Roots

Somewhere along the way, I've forgotten my southern roots. I suppose that's somewhat understandable, considering that my upbringing occurred completely on Yankee soil. As a child, I remember fleeting references that hinted to a heritage beyond the New England states. For example, people would often take note of my mom's slight accent and ask where she was from. I never quite noticed it. Of course we made frequent pilgrimages to Virginia to see Aunt Becky and Grandmama, and they made even more trips to see us. And so I never forgot about where my mom came from; I guess it just never felt like my history. Grandmama died 16 years ago and thus ended our summer trips to her house where my brother and I would pick green beans and drive the tractor around the yard (crashing it every so often). I remember my mom letting me steer Granddaddy's 1973 Ford truck (surprising after the tractor incidents) as we drove the short distance on Route 689 from Grandmama's to US 460. Those are some sweet memories.


My dear Aunt Becky still lives in Virginia with her family, and as I hadn't been back in years and Andrew had never visited, we decided to go over Easter. We were treated to true southern hospitality and Becky's incredible memory. We spent the weekend laughing, listening and asking questions as we relived memories and created new ones. We had Easter lunch at the Peaks of Otter, a childhood haunt I hadn't revisited in years. The following day we hiked Sharp Top Mountain and were rewarded with beautiful views of Virginia countryside. And of course, we found a new friend in Pugsley (who couldn't love that face?).


On our last day, we drove over to where Grandmama had lived. I hadn't been there since she died. We commented on how the property seemed smaller than we remembered. The barn and garage were a little run down, and the trailer was gone, but the well cap was still there, which had always posed a challenging obstacle to our tractor cruising. We remembered where the grape vines and garden used to be and how the land sloped in the back. The garage and utility shed were open. I was hoping for the shed to smell as I remembered, but it didn't. It's been been a while I guess. Smells fade. But amidst the decay and relics of a life once lived, new life persists...

in dogwood blooms...

...and in a renewed connection to a history that is mine too.

[in the cement under the outdoor shelter]

[the barn my grandfather built]

[the garage/shed also built by Granddaddy]

1870

In honor of the 139th anniversary of the ratification of the 15th Amendment to the Constitution, I used Wordle to create this funky 15th Amendment word cloud.


You can enter any text or any web page (with an RSS feed) to create your own. Thanks for the idea, Dena!

Remembering

In preparation for our small group meeting tonight, I had a chance to reread some of the speeches and writings of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I wondered why I don't do that more often, but I'm glad I did today. These words are no less relevant 50+ years later, even on the heels of an historical inauguration.

True peace is not merely the absence of some negative force - tension, confusion, or war; it is the presence of some positive force - justice, good will and brotherhood.
Dr. King's address before the First Annual Institute on Non-Violence and Social Change, Montgomery, AL, December 1956

Any religion that professes to be concerned about the souls of men and is not concerned about the slums that damn them, the economic conditions that strangle them and the social conditions that cripple them is a spiritually moribund religion awaiting burial.
From an article appearing in the magazine Christian Century, 1960

I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro's great stumbling block in the stride toward freedom is not the White Citizens Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate who is more devoted to "order" than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says, "I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I can't agree with your methods of direct action"; who paternalistically feels that he can set the timetable for another man's freedom; who lives by the myth of time and who constantly advised the Negro to wait until a "more convenient season." Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.
Letter from a Birmingham Jail, 1963

S.H.A.

I am not Swedish, and I am really ok with that. I am. I promise. But you can't grow up in a Covenant church, attend North Park and have some fabulous friends and family of Scandinavian descent without brushing up against some of the finer features of Swedish culture. Take korv, for instance. We wouldn't have braved those drippy meat juices (I think there are still some remnants on Andrew's shoe) had it not been for our dear friends' gentle coaxing into the world of homemade potato sausage. We're still enjoying it (and probably will through the Spring). So, in the spirit of Swedish Heritage Appreciation, I thought I would convey to you the pleasure I take in a much loved item of Swedish persuasion that I inherited from none other than TK's mom.


I'm not sure what the whole back story is on these, and I can't remember the specific reason why she relinquished them to me, but I'll take them, real wooden soles and all. Whenever I wear them, I'm reminded of the great land of Sweden (and the 70s) and the many traditions it has birthed. And I will admit, I am the better for it.

An Exhortation

I would assume that regardless of who you voted for, it is hard not to bask in the historical significance of Tuesday's election. It is good and right and necessary to acknowledge and celebrate what this means for us, as a country and as individuals. I feel that we have somewhat redeemed ourselves in eyes of the world, but more importantly, we can once again believe in our collective conscience. Our country needed this. Our history needed this. Our souls needed this.

