We are almost to that time of Christmas but the purists among those devotees of the Christian calendar remind us that it is still Advent. We are supposed to celebrate Christmas after the holidays. Yet, year after year, that message doesn't seem to be sinking in. Hey, when Christmas decorations go up in stores before Halloween, it seems like an uphill struggle. It is more than because we are shallow commercialized zombies who don't know how to embrace the waiting of Advent. Okay, maybe some of that is true, but there are deeper dynamics as well.
The most important dynamic is that the Christian calendar has the major holiday start the given season. The season of Christmas follows Christmas. The season of Easter follows Easter. The season of Pentecost follows...and follows...and follows Pentecost. Makes sense.
The problem is that in contemporary western society, it is the polar opposite. The season ENDS with the holiday instead of beginning with it. We we don't celebrate the 4th of July after the Fourth. When the fireworks end, Fourth of July is over. We don't continue celebrating Thanksgiving after Thanksgiving--turkey leftovers notwithstanding. Part of it is that we spend so much effort preparing for the holiday that the preparation almost becomes the actual celebration with the holiday day being something almost of an anti-climax. I've long felt that the crescendo of Christmas is not Christmas morning but Christmas Eve, the ultimate time of expectation and candlelight services for Christians and the tracking of Santa for the secular world. New Year's day really is the anticlimax to the build up on New Year's Eve. At midnight, it is pretty much downhill except for those looking forward to the football games. It is ironic that the week between Christmas and New Year's, which hypothetically could have been the ultimate frenzy of holiday activity, is one of the quietest, even somber times of the year, a time of exhaustion and saying "it's over" before one last final push to finish New Year's and get on with things.
Moreover, we tend to celebrate holidays that have things to do, say, eat, etc. Here is the contrast between Advent and Lent. Lent at least has defined activities, such as fasting, attending Wednesday evening services etc. It starts with Ash Wednesday with a particular set of rituals that Advent does not. In some traditions, like the Eastern Orthodox, there are even special foods--based on what cannot be eaten--to mark the holiday. Thus Lent does not have the bleed in from Easter that Advent does with Christmas.
Think about it. Other than O Come, O Come Emmanuel, what other popular advent song is out there? What are the distinctive Advent foods? It has fewer traditions, lighting the Advent wreath and having the Advent calendar notwithstanding. There are relatively few Advent rituals so, just as nature abhors a vacuum, the energy from Christmas fills the space.
Advent, of course, is not the only holiday to face challenges. Pentecost is supposed to be a major holiday and season in the church year. Talk about a holiday with skimpy traditions! Other than wearing red, I can't think of other Pentecost traditions. Certainly can't think of too many Pentecost foods or hymns. If there aren't rituals and practices involved, forget about the larger society really embracing a holiday. Just ask the devotees of Labor Day.
I guess, my advice is if you want to keep Advent, either accept the reality that we end seasons with holidays and start Advent earlier in the fall or come up with more do to/eat/say, etc.
Thoughts welcome on this Advent season!
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
The regionalist dilemma
It has been a while since my last post. Folks have been asking for more posts so this is an attempt to be more frequent.
In recent months, I have been reading and researching the nature of regionalism, a movement that develop in the 1920s and 1930s to encourage an appreciation and connection with region, a place rooted in both landscape and culture. At the heart of the view is a sense of place, landscape, plants, weather, etc. giving a sense of rootedness and unique identity to a location. These features show up also in the cultural heritages of those peoples who developed in a place. Not a few of these regionalists, from Willa Cather to John Gaw Meem, John Steuart Curry, John Sloane, and Mabel Dodge Luhan, were often themselves part of the region that they celebrated. Some were descendants of generations of locals. Others were "neonatives," to use the phrase of Hal Rothman, who moved to an area and adopted it as their own.
That said, region has a dilemma. One facet of regionalism is rooted in location and anyone who connects to it is part of that region. On the other hand, region is about the people who are there and if is not of that people or has ancestry from them, connection is region is, well, a little shallow.
Increasingly, I find that it is those whose backgrounds match one but not the other qualities, tell us more and more about what and who qualifies as a member of a place. It is the Haole or Asian American who was born and grew up in Hawai'i but has no connection to Native Hawaiian ancestry. Are they truly Hawaiians-even if Hawaiian landscapes, foods, climates, etc. are what they have always known? Are they of the place or simply the descendants of those who stole the land from its earlier inhabitatns and in a sense merely inheritors of stolen property? We tend to ascribe more validity to ancestry than place--being "Hawaiian" is somewhat portable in this regard. We can talk of someone being Native Hawaiian in descent who never set foot on the islands.
This is the question: is being connected to and shaped by a place enough or is ancestry required? How much can one adopt or embrace a place without seeming fake? This will likely be a thread for what will hopefully be more posts--a thread that will connect itself to Kansas, as well, BTW.
In recent months, I have been reading and researching the nature of regionalism, a movement that develop in the 1920s and 1930s to encourage an appreciation and connection with region, a place rooted in both landscape and culture. At the heart of the view is a sense of place, landscape, plants, weather, etc. giving a sense of rootedness and unique identity to a location. These features show up also in the cultural heritages of those peoples who developed in a place. Not a few of these regionalists, from Willa Cather to John Gaw Meem, John Steuart Curry, John Sloane, and Mabel Dodge Luhan, were often themselves part of the region that they celebrated. Some were descendants of generations of locals. Others were "neonatives," to use the phrase of Hal Rothman, who moved to an area and adopted it as their own.
That said, region has a dilemma. One facet of regionalism is rooted in location and anyone who connects to it is part of that region. On the other hand, region is about the people who are there and if is not of that people or has ancestry from them, connection is region is, well, a little shallow.
Increasingly, I find that it is those whose backgrounds match one but not the other qualities, tell us more and more about what and who qualifies as a member of a place. It is the Haole or Asian American who was born and grew up in Hawai'i but has no connection to Native Hawaiian ancestry. Are they truly Hawaiians-even if Hawaiian landscapes, foods, climates, etc. are what they have always known? Are they of the place or simply the descendants of those who stole the land from its earlier inhabitatns and in a sense merely inheritors of stolen property? We tend to ascribe more validity to ancestry than place--being "Hawaiian" is somewhat portable in this regard. We can talk of someone being Native Hawaiian in descent who never set foot on the islands.
This is the question: is being connected to and shaped by a place enough or is ancestry required? How much can one adopt or embrace a place without seeming fake? This will likely be a thread for what will hopefully be more posts--a thread that will connect itself to Kansas, as well, BTW.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
On this Independence Day
Life has a way of getting away from us. It has been four months since my last post. Lots of thoughts. Not much time or incentive. Perhaps Facebook drained the mental juices too much. For a longer discussion, tho' it seemed appropriate to discuss a larger idea that I have wrestled with for a bit: What does it mean to be an American? Figure July 4 is as good a day to deal with it as any.
Growing up, when I asked "who are we?" --and in New Mexico that is not an inconsequential question -- the answer was along the lines of "You are an American and that should be good enough for you." Okaaay. Yes, I was born in the United States. I am a citizen, am glad I am a citizen, appreciate the opportunity to vote and particpate in our governance. As an identity, though, what does that mean? After all, George W. Bush is an American. So was Michael Jackson. So are the neighbor kids whose family came from Mexico and who themselves speak both Spanish and English. So, what does it mean to be American?
It seems that there are two versions of answer, neither of which I find terribly satisfying. One is the classic "WASP" version--the "All American" version. "American" means northern European in descent, English speaking, Christian, preferably from a small town, preferably with military connections, married with kids (or supporting married with kids), loving sports--esp baseball and football, prefering "meat and potatoes" cuisine, with ties to the farmer or the "workin' man," and fervently patriotic with the unswavering conviction that the United States is better than any other place on the planet--ever. It is the "country" in "country music." Think the song "I'm proud to be an American...." It is on one end Fox News but also Prairie Home Companion of Garrison Keillor on the other --the two sides of the same coin. It exists here in Kansas in spades. A version of it defined what American meant for my family.
Yet it has its limitations. There are a lot of people who are born, raised, and supportive of the United States who don't fit that but in this image, are't "real" Americans. Urban yuppies aren't "real Americans" in this view and urbanites in general are problematic for this largely small-town vision of Americanness. You aren't a "real American" if you didn't serve in the miltary or at least support all U.S. policies overseas unquestioningly. Immigrants can be All-American so long as they give up their earlier traditions and "become" American. People of color have limited relevance to this world view, as do people who aren't Christian or LBGT, etc. It excludes pretty much anyone who can't say "H**l, Yeah!" in identifying with the world view of the country music.
