can now print photos and cards and make calendars and and and...
Maybe I'll start with books because the my main solace for the past couple of months has been reading. Reality is hard these days--intense work, unstable world--and the easiest vacation I can take is hiding for a little while in fictional worlds. I finished "Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell" in early October, and it absolutely lived up to its hype (see Gregory Macguire's review in the NY Times, which makes an unfortunate reference to the book as "Hogwarts for Grown-Ups," which I did not find to be the case--I'd say it's more like Jane Austen mixed with magical realism). I suggested that the bookclub I sort-of joined read the book, but people balked because it's too big to read on the subway...which is true, but I carried it back and forth every day anyway--it's *that good. (Karen, it's in the mail...)
My latest read was Gish Jen's "The Love Wife." I had read her previous collection of short stories called "Who's Irish?" and enjoyed her gentle and funny exploration of ethnicity and "American-ness"--she asks questions about what it means in today's American society to be an immigrant, or of mixed heritage. And even though I was born in New England and am only mixed insofar as one can consider Irish and Scottish heritage "mixed," I think the sense of loss of homeland that immigrants experience, and wondering how to fit in to groups of people who are not "like" you is something that many people understand. In "The Love Wife," Jen takes her exploration to the level of a mixed family and how the arrival of an unexpected distant relative from China reveals the fractures and fragility of a modern family. The most masterful aspect of the novel is the narrative structure--it reads almost like a transcript from a family therapy session (and in a sense, it is a musing on the dissolution of a family). The story discomfited me--I don't like to read about infidelity or the breaking of bonds between people who are close--but the subtle shading of the characters (all except Blondie, who is a bit unfarily treated like a stereotypical suburban Boston working mother concerned with doing good in the world but translates that concern poorly within her own family) kept me reading.
Now as a palatte cleanser I'm winging through Douglas Adams' "The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul." You can't really get more eclectic that that...
Okay--more thoughts soon. Sooner than six weeks from now, I promise.
Maybe I'll start with books because the my main solace for the past couple of months has been reading. Reality is hard these days--intense work, unstable world--and the easiest vacation I can take is hiding for a little while in fictional worlds. I finished "Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell" in early October, and it absolutely lived up to its hype (see Gregory Macguire's review in the NY Times, which makes an unfortunate reference to the book as "Hogwarts for Grown-Ups," which I did not find to be the case--I'd say it's more like Jane Austen mixed with magical realism). I suggested that the bookclub I sort-of joined read the book, but people balked because it's too big to read on the subway...which is true, but I carried it back and forth every day anyway--it's *that good. (Karen, it's in the mail...)
My latest read was Gish Jen's "The Love Wife." I had read her previous collection of short stories called "Who's Irish?" and enjoyed her gentle and funny exploration of ethnicity and "American-ness"--she asks questions about what it means in today's American society to be an immigrant, or of mixed heritage. And even though I was born in New England and am only mixed insofar as one can consider Irish and Scottish heritage "mixed," I think the sense of loss of homeland that immigrants experience, and wondering how to fit in to groups of people who are not "like" you is something that many people understand. In "The Love Wife," Jen takes her exploration to the level of a mixed family and how the arrival of an unexpected distant relative from China reveals the fractures and fragility of a modern family. The most masterful aspect of the novel is the narrative structure--it reads almost like a transcript from a family therapy session (and in a sense, it is a musing on the dissolution of a family). The story discomfited me--I don't like to read about infidelity or the breaking of bonds between people who are close--but the subtle shading of the characters (all except Blondie, who is a bit unfarily treated like a stereotypical suburban Boston working mother concerned with doing good in the world but translates that concern poorly within her own family) kept me reading.
Now as a palatte cleanser I'm winging through Douglas Adams' "The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul." You can't really get more eclectic that that...
Okay--more thoughts soon. Sooner than six weeks from now, I promise.
9.14.2004
September 11 et alia
September 11 is Emily McQuarrie's birthday, so my sense of the day will always be tied to her, and to her birthday in 2001: She lives in Newmarket, NH, and the Friday after her birthday, calls for a candlelight vigil for that evening at 7 pm EST were circulated on the internet. So there I was, driving up from CT to NH, with Anthony still marooned in Denver after the grounding of the airplanes. I was lost in some beautiful little New Hampshire town, and people were standing on porches and sidewalks with candles in the fading light. It was absolutely vital that I get to my friends, despite the long drive. Physical presences became more important for awhile after that--due to the many physical presences lost. That's why I like the Towers of Light so much: they are ghostly, like a phantom limb, a presence that isn't quite a presence. Many people thought they should have been incorporated into the final memorial plan.
On a much brighter note, Karen, your apartment looks amazing! I hope I'll be able to come visit soon.
On a much brighter note, Karen, your apartment looks amazing! I hope I'll be able to come visit soon.
9.11.2004
Celebrate New York
Stephen and I are spending the day watching all 14 hours of Rick Burns' "New York" documentary in honor of the city. It's an inspiring documentary that gives you a sense of just how many times New York has been laid low and struggled to its feet again--from the Revolutionary War, to the Draft Riots, to the 1970's.
One thing I (re)learned from September 11, 2001, is the pain caused by attachment--in this case, to a building, a place. I loved the towers. Stephen and I would sit on the Brooklyn Promenade at night and look at the always-different pattern of lights in the windows; I oriented myself by them when I wandered around Manhattan. Last night, the Towers of Light installation was re-lit, and it shocked me to see something--anything--in their space again. We might walk to the Jersey City Promenade tonight to see the Towers of Light, but I'm not sure; maybe we'll light incense for the people who died instead.
One thing I (re)learned from September 11, 2001, is the pain caused by attachment--in this case, to a building, a place. I loved the towers. Stephen and I would sit on the Brooklyn Promenade at night and look at the always-different pattern of lights in the windows; I oriented myself by them when I wandered around Manhattan. Last night, the Towers of Light installation was re-lit, and it shocked me to see something--anything--in their space again. We might walk to the Jersey City Promenade tonight to see the Towers of Light, but I'm not sure; maybe we'll light incense for the people who died instead.
9.07.2004
It Has Arrived!!
Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (by Susanna Clarke) has arrived on my desk at work!! And of course, all I want to do is read it instead of actually working...if only I could swing a job where reading actually *was my job...
When I figure out how I can insert links in my postings, I'll post reviews of Jonathan Strange...
More later...
M.
9.01.2004
Live from New York...
I keep telling myself that there's only one day left of the Republican National Convention and then the helicopters and sirens will return to their usual levels (which is still more than many people are used to, given the comments I get while I'm on the phone at work on any given day).
So far this week, I've witnessed a police officer and teenaged boy screaming at each other in the dripping humid 23rd Street F Train station, scattered groups of protesters who have wandered away from their groups and gotten lost, police officers trying desperately to control traffic via traffic cones and hand gestures (unsuccessfully, I might add). I've come to the conclusion that New York is simply a force of nature and cannot be controlled. (And I don't believe this is a bad thing).
Oh, and despite sightings by my friends and colleagues, I have not actually witnessed any visible Republicans. ;)
One more day. Just one more day.
So far this week, I've witnessed a police officer and teenaged boy screaming at each other in the dripping humid 23rd Street F Train station, scattered groups of protesters who have wandered away from their groups and gotten lost, police officers trying desperately to control traffic via traffic cones and hand gestures (unsuccessfully, I might add). I've come to the conclusion that New York is simply a force of nature and cannot be controlled. (And I don't believe this is a bad thing).
Oh, and despite sightings by my friends and colleagues, I have not actually witnessed any visible Republicans. ;)
One more day. Just one more day.
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