I would also assume that it is not enough to just have a black president, but rather, we need a successful black president. And I believe Obama earned this, winning not because (or in spite of the fact) he is black, but because people believe in his vision, leadership and character. I am proud and relieved to know that we, as a nation, were able to rise to the occasion and make history.


I am certain, however, despite the proclamations of the media, that this does not mean that America has been born anew, cleansed from its legacy of racism. We have indeed dawned a new day, but we cannot forget the dark yesterdays and the ugly tomorrows to come. Because they will come. The two pronged attack of racism, the individual coupled with the systemic, is fierce, and even with an African-American in the White House, you can bet that racism will continue to plague our neighborhoods, our work places, our schools and even our homes. We must not rest, believing that the history and present reality of injustice has been rendered obsolete by an electoral map. There is still work to be done.

But for now, I am more than happy to raise a glass to Obama, to celebrate this moment and to look with promise to the future. I know that my hopes cannot be pinned to any president, this one or the next, but it sure helps to have one who stirs my soul.

At the Close

Over Labor Day weekend, we opted for one of those newly touted "staycations" and paid a visit to Milwaukee and then to St. Joseph, Michigan. We had been to neither and it proved to be just right for making the most of our long weekend. Our first stop in Milwaukee was the Miller Brewery, which, other than the free beer, left much to be desired. Actually, it was pretty embarrassing compared to other brewery tours I've experienced. I'm chalking it up to an "off day". In any case, at least Andrew got some good photos.




Michigan was our final hurrah of summer. Beaches. Sunburns. Swimming. Reading. Picnics. Perfect.

We bid Summer adieu, and while I will miss the long, warm days, Fall is my season and I beckon it with anticipation. I recently read a reflection by someone who thought Fall should mark the New Year. I couldn't agree more. There is a newness in the crisp air... a chance to start over... again.

TimesMachine

I was subscribing to The New York Times in the fall of 2001 as part of a class requirement. So you can imagine that on September 12, I eagerly retrieved my copy of the newspaper and cherished it ever since. After all, this was history and I had it in print from one of the most, if not the most, esteemed newspapers in the country. It was surreal. There's something about a real, ink-stained newspaper that can't ever be replaced: the feel, the smell, the black fingers. I read most of my news online now, but I wish I had more memories of getting "All the News That Was Fit to Print" in... well... print. I came across this new feature from The New York Times, and looking at the headlines evokes in me that same surreal feeling. These are the headlines that have measured the pulse of our world.

TimesMachine allows you to explore the archives of The New York Times from September 18, 1851 (the very first issue of The New-York Daily Times) to December 30, 1922. You must be a home delivery subscriber to have access to each and every issue; however, anyone can have a look at some sample pages from major events in history.

The Romance of Maple Syrup

Part I: The Romance of Maple Syrup
Manna for the Pioneers
"Captain Charles Sias looked anxiously at the March sun now nearing the horizon. He judged it should be no more than two miles to the new cabin, but after unloading the sled he and his two friends would have to cover the eight miles back to Peacham before dark. The three men hurried as fast as they could on their snowshoes as they made their way through the deep drifts of the trackless forest. Each bent forward slightly as he pulled on the rope which tugged the sled loaded with seven Sias children and provisions. Veering right or left to ease the sled around prickly brush and trees, the men watched constantly for the gashes the captain had made previously on the east side of each tenth tree to mark the way." And thus begins Part I of The Vermont Maple Syrup Cook Book.


Knowing my New England roots, my coworker and friend, Christine, bought this book for me at the Glenview Public Library (they have a great selection of used books for sale). While it's not exactly an antique (copyright 1966 and 1974), it has some old-fashioned and flowery language that aptly transforms a mere cook book into a romance story. The story goes on to reveal how maple syrup rescued the early settlers of Danville, VT in 1784. "History does not record how many times maple syrup saved the early Vermonters from starvation but The Vermont Historical Gazeteer, published in 1867, stated that 'in 1789 sufferings of the time were severe and maple sugar formed the chief article of food. Like the manna of the ancient Hebrews, it was really a providence in the time of hunger and famine. No doubt, those stern old fathers blessed the forest trees that gave them food and life.'"

The book is endearing from its pencil sketch drawings to its last due-date stamp (September 17, 1981) to its heartfelt disclaimer that Vermont has no monopoly on maple trees (which, as a New Hampshirite, I appreciated). The author is clearly enamored with maple syrup. And when reading, it's hard not to feel drawn to the old sugarhouses and maple tree forests littered with taps and pails. I suppose therein lies the romance of maple syrup.