There is an opposite vision that in some ways developed precisely to challenge the All-American notion just listed. That vision is the melting pot, the world of the song "They're coming to America." It is the world of America as place of opportunity for all and therefore is open to all. Anybody can be American so long as they are born here or are naturalized citizens. American means hot dogs and tacos and sushi. Americans speak all languages, have ties to all parts of the world and have a variety of religious backgrounds. It is the America of the WPA projects of "This Land is My Land." In many ways, it is a far more accurate depiction of American identity. After all, the U.S. is the first country to not be founded based on an ethnicity but rather, and ideal.
Yet, that is where its problematic issues come in. If being American is about being tied to all other peoples on the earth,and ultimately being part of a society that is an amalgam of all the peoples of the earth, then what is the difference between being American and being, well, human? The diversity view makes absolute sense from a legal, citizenship standpoint. On the other hand, it can be, from an ethnicity/identity model so broad that it can be almost meaningless. Identity is rooted in the sense of "I am this, I am not that. I am part of a larger group that has X,Y, and Z features." It has to be more than mere legal descriptions (after all, you don't hear someone proclaim "State Legislative District 36 pride!"--it has to be deeper than that) Total inclusion of all groups, while a very worthwhile endeavor, eliminates the "other" to distinguish oneself. This is why I don't have a problem with the "hyphenated American." Rather, it becomes a natural outgrowth of someone both identifying as American and yet finding an identity within that breadth. The hyphenated concept is all but required to allow someone to find a relevant identity within the larger mix.
This multicultural version is the New Mexico model, with its very, very, very strong embrace of tradition, heritage and rootedness in the land and people. One sees it in the Pueblo artist connecting with ancient traditions, who can say "I am X because we do this, eat this, and have this as a background story. It is the Latino who can be both American and part of "La Raza" and be proud of both. It is rooted in very real reactions to ethnocentricism and racism that have defined the region for generations. Grafted onto that is the cowboy model, which is the Southwestern "All American" (perhaps Y'All American is more accurate) contribution to the mix as a legitimate mix. But if you aren't Native American, Latino, or a Cowboy, well, you're just an Anglo outsider--a "them" not worth describing in detail.
This is where we come back to the issue of American for the native born English speaking crowd. If you can't legitimately tie oneself to a specific heritage based on place or origin, ethnicity, or region, then, well, who are you? If you are a blend and the family made sure, in good mid-twentieth century fashion, to strip any ethnic baggage from the background (often with quite understandable reasons), who are you? I know a lot of people who just say "I'm a mutt"--which is sorta akin to saying "I don't care if I have an identity." It is giving up on the identity quest. Maybe that is the healthiest way to be and the sanest way to proceed. Wish I could go there. Just can't.
For me, the quest for identity, heritage, traditions, etc. remains circular and awkward. As a blend of several different backgrounds but ties and traditions to none of them, this background means there really isn't anything to put at the front end of the hyphen in the hyphenated American. Yet, I am too different from the classic "All American" version of being American as well. Being raised in a multicultural, urban setting, the ties don't stick and trying to live into the small town, God and Country, "All American" image would feel as fake as attempting to be more "ethnic" when trying to connect to one of the lost heritages of my own background. In other words, I feel neither fish nor fowl.
In the cosmic scheme of things is ain't no big deal. There are lots of people who have a lot more serious problems and real issues to deal with. 99.99999999% of the world's people have much more serious matters to attend to so I almost feel guilty even devoting this much time to the topic. It fully realize it is a luxury tp be so whiny, a privilege limited to a very well off, well educated person who has very much benefitted from what society has provided. Yet, it is the matter that won't go away, sorta like a nagging pain that you can't quite explain and would love to get a diagnosis for.
Wish there was a way to end the post. The concluding paragraphs remain to be written. My ongoing search is to find out what they might say.
Growing up, when I asked "who are we?" --and in New Mexico that is not an inconsequential question -- the answer was along the lines of "You are an American and that should be good enough for you." Okaaay. Yes, I was born in the United States. I am a citizen, am glad I am a citizen, appreciate the opportunity to vote and particpate in our governance. As an identity, though, what does that mean? After all, George W. Bush is an American. So was Michael Jackson. So are the neighbor kids whose family came from Mexico and who themselves speak both Spanish and English. So, what does it mean to be American?
It seems that there are two versions of answer, neither of which I find terribly satisfying. One is the classic "WASP" version--the "All American" version. "American" means northern European in descent, English speaking, Christian, preferably from a small town, preferably with military connections, married with kids (or supporting married with kids), loving sports--esp baseball and football, prefering "meat and potatoes" cuisine, with ties to the farmer or the "workin' man," and fervently patriotic with the unswavering conviction that the United States is better than any other place on the planet--ever. It is the "country" in "country music." Think the song "I'm proud to be an American...." It is on one end Fox News but also Prairie Home Companion of Garrison Keillor on the other --the two sides of the same coin. It exists here in Kansas in spades. A version of it defined what American meant for my family.
Yet it has its limitations. There are a lot of people who are born, raised, and supportive of the United States who don't fit that but in this image, are't "real" Americans. Urban yuppies aren't "real Americans" in this view and urbanites in general are problematic for this largely small-town vision of Americanness. You aren't a "real American" if you didn't serve in the miltary or at least support all U.S. policies overseas unquestioningly. Immigrants can be All-American so long as they give up their earlier traditions and "become" American. People of color have limited relevance to this world view, as do people who aren't Christian or LBGT, etc. It excludes pretty much anyone who can't say "H**l, Yeah!" in identifying with the world view of the country music.
There is an opposite vision that in some ways developed precisely to challenge the All-American notion just listed. That vision is the melting pot, the world of the song "They're coming to America." It is the world of America as place of opportunity for all and therefore is open to all. Anybody can be American so long as they are born here or are naturalized citizens. American means hot dogs and tacos and sushi. Americans speak all languages, have ties to all parts of the world and have a variety of religious backgrounds. It is the America of the WPA projects of "This Land is My Land." In many ways, it is a far more accurate depiction of American identity. After all, the U.S. is the first country to not be founded based on an ethnicity but rather, and ideal.
Yet, that is where its problematic issues come in. If being American is about being tied to all other peoples on the earth,and ultimately being part of a society that is an amalgam of all the peoples of the earth, then what is the difference between being American and being, well, human? The diversity view makes absolute sense from a legal, citizenship standpoint. On the other hand, it can be, from an ethnicity/identity model so broad that it can be almost meaningless. Identity is rooted in the sense of "I am this, I am not that. I am part of a larger group that has X,Y, and Z features." It has to be more than mere legal descriptions (after all, you don't hear someone proclaim "State Legislative District 36 pride!"--it has to be deeper than that) Total inclusion of all groups, while a very worthwhile endeavor, eliminates the "other" to distinguish oneself. This is why I don't have a problem with the "hyphenated American." Rather, it becomes a natural outgrowth of someone both identifying as American and yet finding an identity within that breadth. The hyphenated concept is all but required to allow someone to find a relevant identity within the larger mix.
This multicultural version is the New Mexico model, with its very, very, very strong embrace of tradition, heritage and rootedness in the land and people. One sees it in the Pueblo artist connecting with ancient traditions, who can say "I am X because we do this, eat this, and have this as a background story. It is the Latino who can be both American and part of "La Raza" and be proud of both. It is rooted in very real reactions to ethnocentricism and racism that have defined the region for generations. Grafted onto that is the cowboy model, which is the Southwestern "All American" (perhaps Y'All American is more accurate) contribution to the mix as a legitimate mix. But if you aren't Native American, Latino, or a Cowboy, well, you're just an Anglo outsider--a "them" not worth describing in detail.
This is where we come back to the issue of American for the native born English speaking crowd. If you can't legitimately tie oneself to a specific heritage based on place or origin, ethnicity, or region, then, well, who are you? If you are a blend and the family made sure, in good mid-twentieth century fashion, to strip any ethnic baggage from the background (often with quite understandable reasons), who are you? I know a lot of people who just say "I'm a mutt"--which is sorta akin to saying "I don't care if I have an identity." It is giving up on the identity quest. Maybe that is the healthiest way to be and the sanest way to proceed. Wish I could go there. Just can't.
