Category: American Affairs

SHUTTERING THE BUNKERS

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

For all of its uber-quaintness and tony appeal today, the neighboring city to our south has long had its seamy side. It was, after all, a seaport – and, for that matter, remains one.

While times have changed and its once notorious districts have long since been gentrified or razed, one bit of that heritage has lingered. We see it along the major highways, usually on the side headed toward the vacation lands north and east, and not always in the city itself but close enough to count.

These are the cement-block bunkers that sometimes tout themselves as bookstores, but we’ve never been fooled. A few actually started out, it seems, as gasoline stations that covered their windows when they converted to the sex trade, while the others may have actually been constructed with this function in mind. Magazines, videos, toys … but not live performances. Maybe there are some clubs elsewhere, though I suspect that requires a trip to Portland or Boston. Maybe Lawrence or Lowell.

These bunkers may have a thin window or two high up in the wall, but the doors are solid. In other words, no peeping. If anything, these blockhouses always look forbidding and forlorn. You might even say they appear shameful or guilty rather than flirtatious and giddy.

Rarely, too, is a car or pickup seen parked in front. And in the past few years, there have been fewer and fewer of those parked on the side, either.

Unlike their cousins on downtown streets in larger cities, where customers may slip discretely through the doorway or out, these offer far less secrecy for their patrons. If anyone knows your car or truck, they know where you are.

As we’ve driven past on the busy roadways, I’ve long wondered how these places stay in business. Magazines of all stripes have been folding or shrinking, and when it comes to racy photography, there’s plenty available online these days. No secret there. Ditto, the videos. As for the toys, well, we have online retailers of all sorts, along with rapid delivery.

Well, we now notice another of these little box stores is shuttered. It’s not in a spot we see any other store wanting. It will be curious to see what happens to the real estate. But there are no signs of mourning, either.

Funny thing, though: just up the road, at the mall, Victoria’s Secret is thriving.

BOUNCE

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 3 Comments

Letter-writing – even the Christmas epistle – is becoming a lost art. In the process, we also lose a dimension of friendship, especially at a distance. Ping! And the ball’s in your court. And then on the way back.

Dear Santa, all the same.

In the meantime …

CONSIDERING THE COMPETITION

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

After I moved from the ashram, I spent a year-and-a-half in a small city that very much resembles one I call Prairie Depot in several of my novels. And then I returned to my university as a research associate.

While our institute was set in a town very much like Daffodil, there was one difference I omitted. By this time, the town had a large urban ashram and, for several reasons, I chose not to attend classes or other activity there but instead began sitting with the Quakers in their mostly silent worship in a country meetinghouse.

Still, as the joke went, the ashram owned a third of the town. It had a vegetarian restaurant or two, maybe a bakery by this point, a house painting company, art gallery, significant real estate, and maybe much more.

The university, of course, owned the rest.

Or so the joke went, back in the mid-’70s.

My own experience is much more along the lines of what I describe in my novel, Ashram. We barely owned anything.

MORE THAN A DENTIST

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 2 Comments

Many of the Red Barn postings have reflected the experiences of living in a relatively small city – almost 30,000 population – set near other communities of similar scale, all a little over an hour from Boston. These conditions, by themselves, do not necessarily guarantee an ideal stomping ground, but for the most part, I very much like where we landed. Having some of the neighbors we do, I should emphasize, is the biggest pleasure.

This scale also encourages face-to-face interactions in multiple settings. You run into people you know at the supermarket, the bank, a contradance at City Hall or the annual Greek festival, a chamber music concert, one of the coffee houses or a corner pub, well, you get the picture.

It’s all so civilized.

Much of this has been embodied in our dentist’s practice as well. Paul and Marge are both local kids who graduated as high school sweethearts and, well, I can let them tell their own love story. It’s charming.

When I first moved to town a little over a dozen years ago, I asked around Meeting for recommendations for a new dentist, and their practice came up repeatedly. For good reason.

As I said, their practice. And you notice, the first-name basis.