A few recipes:

Rice Pudding
2 cups cooked rice
1 1/3 cups milk
1/2 cup Pure Vermont Maple Syrup
1/8 tsp. salt
1 tsp. vanilla
2 eggs
1/3 cup raisins
1 tsp. lemon juice
1 cup bread crumbs

Drain rice well. Beat together milk, Maple Syrup, salt, butter, and eggs. Add vanilla. Mix this with the rice. Combine raisins and lemon juice, and add to the mixture. Grease baking dish and cover bottom with bread crumbs. Put the rice mixture over this and top with bread crumbs. Bake at 325 degrees until it is set. Serve hot or cold.

Rum Punch
2 oz. lemon juice
1 oz. Pure Vermont Maple Syrup
3 oz. rum
dash of grenadine

Shake well with ice. Pour into a tall glass filled with crushed ice. Decorate it with orange or lemon slices.

The 'F' Words

Freddie Mac and Fannie Mae. It's all over the news and I only bring it up here to perhaps provoke some thoughts on government intervention (I know, I must be crazy). On NPR this morning, Adam Davidson could not emphasize enough how big a deal this is. He said that years from now, PhD students will be writing dissertations on what is happening at this moment. Today, Ben Bernanke and Henry Paulson will be testifying before Congress to present their case for government action in helping to prevent a fallout of the two mortgage giants.

Those who say yea: Freddie and Fannie have managed to stave off government regulation for years, but it is widely believed that if they were to collapse, it would be disastrous for the economy: housing will continue to slump, foreclosures will rise and the general economy will be thus affected.

Those who say nay: There is a general feeling of wariness in moving toward a reliance on government to bail companies out from any and all risky situations. If government takes the risk out of risky endeavors, then what happens to responsibility?

So, what do you say? Yea or nay?

Quatorze Juillet

Daigle is French... I think... (right, guys?), so I thought I'd be remiss if I failed to give homage to Bastille Day in light of my new heritage-by-marriage. As I'm sure we all remember from our history lessons, Bastille Day commemorates the storming of the Bastille, a prison that was symbolic of the absolute power of Louis XVI's regime. The storming of the Bastille was to the French what signing the Declaration of Independence was to the Americans: a cry of Revolution.

Prise de la Bastille, by Jean-Pierre-Louis-Laurent Houel

I found this picture here and, well, what can I say? I thought it was cool... and curiously disturbing. As gruesome as it may be, it reflects the reality that revolutions are an expensive business indeed.

"May, which stamp would you like to wear?"

It was on this day, June 13, 88 years ago in 1920 that the US Postal Service ruled that children may not be sent via parcel post. The parcel post method of shipping, in which items can weigh up to 70 pounds, was started by Postmaster General Frank H. Hitchcock on January 1, 1913 under the administration of President Taft. According to this Smithsonian Institution Libraries site, "In 1914, the parents of a blonde four-year-old named May Pierstroff sent her from Grangeville, Idaho to her grandparents in another part of the state for 53 cents, the going rate for chickens. Word of her excursion quickly prompted the Post Office Department to forbid sending any human being by mail."

Perhaps the US Postal Service should reconsider this restriction given its lack of business in recent years.

We Remember Thee Most Fondly

Tis the birthday of our dearly departed Shakespeare.

"From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April dress'd in all his trim
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing
That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odor and in hue
Could make me any summer's story tell.
Or from their proud lap pluck them while they grew;
Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
These were but sweet, but figures of delight;
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play."

Sonnet 98

Antiques & Garden Fair

Andrew's new employers graciously purchased tickets for us to see the Antiques and Garden Fair this weekend at the Chicago Botanic Gardens. It was a wonderful opportunity to see some lavish antiques, beautiful plants and gardens, and to welcome the much anticipated advent of Spring. I even spotted a vendor from my home town, Londonderry, NH, and upon speaking with the dealer, discovered that I went to high school with his son. A small world indeed. Here are some pictures of our favorite finds:

Finishing Well

Yesterday marked Andrew's last day as an employee of the Field Museum. It's been just over 4 years since he first walked across that great Stanley Field Hall, indebted to the details, deadlines and demands that would cripple under his artistic talent. I would say it has been a mutually beneficial relationship, though not without its challenges.

I am proud of Andrew's dedication and commitment to a job well done. He has truly cared about his work, the institution and its community. I am not only impressed when I see his exhibits on display, but I am as equally humbled and proud when I witness the respect and dignity with which he treats those around him--anyone from guests, to colleagues, to security guards, to elevator operators. It is these qualities that truly make him a success.