For me, the quest for identity, heritage, traditions, etc. remains circular and awkward. As a blend of several different backgrounds but ties and traditions to none of them, this background means there really isn't anything to put at the front end of the hyphen in the hyphenated American. Yet, I am too different from the classic "All American" version of being American as well. Being raised in a multicultural, urban setting, the ties don't stick and trying to live into the small town, God and Country, "All American" image would feel as fake as attempting to be more "ethnic" when trying to connect to one of the lost heritages of my own background. In other words, I feel neither fish nor fowl.
In the cosmic scheme of things is ain't no big deal. There are lots of people who have a lot more serious problems and real issues to deal with. 99.99999999% of the world's people have much more serious matters to attend to so I almost feel guilty even devoting this much time to the topic. It fully realize it is a luxury tp be so whiny, a privilege limited to a very well off, well educated person who has very much benefitted from what society has provided. Yet, it is the matter that won't go away, sorta like a nagging pain that you can't quite explain and would love to get a diagnosis for.
Wish there was a way to end the post. The concluding paragraphs remain to be written. My ongoing search is to find out what they might say.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Who's Up for Lebanese?
This post is a little different from the previous ones in that it relates to a current research project. I am part of a team of researchers putting together a photo history of Wichita's Lebanese community. A lot of people don't realize that the Lebanese (originally called Syrians before geopolitics made that term a little awkward to use) have been part of the Wichita scene since the 1890s. They started as peddlers then moved into retail and the professions. Most came from two areas in Lebanon: J'daidat in the district of Marjayoun and a pair of villages known as Ain Arab and Mhaithi.
They are Eastern Orthodox Christians for the most part with a few Catholics as well. A recent migration has included more from Beiruit who became active in the restaurant business. Although many people think Wichita is another Amarillo where we eat barbeque and chile, in fact Wichitans actually have opinions about who has the best hummus.
We are always looking for stories and photographs so if you know of any related to this community, let me know.
They are Eastern Orthodox Christians for the most part with a few Catholics as well. A recent migration has included more from Beiruit who became active in the restaurant business. Although many people think Wichita is another Amarillo where we eat barbeque and chile, in fact Wichitans actually have opinions about who has the best hummus.
We are always looking for stories and photographs so if you know of any related to this community, let me know.
Friday, February 13, 2009
And then there were two.....
This week, Quentin and I opened our home to a new addition, a tabby named Zeke. Zeke is a loving big grey tabby whose human needed to find a new home for him. It seemed that perhaps Quentin was getting lonely and perhaps needed a companion--to say nothing of the fact that Zeke was a great cat to begin with. The two have adapted to each other relatively well--for cats. Zeke is BIG and dwarfs Quentin. He is also 7 years old, being something akin to an older brother to Quentin. Quentin has followed Zeke around, literally like a doting if somewhat bratty younger sibling. Aside from the odd altercation when Quentin pushes Zeke's buttons a little too much, they do seem to be settling down, even enjoying "squirrelivision" together.
I am becoming "the dude with the cats."
I am becoming "the dude with the cats."
Friday, January 9, 2009
Whither-or is it wither--Route 66?
This past week, I drove back through Tucumcari, New Mexico. This icon of Route 66 has been a familiar stop on many a trip. What struck me, however, is how much is shut down or in decline since I first started visiting a couple of years ago. Many of the shops that were fun to visit are closed and empty. Landmarks like the Blue Swallow motel seem to be closed. Old structures such as the "Frontier Museum" outside of Santa Rosa were once abandoned but amusing features on the landscape. Now it is all but gone, apparently the victim of a fire.
For a while, it seemed like Route 66 nostalgia was the holy grail for many of these communities, attempting to lure visitors off the main interstates. It was this nostalgia that emerged in large part to Michael Wallis' book Route 66: The Mother Road or the near spin-off film, Cars. I was able to be part of that wave, especially when I was part of the Route 66 group at the Southwest Texas Popular Culture Association.
Nowadays, I wonder if that nostalgia boom is starting to wane. It capitalized on baby boomers recalling childhood experiences travelling down the road back in the 1950s and 1960s, much as the past 2 decades' obsession with all things World War II corresponded with boomers' need to honor their parents' efforts as "the greatest generation." As living memory of Route 66 as an actual location ages and fades, I wonder more and more about whether younger generations will carry this interest. After all, when I was a child in the 1970s, Route 66 was already gone. I am old enough to be a grandfather of very young children, making two more generations that have even less connection to the road. In other words, Route 66 was someone else's experience.
The good news is that Route 66 is still a pop culture icon, mainly for its trademark logo. That said, the image is more and more detached from the physical highway. Route 66 is less a place that ties together the central and southwestern parts of the country as much as a marketing image used to sell shot glasses, ball caps, and hamburgers in 1950s-themed restaurants. When Route 66 highway shields decorate brew pubs in Detroit or Toronto, the separation of image from place is all but complete. Why bother patronizing a mom and pop motel in Tucumcari when you can buy a T-shirt at a truck stop in Florida that evokes much the same imagery?
A huge part of the issue is that Route 66 nostaligia is too rooted in the past, too rooted in one time and place. It is about celebrating the 1950s, which is great, but also limiting. Unless contemporary features along the route are part of the nostalgia, from the great cross at Groom, TX to the newly-opened platform for the "Railrunner" in Albuquerque, New Mexico, there is a real danger of Route 66 becoming a dinosaur with a one-way ticket to extinction.
I have long said that there is a difference between preserving the past and mummifying it. Preservation means finding those features that are significant because they still relate to our lives today and give meaning to current populations. Mummification (and those of you who know me know that mummies really creep me out) is about selecting one time and era and simply focusing on it, regardless of whether younger generations even relate to the topic at hand.
In other words, for Route 66 to remain a living entity, it has to be relevant to Generation X, Y, and Z, not just nostalgia fodder for baby boomers' quest to recall their childhoods.
For a while, it seemed like Route 66 nostalgia was the holy grail for many of these communities, attempting to lure visitors off the main interstates. It was this nostalgia that emerged in large part to Michael Wallis' book Route 66: The Mother Road or the near spin-off film, Cars. I was able to be part of that wave, especially when I was part of the Route 66 group at the Southwest Texas Popular Culture Association.
Nowadays, I wonder if that nostalgia boom is starting to wane. It capitalized on baby boomers recalling childhood experiences travelling down the road back in the 1950s and 1960s, much as the past 2 decades' obsession with all things World War II corresponded with boomers' need to honor their parents' efforts as "the greatest generation." As living memory of Route 66 as an actual location ages and fades, I wonder more and more about whether younger generations will carry this interest. After all, when I was a child in the 1970s, Route 66 was already gone. I am old enough to be a grandfather of very young children, making two more generations that have even less connection to the road. In other words, Route 66 was someone else's experience.
The good news is that Route 66 is still a pop culture icon, mainly for its trademark logo. That said, the image is more and more detached from the physical highway. Route 66 is less a place that ties together the central and southwestern parts of the country as much as a marketing image used to sell shot glasses, ball caps, and hamburgers in 1950s-themed restaurants. When Route 66 highway shields decorate brew pubs in Detroit or Toronto, the separation of image from place is all but complete. Why bother patronizing a mom and pop motel in Tucumcari when you can buy a T-shirt at a truck stop in Florida that evokes much the same imagery?
A huge part of the issue is that Route 66 nostaligia is too rooted in the past, too rooted in one time and place. It is about celebrating the 1950s, which is great, but also limiting. Unless contemporary features along the route are part of the nostalgia, from the great cross at Groom, TX to the newly-opened platform for the "Railrunner" in Albuquerque, New Mexico, there is a real danger of Route 66 becoming a dinosaur with a one-way ticket to extinction.
I have long said that there is a difference between preserving the past and mummifying it. Preservation means finding those features that are significant because they still relate to our lives today and give meaning to current populations. Mummification (and those of you who know me know that mummies really creep me out) is about selecting one time and era and simply focusing on it, regardless of whether younger generations even relate to the topic at hand.
In other words, for Route 66 to remain a living entity, it has to be relevant to Generation X, Y, and Z, not just nostalgia fodder for baby boomers' quest to recall their childhoods.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Reflections from a feline traveler
Several individuals have wanted Quentin to do a post on the blog. Now that he has done some traveling, it seemed a good time to let him discuss his take on things:
Yesterday morning, my human loaded me into a carrier when it was still dark. As usual, I make sure he wakes up very early, although last night he tossed and turned and kept me awake a bit! It was sure cold when he loaded me into the big carrier in his jeep. He told me that we were going on "a trip." I didn't like being in the large carrier very much and made sure he knew that! He's a well trained human and figured out a new arrangement. A leash allowed me to roam around the car without the fear that I might leap out at stops.
This seemed to work out pretty well. I got to snooze in the back for a while. Sometimes, I ate and drank out of bowls on the top of the carrier, allowing me to snack while watching the scenery go by. Humans say this is like having something called a dining car. There was one really good stop where I got to watch birds eating seeds in the parking lot.
Many humans wondered how I, as a cat, did as a traveler. Have to say that I didn't mind it. It was fun to see new scenery such as when canyons race by out the window. Those winds out in what humans seem to call "the Panhandle" were a little scary but wow, those tumbleweeds were fun to watch. Sometimes I just wanted to snuggle up to my human and remind him of my presence. He's pretty good to me even if his choice of radio stations seems to hurt my ears sometimes.
All told, I think I might just start to like this travel thing.
"Mr. Q"
Yesterday morning, my human loaded me into a carrier when it was still dark. As usual, I make sure he wakes up very early, although last night he tossed and turned and kept me awake a bit! It was sure cold when he loaded me into the big carrier in his jeep. He told me that we were going on "a trip." I didn't like being in the large carrier very much and made sure he knew that! He's a well trained human and figured out a new arrangement. A leash allowed me to roam around the car without the fear that I might leap out at stops.
This seemed to work out pretty well. I got to snooze in the back for a while. Sometimes, I ate and drank out of bowls on the top of the carrier, allowing me to snack while watching the scenery go by. Humans say this is like having something called a dining car. There was one really good stop where I got to watch birds eating seeds in the parking lot.
Many humans wondered how I, as a cat, did as a traveler. Have to say that I didn't mind it. It was fun to see new scenery such as when canyons race by out the window. Those winds out in what humans seem to call "the Panhandle" were a little scary but wow, those tumbleweeds were fun to watch. Sometimes I just wanted to snuggle up to my human and remind him of my presence. He's pretty good to me even if his choice of radio stations seems to hurt my ears sometimes.
All told, I think I might just start to like this travel thing.
"Mr. Q"
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Varieties of local history
It's been a while since I had a chance to even update the blog. It also gave you all a chance to read up on "Mr. Q." October is conference season as well a the crunch time for local events. Given the climate of the Midwest, almost everything local that isn't holiday-related is crammed into 6-8 weeks in the spring and 6-8 weeks in the fall.
First there was the Kansas Humanities Council meeting in McPherson, KS. Although Belli Brothers is no longer a fixture with its joint model train and music store, McPherson is still a great place to visit.
Following that I attended the National Trust for Historic Preservation conference in Tulsa. Lots ot great sessions, especially about modern architecture. There was even a session about the preservation of the Tulsa neighorbood of Lortondale. Route 66, Art Deco Architecture, Jamil's Steakhouse, and other features make that city a great place to visit. A freeway system that makes absolutely no sense and confusing signage, but otherwise a good place to visit. Then the conference got to visit Greenwood, the African American neighborhood that was attacked in 1921 and the sight of one of the nation's worst race riots. My tour even got to listen to a survivor of the event, who was 4 at the time and remembered fleeing his home before the house got looted and burned. It is a story that Tulsa is just now starting to come to terms with. It even put a discordant note on the rest of the city: one wonders how many of those great Art Deco buildings along Route 66 had builders and occupants who took part in that race riot. Then there was the Kansas Museums Association in Manhattan, KS. A good conference as well. They really pulled out all the stops for us there.
Then, last week, I was part of the centennial ceremony of the Harper County courthouse in Anthony, KS. It was sure brisk that morning but a good event. That afternoon, I got to be in the parade as one of the "dignitaries" at the morning's event. Sitting in the seat of a 1923 Ford model T, I got to participate in one of the ultimate of small town traditions: a main street parade. Talk about Americana.
The following day, I helped out at Temple Emanu-El's major community feed: deli days. Good as ever. This time, they made, in my opinion, the wise choice to have bagels and lox instead of chopped liver.
Now that the events are over, I "just" my my regular stuff to do such as teaching, work on the 1950s church article, and now a new project: a photo history of the Lebanese community of Wichita. Lots to do. Maybe I'll have Quentin update the blog from time to time.
Stay tuned!
Thursday, September 25, 2008
The Arrival of Hurricane Quentin
At the surrender at the Battle of Yorktown, the band played "The World Turned Upside Down." That has been my theme this week with the arrival of a new kitten. Sunday morning, I was going to breakfast and met a woman who was taking a walk and found a kitten following her. The little one was, well, just too cute to say no. 15 years of catless existence ended Sunday night, when I got home from a local history event in Ivanpah, Kansas (more on that in a later post).
How can such a little thing transform a life so completely so fast? Old items (collected golf balls, promotional foam items, and empty film cannisters) that I didn't know what to do with now become cat toys. I am getting used to doing things one-handed, since the other one is usually holding a cat toy on a string. Let's just say grading is a challenge since moving pens are now VERY interesting items. I have made the transition: when I am out of the house, I no longer worry just about whether the kitten is okay. I now also worry about whether the apartment and its contents are okay.
I also found naming a challenge. Cats have, it seems, multiple names. Several nicknames are event specific such as "Velcro." Officially, he has a title: Lord Ivanpaw (after the little community I visited the day I got him). Then there are the actual names I have gone through. Just when I thought I had THE name, it didn't seem to fit the next day. Some are great cat names, like Hiram, Macintosh, or Murdock, but they just weren't HIS name. I had to come up with something for the vet records and selected "Winston," which I felt was close but not quite right. That evening, though, "Winston" morphed into "Quentin." Quentin has become his name and this is the name that has stuck and feels right. Hey, if it was good enough for Teddy Roosevelt's son, it's good enough for a ten-week old kitten. It even adapts nicely to the old Roman naming system: Felis Pretinus Quintus (the cat, of the Price family, called Quentin). Of course, for the next several months, he'll probably assume his name is "No!" or "Stop!"
Regardless, the road worrier has a new fellow traveler, who, in time, I suspect will be making his own observations on Kansas life.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Now Them's Good Eatin'
Being a road worrier requires nourishment along the way. Fortunately, this country is very lucky to have lots of good restaurants to select. While on my last road trip to NM, a couple of places became new favorites.
In Guymon, OK, Naifeh's is a steakhouse run by a Lebanese family. Turns out one member of the family has Wichita connections! Nothing like food to make ties across state boundaries. In Las Vegas, NM, there is the "Spic and Span." Good Mexican food with a little kick to the chile. Forget healthy. We're talking'big portions and eclairs the size of dinner plates. Reinforces my firm belief that gluttony is the best of the seven deadly sins--followed closely by sloth.
In Guymon, OK, Naifeh's is a steakhouse run by a Lebanese family. Turns out one member of the family has Wichita connections! Nothing like food to make ties across state boundaries. In Las Vegas, NM, there is the "Spic and Span." Good Mexican food with a little kick to the chile. Forget healthy. We're talking'big portions and eclairs the size of dinner plates. Reinforces my firm belief that gluttony is the best of the seven deadly sins--followed closely by sloth.
For something completely unique, in Santa Fe, there is a chocolate place called "Kakawa" that specializes in historic and even prehistoric chocolate recipes. It is a surprise to many that chocolate began, not as a food, but as a drink. The earliest reciples include a beverage called "Aztec Warrior," a bitter drink (pure chocolate has a very bitter flavor and is not sweet at all) laced with hot chile. I settled for the "atole" with cornmeal as an ingredient, a resulting concoction that tasted a little like malted milk. Check out http://www.kakawachocolates.com/ for more info.
In Ashland, Kansas, there is the Hardesty House, an old hotel that also offers steaks. The smothered steak is a good option here. Another great attraction to this location, by the way, is the building itself. It is one of the few of the old hotels that still has massive clerestory windows in the interior walls, a holdover from the days when buildings did not have lights in every room or air conditioning and clerestories were common features for lighting and ventilation. The Kansas to New Mexico run has other options, too, such as El Charro in Dodge City, the Eklund Hotel in Clayton, and the Brown Hotel and Cafe in Springer.