And so, it is with mixed feelings that we bid farewell to the Field Museum. It's been real. More to come on Andrew's next endeavors!

Warning: Blood and Guts

Once a year the Field Museum opens up its front doors, and its many back doors, to all museum members. This offers the museum's supporters an opportunity to see what "really goes on" behind the scenes. The staff is on hand to answer questions, explain what they do and how they do it, and give exclusive viewings of their many artifacts, specimens and samples. The grosser the better if you ask me. This year they dissected a bobcat (top photo, obviously) for all who could stomach the bloody mess and equally disturbing smell. They dissect animals who die of natural (or not so natural, in this case) causes. Unfortunately for this little kitty, he was hit by a car. I wish for the bobcat's sake that they had come up with a far nobler story to explain his untimely demise.

We Are the Ship

While I usually leave book recommendations to Sarah, I couldn't pass up passing this along to you. We Are the Ship: The Story of Negro League Baseball is the first book written and illustrated by the award-winning artist, Kadir Nelson (pictured left). It took him almost 8 years to finish due to the 40-plus paintings he completed for the book. Here is a synopsis of the book from Kadir's website:

"The story of Negro League baseball is the story of gifted athletes and determined owners; of racial discrimination and international sportsmanship; of fortunes won and lost; of triumphs and defeats on and off the field. It is a perfect mirror for the social and political history of black America in the first half of the twentieth century. But most of all, the story of the Negro Leagues is about hundreds of unsung heroes who overcame segregation, hatred, terrible conditions, and low pay to do the one thing they loved more than anything else in the world: play ball.

Using an "Everyman" player as his narrator, Kadir Nelson tells the story of Negro League baseball from its beginnings in the 1920s through its decline after Jackie Robinson crossed over to the majors in 1947. The voice is so authentic, you will feel as if you are sitting on dusty bleachers listening intently to the memories of a man who has known the great ballplayers of that time and shared their experiences. But what makes this book so outstanding are the dozens of full-page and double-page oil paintings, breathtaking in their perspectives, rich in emotion, and created with understanding and affection for these lost heroes of our national game."

The title of the book comes from Rube Foster, the founder of the Negro Leagues, who said, "We are the ship, all else the sea."

If nothing else, take a look at Kadir's paintings. They are incredible.

National Flag Day

Ok, so maybe this is a stretch for a post. But I feel like I owe it to Flag Day to at least acknowledge its historical claims, since I've always poked fun at it as a sort of pseudo-holiday. In the United States, National Flag Day is celebrated on June 14, the day on which the flag of the United States was adopted by the Second Continental Congress in 1777. It wasn't until almost a century and a half later, in 1916, that June 14 was officially proclaimed Flag Day by Woodrow Wilson. An Act of Congress established National Flag Day in August of 1949. You can look up Title 36 Sec. 110 of the US Code to read the official statute on Flag Day.

If you are so moved by this holiday, you could visit Troy, New York, for the largest Flag Day parade in the country. Or, if you prefer to just read more about the history of the day, click here.

Not just for secretaries...

While I admit that I am sometimes wary of yard sales (or tag sales, depending on where you're from), I also must admit when they do deliver. Andrew seems to have an internal radar for yard sales, always pointing them out and eagerly searching for his next treasure, while I try to distract him and steer him in the other direction. But alas, his trained eye proved to be most beneficial this weekend, and lucky for us both, I was nowhere within a fifteen mile radius. He has harbored a fascination for antique typewriters for some time now, and was fortunate to find this one for sale in our neighborhood for a great price.

Here is what we know about it:

Brand and Model: Underwood No. 5
Year: 1900s - 1920s
Description: The design that launched millions of typewriters! When it appeared on the market shortly before 1900, the Underwood No. 5 immediately became the design standard for all typewriters to come, all the way up until the 1960s when the IBM Selectric came out. This is the most successful typewriter design in history, and by 1920 almost every typewriter in production was using some imitation of the Underwood No. 5 design. The production of the Underwood Models 3, 4, and 5 lasted until early 1932. The differences among the three models are subtle: The No. 3 is a wide-carriage machine, the No. 4 types 76 characters, and the No. 5 types 84 characters. The No. 5 was the quintessential Underwood. Millions of these machines were used by secretaries, journalists, government officials, and writers throughout the first half of the twentieth century. The classic desktop. (Source: mytypewriter.com)


If you are or are discovering yourself to be a typewriter enthusiast, click on the graphic below to go to a very cool website.