There are some distinct features that keep cropping up. Mexican food is one. Sadly, my goal of eating at a Mexican restaurant that openly proclaims serving "inauthentic" Mexican food remains unfulfulled. "Authentic" Mexican food is your only option, if you believe the signs and the menus. Beef is another feature. If you like steak, you can see and smell your future supper walking around as you drive by. Out here, chicken IS the vegetarian option. Dessert is important and the fruit pie has an important role in preventing scurvy since fruits and vegetables may be rather rare commodities on the dinner plate.
A lot of foodways on the western high plans still have traces of the 1950s in their preparation: a heavy reliance on pre-prepared things. The idea that there are other lettuces than iceberg and other dressings besides ranch and thousand island has yet to reach this part of the country. Still, if you want a blast from the past, you can't beat the high plains for heritage eating.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
A dusty drive down memory lane
Things have been quiet here with the Road Worrier for the past few weeks but recently, some new adventures have cropped up. Last week, after visiting the Flint Hills with my friend and colleague Cheryl Unruh (check out her http://www.flyoverpeople.net/ for that story), I headed back to New Mexico. Today, my dad and I got a chance to visit some land, including an old ranch house, that the family once owned. The ranch was a vacation house where we spent a lot of weekends during my early years. I had not quite realized how much that little ranch had shaped me during my growing up. I sorta knew it then but now really can see how much my appreciation of the NM landscape came from those times out there. This was a place with electricity but no running water. We had to use an outhouse but at night we listened to the local Spanish stations from Las Vegas NM on the radio (no TV reception either). In these years of the late 1970s and early 1980s, there were no cell phones to annoy, no satellite TV with 300 channels and no wii game sticks to distract us. It was quiet and relaxing--the occasional chore notwithstanding.
Going back now decades later, it is amazing how much has changed and how little has changed.
The area was and is very remote. It is a place where, as my dad says, you want to drive on the upper half of the tank (your gas tank over half full) since there aren't a lot of facilities for the motorist out here. The roads are dirt out here. Little twists and turns that I had long forgotten. The earth is a lot more reddish than I remembered. The desert plants have a spicy smell. Some of the old adobes are now in ruins. Even took a picture in one old home of the remains of a chair in a room.
Other families have brought in mobile homes. Prefab to the rescue when maintaining adobe is too much, I guess. I am glad I made it back there.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Expanding horizons
Last night as I drove back to Wichita from visiting a colleague in Manhattan, KS, I drove through the Flint Hills and took some photos of the school at the Tallgrass Prairie Nature Preserve school at sunset. As I did, it occurred to me that it is pretty hard NOT to take a cool photo of the Flint Hills at sunset. The setting lends itself to great shots. On the rest of the drive back, I mulled over the idea of a new type of photo contest for Kansas. Its defining feature would be what was not allowed in terms of subject. The point is not that said subjects are not valuable or important. Rather, it would be to get us to think about Kansas in a way that got beyond the familiar, even cliche images that show up on photo contests and state fair exhibitions. In some ways, it is too easy to fall back on these topics. What else in Kansas is worthy of documenting? So...here are some ideas of things that would NOT be permitted in this alternative Kansas photo competition:
The Flint Hills and Konza Prairie.
Monument Rocks and Castle Rock
Abandoned farmhouses, one room schools, country churches, court houses
Cows, bison, and horses
Trains and railroad stations
Windmills, barns, and grain elevators
Sunsets, approaching storms, and tornadoes
Panoramas of fields, either bare or with crops
Sunflowers, post rock fences and barbed wire
Children and senior citizens (however they may be in the background of scenes provided people of other generations are also present)
Patriotic imagery
Cowboys
Traditional artistic images (Madonna of the Plains, Cathedral of the Plains, Keeper of the Plains, the John Brown Scene in the Capitol, etc. As a general rule of thumb, if it has the phrase "of the plains" in the name, it is probably off limits.)
You are probably saying by now "hey, what CAN I photograph?"
Now, you've got the idea!
The Flint Hills and Konza Prairie.
Monument Rocks and Castle Rock
Abandoned farmhouses, one room schools, country churches, court houses
Cows, bison, and horses
Trains and railroad stations
Windmills, barns, and grain elevators
Sunsets, approaching storms, and tornadoes
Panoramas of fields, either bare or with crops
Sunflowers, post rock fences and barbed wire
Children and senior citizens (however they may be in the background of scenes provided people of other generations are also present)
Patriotic imagery
Cowboys
Traditional artistic images (Madonna of the Plains, Cathedral of the Plains, Keeper of the Plains, the John Brown Scene in the Capitol, etc. As a general rule of thumb, if it has the phrase "of the plains" in the name, it is probably off limits.)
You are probably saying by now "hey, what CAN I photograph?"
Now, you've got the idea!
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Homeward bound...and determined
Well, fellow travelers, last week was the final dash of the trip. Sunday, got up early again (having a room facing east where the rising sun hits you in the face helps that process). Headed into PA to see the Ephrata Cloister, sorta a German-based version of the Shakers, and then on to Intercourse to see the Amish Country. It was, well, an experience. Am sure the locals really don't care much for "English" like me coming in and traipsing around. The stores tend to be Mennnonite-run tho' imagine my surprise when it turned out that "Nancy's Quilt Shop" had Chinese immigrants behind the counter.
Monday was Decoration Day (today we call this Memorial Day) and got to spend it, in all places, Gettysburg. The battlefield was something. A lot happened there so it got kinda confusing. The best image was that of Confederate reenactors outside a store selling Civil War souvenirs with an African American woman talking to her friend on the street. Talk about exploding with irony. While touring, went past Eisenhower's farm--he bought land next to the battlefield and considered that, in many ways, his homestead. So much for those Kansan ties. Not like Truman and Independence. Drove across PA to Sandusky OH for the night. Saw the sunset over Lake Erie.
Tuesday was Heritage Quest. Drove across Michigan, where my family is from. Entered into Monroe County, which is French Canadian in ancestry and one side of my family has been there since the 1700s. Even the street names are family names: Nadeau, Cousino, Navarre. Saw the little (and I do mean little) town of La Salle where my grandmother grew up. Then to Haslett, which is outside of Lansing, where my grandfather grew up, my mother lived as a small child, and ironically, where my dad lived as a teenager. Went to the old Marsh family homestead and knocked on the door, not sure who would answer. Turned out the family who lived there knew my family very well. Got to see the home and the landmarks that I had heard about for so long: the enclosed porch, the garden in back with the lilacs, the hill down to the swamp and the rr tracks with Lake Lansing and Hickory Island beyond. All my life I had heard of these places and they sounded so far apart. They're not. The whole area is smaller than College Hill. Michigan as a whole is flat with lots of lakes, swamps, marshes, etc. I seem to be a descendant of the swamp people.
Then to Holland, Michigan to visit my aunt and uncle and cousins. We toured around and went up to Muskegon, where the Prices are from. Saw the Price home, the synagogue where some of the family attended, and other landmarks. Let's just say a lot of the area is now a "transitional" neighborhood and it was good to have visited it in the daytime. Back in Holland, the Dutch heritage is still highly prized, with the folksyness we see, for example, in Lindsborg KS with the Swedes. One wonders how Holland's Chamber of Commerce would treat a discussion of modern Holland which, in addition to windmills and tulips, is just as known for its red light districts, hash bars, gay marriage, and mosques.
The following day, I took the ferry across Lake Michigan from Muskegon to Milwaukee. After a slight mix up on schedules (note for the future: double check the sailing times as the company as I made a reservation for what I thought was Thursday and they thought was Wednesday). Minor glitch but got on board and headed across. About a 2.5 hour ride across. They even show movies on the boat.
The next day after that, it was Frank Lloyd Wright-apalooza. Saw his Orthodox Church in Wauwatosa, the Unitarian Church in Madison (as well as the now completed Monona Terrace), then to Taliesin and southern Wisconsin. I saw lots of the prairie style but not much prairie. Lots of forested hills with broad river valleys but little that looked like what I would think of as the tree/grasslands combo that we call prairie here in KS. Ended up at Effigy Mounds National Monument on the IA/WI border.
Yesterday was the last day of the trip. A mad dash across Iowa from outside Dubuque to Cedar Rapids (to view, among other things, the "Mother Mosque of America") through Des Moines and to Madison County. Yes, I saw the bridges. There are about six of them and I visited 3. They are quaint from a distance but the social history side of things comes from reading the graffiti that literally covers the interiors of the bridges from end to end. After that, headed on down to Kansas City where I had supper on the plaza. Then, it was into Kansas and down through the Flint Hills into a gorgeous KS sunset. Kansas was welcoming me back home again. Got in about 10:30 last night. Researchapalooza is over. I survived. I think.
Am still processing things. What a time! Am not so much thinking of the trip as ending as much as a new phase of research and study will begin. Will keep you posted!
Monday was Decoration Day (today we call this Memorial Day) and got to spend it, in all places, Gettysburg. The battlefield was something. A lot happened there so it got kinda confusing. The best image was that of Confederate reenactors outside a store selling Civil War souvenirs with an African American woman talking to her friend on the street. Talk about exploding with irony. While touring, went past Eisenhower's farm--he bought land next to the battlefield and considered that, in many ways, his homestead. So much for those Kansan ties. Not like Truman and Independence. Drove across PA to Sandusky OH for the night. Saw the sunset over Lake Erie.
Tuesday was Heritage Quest. Drove across Michigan, where my family is from. Entered into Monroe County, which is French Canadian in ancestry and one side of my family has been there since the 1700s. Even the street names are family names: Nadeau, Cousino, Navarre. Saw the little (and I do mean little) town of La Salle where my grandmother grew up. Then to Haslett, which is outside of Lansing, where my grandfather grew up, my mother lived as a small child, and ironically, where my dad lived as a teenager. Went to the old Marsh family homestead and knocked on the door, not sure who would answer. Turned out the family who lived there knew my family very well. Got to see the home and the landmarks that I had heard about for so long: the enclosed porch, the garden in back with the lilacs, the hill down to the swamp and the rr tracks with Lake Lansing and Hickory Island beyond. All my life I had heard of these places and they sounded so far apart. They're not. The whole area is smaller than College Hill. Michigan as a whole is flat with lots of lakes, swamps, marshes, etc. I seem to be a descendant of the swamp people.Then to Holland, Michigan to visit my aunt and uncle and cousins. We toured around and went up to Muskegon, where the Prices are from. Saw the Price home, the synagogue where some of the family attended, and other landmarks. Let's just say a lot of the area is now a "transitional" neighborhood and it was good to have visited it in the daytime. Back in Holland, the Dutch heritage is still highly prized, with the folksyness we see, for example, in Lindsborg KS with the Swedes. One wonders how Holland's Chamber of Commerce would treat a discussion of modern Holland which, in addition to windmills and tulips, is just as known for its red light districts, hash bars, gay marriage, and mosques.
The following day, I took the ferry across Lake Michigan from Muskegon to Milwaukee. After a slight mix up on schedules (note for the future: double check the sailing times as the company as I made a reservation for what I thought was Thursday and they thought was Wednesday). Minor glitch but got on board and headed across. About a 2.5 hour ride across. They even show movies on the boat.
The next day after that, it was Frank Lloyd Wright-apalooza. Saw his Orthodox Church in Wauwatosa, the Unitarian Church in Madison (as well as the now completed Monona Terrace), then to Taliesin and southern Wisconsin. I saw lots of the prairie style but not much prairie. Lots of forested hills with broad river valleys but little that looked like what I would think of as the tree/grasslands combo that we call prairie here in KS. Ended up at Effigy Mounds National Monument on the IA/WI border.Yesterday was the last day of the trip. A mad dash across Iowa from outside Dubuque to Cedar Rapids (to view, among other things, the "Mother Mosque of America") through Des Moines and to Madison County. Yes, I saw the bridges. There are about six of them and I visited 3. They are quaint from a distance but the social history side of things comes from reading the graffiti that literally covers the interiors of the bridges from end to end. After that, headed on down to Kansas City where I had supper on the plaza. Then, it was into Kansas and down through the Flint Hills into a gorgeous KS sunset. Kansas was welcoming me back home again. Got in about 10:30 last night. Researchapalooza is over. I survived. I think.
Am still processing things. What a time! Am not so much thinking of the trip as ending as much as a new phase of research and study will begin. Will keep you posted!
Monday, May 26, 2008
New York, New York
This past weekend, I got the chance to see New York City up close and personal like. Just a few thoughts and observation, complete with appropriate music to go with it.
Got on the train at 6:30 or so and headed on into Penn station. (Queue Chattanooga Choo Choo lines about leaving the Pennsylvania Station) Down to the subway. What a mess! Most complicated blasted thing I’ve ever seen. A spaghetti of different routes, some of the worst signage I’ve seen and, to boot, on weekends they like shuffling things around for line work. Also pretty dingy in the stations. THIS is supposed to be the famous New York subway?
That notwithstanding, made it down to Battery Park to take the ferry to Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. Lady Liberty was quite a sight. It seems sad that she is too often draped in a flag and used to sell patriotism. Then headed to Ellis Island. (Queue Neil Diamond’s “They’re Coming to America”) The whole experience puts you in the mood: approaching on a crowded ferry having stood in line. You are surrounded by families and rowdy kids and are in the midst of hearing about a half a dozen languages. How appropriate! Ellis Island was quite moving and well done as an exhibit—even if my ancestors came through Baltimore.
After that, up to see the World Trade Center. What was striking was the lack of patriotic schlock that the event gets back in Kansas. The big sign on one store said “Remember….Fathers Day.” Then to Wall Street. (Queue theme to “Wall Street Week in Review”). It was striking that this “city that never sleeps” had a lot of businesses closed for the day.
Following this, saw one of the truly great museums of the city: the Tenement Museum. Check out the web site at www.tenement.org. A recreation of life on the Lower East Side up close and personal. It showed how dark and crowded the places were, but how they also offered hope. Also showed how urban life in New York is a process of constant change. An emersion into the complex, unsettling life of the tenements and the families who lived there.
Back on the subway to Times Square (Queue “Give my regards to Broadway”—the subway stops were various points in the song). Got a sandwich from a deli and ate it outside by Madison Square Garden. (Queue theme to “Sex in the City”) and then headed on back.
Got on the train at 6:30 or so and headed on into Penn station. (Queue Chattanooga Choo Choo lines about leaving the Pennsylvania Station) Down to the subway. What a mess! Most complicated blasted thing I’ve ever seen. A spaghetti of different routes, some of the worst signage I’ve seen and, to boot, on weekends they like shuffling things around for line work. Also pretty dingy in the stations. THIS is supposed to be the famous New York subway?
That notwithstanding, made it down to Battery Park to take the ferry to Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. Lady Liberty was quite a sight. It seems sad that she is too often draped in a flag and used to sell patriotism. Then headed to Ellis Island. (Queue Neil Diamond’s “They’re Coming to America”) The whole experience puts you in the mood: approaching on a crowded ferry having stood in line. You are surrounded by families and rowdy kids and are in the midst of hearing about a half a dozen languages. How appropriate! Ellis Island was quite moving and well done as an exhibit—even if my ancestors came through Baltimore.
After that, up to see the World Trade Center. What was striking was the lack of patriotic schlock that the event gets back in Kansas. The big sign on one store said “Remember….Fathers Day.” Then to Wall Street. (Queue theme to “Wall Street Week in Review”). It was striking that this “city that never sleeps” had a lot of businesses closed for the day.
Following this, saw one of the truly great museums of the city: the Tenement Museum. Check out the web site at www.tenement.org. A recreation of life on the Lower East Side up close and personal. It showed how dark and crowded the places were, but how they also offered hope. Also showed how urban life in New York is a process of constant change. An emersion into the complex, unsettling life of the tenements and the families who lived there.
Back on the subway to Times Square (Queue “Give my regards to Broadway”—the subway stops were various points in the song). Got a sandwich from a deli and ate it outside by Madison Square Garden. (Queue theme to “Sex in the City”) and then headed on back.
Monday, May 19, 2008
So how was your last dinner party?
Yesterday, had the fun of attending a dinner party of a friend of mine, Paul Cassedy. Paul grew up in the Alexandria/Washington area but is now in Baltimore. He says that he is called one of the last of the Edwardians in that he loves the tradition of the formal dinner party. This “modest” event took place at his home, a 1910s-era row house. There were 16 guests so it took the parlor and dining room both to hold the long table that we set up. Talk about breaking out the china and the glassware! Each place setting had seven utensils and four wine glasses. Among the Edwardian features that Paul continues as a love of pickled items so the first course were all homemade pickles of various veggies along with spring sausage of meats like elk and bison. At this point, the music arrived. The duo,“Zephyr,” consisted of a lute player and a singer who serenaded us with Renaissance songs. Then came the turtle soup, which traditionally has an accompanying pickled hard boiled egg. Then a salad. Then the entree, a roast of wild boar with a mole sauce and saffron rice. By this time, we are on our third different wine. To cleanse the palate, we had a sorbet of lemon and vodka graced with basil and sage. Then came the cheese course of various types of cheeses and then a mixture of berries soaked in Grand Marnier . Paul is surprised when people say this is a lavish affair. This is just a group of friends getting together. I’ll let you be the judge!
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Cheeseburger in Paradise
They say confession is good for the soul. Last night, while heading back to the Cathedral, I stopped into a restaurant called Mediterra in Adams Morgan. I ordered, I am ashamed to admit, a cheeseburger. Consider the irony: this is an upscale, trendy restaurant in one of the most cosmopolitan neighborhoods in one of the most internationally-oriented cities in the country. Embassy Row is within walking distance and the Islamic Center's minaret is visible on the other side of Rock Creek Park. I order the most Mid-American of foods.
Upon reflection, it occurred to me that I had not had a hamburger in quite a while. This whirlwind of a research trip has been one of ethnic cafes with cuisine ranging from Korean to Indian to Thai to Afghani to Mexican to Ethiopian. Lots of salads and pastas. Local fare has included Philly cheese steaks, Canadian poutine, and Cincinnati-style chili (with a hint of chocolate and cinnamon, served on spaghetti with a heaping mound of shredded cheese). A lot of the meals have been delightfully vegetarian. It is striking that the humble cheeseburger, in this environment, IS exotic foreign fare. Sometimes you just hanker for the basics.
Yes, the burger, by the way, was wonderful. Having not had one in a while, it was quite rich and satisfying, even decadent. Somehow, it even seemed appropriately Mediterranean in that cafe's setting with subdued lighting and reproductions of 1930s French travel posters. Yes, I did have to make one concession to the region: an appetizer of hummus. Hummus and cheeseburgers. Now there's a combination for the 21st century!
Upon reflection, it occurred to me that I had not had a hamburger in quite a while. This whirlwind of a research trip has been one of ethnic cafes with cuisine ranging from Korean to Indian to Thai to Afghani to Mexican to Ethiopian. Lots of salads and pastas. Local fare has included Philly cheese steaks, Canadian poutine, and Cincinnati-style chili (with a hint of chocolate and cinnamon, served on spaghetti with a heaping mound of shredded cheese). A lot of the meals have been delightfully vegetarian. It is striking that the humble cheeseburger, in this environment, IS exotic foreign fare. Sometimes you just hanker for the basics.
Yes, the burger, by the way, was wonderful. Having not had one in a while, it was quite rich and satisfying, even decadent. Somehow, it even seemed appropriately Mediterranean in that cafe's setting with subdued lighting and reproductions of 1930s French travel posters. Yes, I did have to make one concession to the region: an appetizer of hummus. Hummus and cheeseburgers. Now there's a combination for the 21st century!
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
So you want to research at the Library of Congress, do you?
The Library of Congress is one of those hallowed places in academia. For a scholar, doing work there is almost a rite of passage. Few activities seem more “scholarly” than researching in rare materials underneath the great rotunda of the Jefferson building.
Hold on there, cowboy! (queue sound of phonograph needle screeching across record) Before you do that, there are some things to consider so that your trip there is as pain free as possible. The good news is that the Library of Congress is one of the world’s greatest collections of published works housed in one of Washington’s most stunning buildings. The bad news is that the Library of Congress is one of the world’s greatest collections of published works housed in one of Washington’s most stunning buildings. You see, the massive collection and sheer popularity of the structure tend to draw vast numbers of people, the very things that make the “LOC” a rather tricky critter to use.
The LOC is really two entities, one a showcase for exhibits and programs that draw thousands of visitors. The other is a research area. Going up the great steps into the great lobby are for the visitors and anyone entering will have to go through the security checkpoints to have bags checked etc. I am coming to believe that the security checkpoint should be the official Washington, D.C. symbol.
Before that fun begins, however, researchers need to go across the street to the south to the Madison Building to room 140. Fortunately, this is the most painless part of the process. You do need to register on the computer (and bring a photo id). They give you an id card with a number to use. The folks who do this are among the friendliest in DC so this is not too much of an inconvenience. By this point, you should have a sense of what you want to research (visit www.loc.gov ahead of time). Not all research areas are under the great rotunda in the Jefferson Building. Depending on your topic, you may be directed to another research area such as the Adams Building or the Madison Building. If, as was my case, your intended destination is the Jefferson Building Rotunda, you go back through a true maze of tunnels and corridors to check in your bags and head to the reading room. By the way, no cameras allowed in the great rotunda. A bit of a bummer, but I can see why.
At this point, a minor diversion into architectural history is appropriate. For centuries, really important rooms in a major public building were on what Americans generally call the 2nd floor and what much of the rest of the world calls the first floor. It was the piano nobile (noble floor) of the Renaissance. That is the case with the great reading room in the Jefferson Building. The ground level has the service corridors, restrooms, and minor reading rooms, etc. You then go “up” to the “first” floor to get to the main reading room.
Now you are ready to research. Sort of. Go to the great circular desk in the center of the rotunda and hand them a filled out call slip, blanks of which are found at various points around the desk. If you have just the right reading desk picked out, you can have materials sent there. Otherwise, you can pick them up. This is very, very much a closed stack process so staff get the materials for you. This will take about 45 minutes to an hour, depending on the material. If you are really industrious, you can check out various reference materials in the alcoves -- or you can do what I did and get something to eat. It is a little bit of a hike but I recommend the cafeteria at the National Museum of the American Indian—really upscale food representing different regions of the Americas.
Assuming the materials are there when you get back, you are now ready to research. About the only issue to consider is that the reading desks are sloped and topped with glass so things have a really nasty tendency to want to slip off.
Let’s say, for grins and giggles, you want to make a photocopy. You go to Alcove 7 to the copy room. You have to purchase a copy card. This costs 40 cents but takes a dollar to start the process so do have one ready. Copies are 20 cents a piece. About the only warning I have on the copy machines is that it is really, really easy to inadvertently press the keypad to call for multiple copies when you only wanted one. Keep alert and you’ll avoid some of my costly mistakes.
Returning items is pretty straightforward—just turn them into the front desk. I didn’t need to hold items for use the next day so cannot speak to that procedure. When leaving, if you go out the front entrance of the Jefferson building, go left by the Madison Building and that takes you to the Capitol South Metro stop. Busses are also quite frequent along Independence Avenue.
Hope this helps. The LOC is a majestic location with a lot of good people and good resources. It also makes me appreciate interlibrary loan a whole lot more.
Hold on there, cowboy! (queue sound of phonograph needle screeching across record) Before you do that, there are some things to consider so that your trip there is as pain free as possible. The good news is that the Library of Congress is one of the world’s greatest collections of published works housed in one of Washington’s most stunning buildings. The bad news is that the Library of Congress is one of the world’s greatest collections of published works housed in one of Washington’s most stunning buildings. You see, the massive collection and sheer popularity of the structure tend to draw vast numbers of people, the very things that make the “LOC” a rather tricky critter to use.
The LOC is really two entities, one a showcase for exhibits and programs that draw thousands of visitors. The other is a research area. Going up the great steps into the great lobby are for the visitors and anyone entering will have to go through the security checkpoints to have bags checked etc. I am coming to believe that the security checkpoint should be the official Washington, D.C. symbol.
Before that fun begins, however, researchers need to go across the street to the south to the Madison Building to room 140. Fortunately, this is the most painless part of the process. You do need to register on the computer (and bring a photo id). They give you an id card with a number to use. The folks who do this are among the friendliest in DC so this is not too much of an inconvenience. By this point, you should have a sense of what you want to research (visit www.loc.gov ahead of time). Not all research areas are under the great rotunda in the Jefferson Building. Depending on your topic, you may be directed to another research area such as the Adams Building or the Madison Building. If, as was my case, your intended destination is the Jefferson Building Rotunda, you go back through a true maze of tunnels and corridors to check in your bags and head to the reading room. By the way, no cameras allowed in the great rotunda. A bit of a bummer, but I can see why.
At this point, a minor diversion into architectural history is appropriate. For centuries, really important rooms in a major public building were on what Americans generally call the 2nd floor and what much of the rest of the world calls the first floor. It was the piano nobile (noble floor) of the Renaissance. That is the case with the great reading room in the Jefferson Building. The ground level has the service corridors, restrooms, and minor reading rooms, etc. You then go “up” to the “first” floor to get to the main reading room.
Now you are ready to research. Sort of. Go to the great circular desk in the center of the rotunda and hand them a filled out call slip, blanks of which are found at various points around the desk. If you have just the right reading desk picked out, you can have materials sent there. Otherwise, you can pick them up. This is very, very much a closed stack process so staff get the materials for you. This will take about 45 minutes to an hour, depending on the material. If you are really industrious, you can check out various reference materials in the alcoves -- or you can do what I did and get something to eat. It is a little bit of a hike but I recommend the cafeteria at the National Museum of the American Indian—really upscale food representing different regions of the Americas.
Assuming the materials are there when you get back, you are now ready to research. About the only issue to consider is that the reading desks are sloped and topped with glass so things have a really nasty tendency to want to slip off.
Let’s say, for grins and giggles, you want to make a photocopy. You go to Alcove 7 to the copy room. You have to purchase a copy card. This costs 40 cents but takes a dollar to start the process so do have one ready. Copies are 20 cents a piece. About the only warning I have on the copy machines is that it is really, really easy to inadvertently press the keypad to call for multiple copies when you only wanted one. Keep alert and you’ll avoid some of my costly mistakes.
Returning items is pretty straightforward—just turn them into the front desk. I didn’t need to hold items for use the next day so cannot speak to that procedure. When leaving, if you go out the front entrance of the Jefferson building, go left by the Madison Building and that takes you to the Capitol South Metro stop. Busses are also quite frequent along Independence Avenue.
Hope this helps. The LOC is a majestic location with a lot of good people and good resources. It also makes me appreciate interlibrary loan a whole lot more.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Reflections on the National Cathedral celebration
Now That’s a Service
Today, I had the pleasure of attending the Pentecost service at the National Cathedral. It was also Mother’s Day and the crescendo of the structure’s 100th anniversary celebration. Needless to say, they pulled out all the stops—and seem to have special ordered extra stops just to be able to pull them out as well.
Here is the rundown. Before the service, there was a choral concert from an African American choir singing a combination of traditional and modern pieces. By this time, the place was packed. Half an hour before the service, most seats in the nave were taken.
Then came the processional with flags, streamers, banners, and dignitaries. Trumpet fanfare from both the choir loft and up front. Once everyone settled in up front, the service began. One could sorta see the activities on flat screen tvs along the columns but even those were hard to access if you happen to be vertically challenged such as myself. It also got me to thinking about the cathedral space and how, in days before those tvs, your experience of a service, unless you were one of the mucky-mucks up front, was of glimpses of activity way off in the distance—assuming you could even see it at all. In an age before amplification, chances are that you couldn’t hear things, either. No wonder it has been hard getting the congregations to grasp the message! I am now appreciating more the sloped seating and auditorium arrangements of the Calvinist and Evangelical traditions!
Anyway, back to the service. The second reading, the Pentecost story, was acted out on front, complete with song. Then the liturgical dancers came in and a very powerful singer, representing Peter led the congregation with a song about being filled with the spirit. Was hard not to get caught up in things.
The sermon was good and even the dean of the cathedral admitted that he had not quite prepared for the extravaganza taking place around him. After the sermon, Rt. Rev Schori spoke for a short time, amused that the ancestors back in 1907 would have been horrified by a service like this, just as we will be, if things go right, with a service in 2107. Schori led the prayers and consecration for the next 100 years, inviting various people with the congregation and the diocese to receive their call to service. She concluded with having the visitors rise (which was most of the place) and we were told to spread the message of what we had seen and heard as well, hence this post.
The hymn “Send down your fire of Justice” followed. Another spirited piece with the dancers, culminating in the congregation being showered with red, orange, and yellow rose petals cascading down from the clerestory! The explanation was that during the Middle Ages, cathedrals celebrated Pentecost with cascades of rose petals. During the rest of the service, kids and adults alike periodically darted from their seats to collect a few petals as mementos. I doubt the cleaning folks had much to pick up.
Following that, the celebration of the Eucharist commenced. There was something powerful about a whole cathedral of people reciting the Lord’s Prayer together. I was toward the back so was part of the group who went back towards the narthex to receive communion. Sorta strange taking the elements with my back to the altar but the great rose window above was a good experience.
The final blessing ended the service with a great recessional, again with banners, streamers, booming brass, and great fanfare. With the dismissal, people started out and to the tent adjacent for refreshments. By this time, it was after 1:00 and many people darted off, no doubt heading to Mother’s day reservations. The dean of the cathedral was right—it was a service few would forget.
Today, I had the pleasure of attending the Pentecost service at the National Cathedral. It was also Mother’s Day and the crescendo of the structure’s 100th anniversary celebration. Needless to say, they pulled out all the stops—and seem to have special ordered extra stops just to be able to pull them out as well.
Here is the rundown. Before the service, there was a choral concert from an African American choir singing a combination of traditional and modern pieces. By this time, the place was packed. Half an hour before the service, most seats in the nave were taken.
Then came the processional with flags, streamers, banners, and dignitaries. Trumpet fanfare from both the choir loft and up front. Once everyone settled in up front, the service began. One could sorta see the activities on flat screen tvs along the columns but even those were hard to access if you happen to be vertically challenged such as myself. It also got me to thinking about the cathedral space and how, in days before those tvs, your experience of a service, unless you were one of the mucky-mucks up front, was of glimpses of activity way off in the distance—assuming you could even see it at all. In an age before amplification, chances are that you couldn’t hear things, either. No wonder it has been hard getting the congregations to grasp the message! I am now appreciating more the sloped seating and auditorium arrangements of the Calvinist and Evangelical traditions!
Anyway, back to the service. The second reading, the Pentecost story, was acted out on front, complete with song. Then the liturgical dancers came in and a very powerful singer, representing Peter led the congregation with a song about being filled with the spirit. Was hard not to get caught up in things.
The sermon was good and even the dean of the cathedral admitted that he had not quite prepared for the extravaganza taking place around him. After the sermon, Rt. Rev Schori spoke for a short time, amused that the ancestors back in 1907 would have been horrified by a service like this, just as we will be, if things go right, with a service in 2107. Schori led the prayers and consecration for the next 100 years, inviting various people with the congregation and the diocese to receive their call to service. She concluded with having the visitors rise (which was most of the place) and we were told to spread the message of what we had seen and heard as well, hence this post.
The hymn “Send down your fire of Justice” followed. Another spirited piece with the dancers, culminating in the congregation being showered with red, orange, and yellow rose petals cascading down from the clerestory! The explanation was that during the Middle Ages, cathedrals celebrated Pentecost with cascades of rose petals. During the rest of the service, kids and adults alike periodically darted from their seats to collect a few petals as mementos. I doubt the cleaning folks had much to pick up.
Following that, the celebration of the Eucharist commenced. There was something powerful about a whole cathedral of people reciting the Lord’s Prayer together. I was toward the back so was part of the group who went back towards the narthex to receive communion. Sorta strange taking the elements with my back to the altar but the great rose window above was a good experience.
The final blessing ended the service with a great recessional, again with banners, streamers, booming brass, and great fanfare. With the dismissal, people started out and to the tent adjacent for refreshments. By this time, it was after 1:00 and many people darted off, no doubt heading to Mother’s day reservations. The dean of the cathedral was right—it was a service few would forget.
National Cathedral
The National Cathedral is celebrating its centennial with its "Lighting to Unite" program. The event consists of several stages where bright lights project patterns from colored slides onto the cathedral surface itself. The result is a very powerful spectacle. Check out http://www.nationalcathedral.org/ for more information. Here are two photos of just two of the patterns that one could see.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Welcome to Hogwarts
Actually, it isn't really Hogwarts, just the Cathedral College at the National Cathedral. Great spot. Still, it DOES feel like it is something that should have Harry Potter walking around. It turns out to be the 100th anniversary celebration of the Cathedral so lots going on. This is also a first attempt to put a photo on this so we'll see what happens.
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