Everybody loves Marge, it just can’t be helped. She knows everybody and has a lively curiosity about their interests and activities and, well, let me add she never used a computer in the office – her penciled spread sheets were all she needed. Besides, it was also in her head. She might mention as you were leaving that your wife had an appointment in three weeks.

Paul, meanwhile, was down-to-earth and gentle. My previous dentist had expanded his building and his operation and wanted to replace all my fillings. Fortunately, I relocated in time. Paul correctly said my fillings were fine and saved me and my insurance thousands of dollars. Over the years, he’s also performed two root canals on me, and they felt no different than getting a filling. He lived up to his promise to this chicken on that count.

There were two other reliable delights in my semi-annual visits.

One was the bird feeders outside the second-floor windows, which were always flocked. While their office was close enough for me to walk to it and back, their feeders attracted a different array of birds than the ones we got at our own feeders. The grosbeaks, especially.

The other delight was Paul’s latest photography. He’s good, very good. And not every photographer can claim the kind of close-ups of bears he got at his home bird feeders just beyond the patio sliders … five days in a row.

Well, the last time I was in for my cleaning they announced it was their final day. They’d just signed the papers the previous day and were handing the practice over to a younger dentist they believe shares their values and ways. We hope they’re right. He’s keeping the staff and the setting.

As Marge said, they’re 72, though it’s hard to believe it. And as they said in their farewell letter, they came to see their patients as friends and neighbors as well.

They’re right. I hope we’ll be bumping into them around town. And I hope Paul decides to launch a photography blog of his own. I’ll certainly let you know if he does.

SLIDE SHOW MEMORIES

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 4 Comments

When I was growing up, my family would sometimes go over to another family’s house for dinner or a low-key party that was soon followed by their getting the projector and screen out, along with a brace of Kodak slides, to show us their summer travels.

In those days, we were somewhat awed. These were our friends who could afford the equipment and film and also manage to travel in some kind of style. In other words, it was an occasion, however boring.

These days, of course, photography is, oh, so much easier, and thanks to digital advances, oh, so much cheaper. And the slide show, as I’ve been finding as I blog, is both easier and, well, more intimate – you can watch it when and where you want. You don’t even have to yell out, “Can we back up two?” or “Who was that in the lower right-hand corner?”

Many families now have to figure out what to do with those increasingly fragile slips of film in their cardboard frames – especially the ones that now smell of mildew. They’re history, of course.

As is, it appears as I look around, the custom of families coming together with others.

THE STIGMA OF RELIGION

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 5 Comments

Intolerance, scorn, and judgmental stereotyping are hard enough to behold in public discourse, but they’re especially painful when they come from my side of the spectrum – people who proclaim themselves to be open-minded and smart. Yet the contempt is there, and nowhere more so than at the mention of religion, as Madeleine L’Engle has already pointedly observed. Even so, the fact remains that we do find individuals for whom belief and wisdom are not mutually exclusive. Indeed, even mutually enhancing. Let me suggest Bill Moyers’ Genesis: A Living Conversation, a Doubleday book based on the PBS series, as a demonstration of intelligence and faith in joint action. (Also available in audio or video, if you prefer.)

Admittedly, much of what we see and hear from the religious front can be superficial thought, convoluted logic, or emotional manipulation – quite simply, bad theology that too often goes unchallenged. (Not that we don’t encounter these in advertising, politics, entertainment, or professional athletics.) Curiously, when I listen to the reasons given by many who turn away from religion altogether, I often hear equally shallow arguments. Those who accuse religion of being the cause of all war, for example, blithely ignore Karl Marx’ insistence that it’s economic injustice instead – even as they invoke his axiom of religion as the opiate of the people. Or the way Sigmund Freud’s atheism is touted, while ignoring the degree to which his two key disciples, Karl Jung and Otto Rank, each turned to unique aspects of religion to advance their depth of human insight. I’m of the camp that contends that good theology is the only cure for bad theology, and is essential for progressing social justice. Rabbi Michael Lerner’s The Left Hand of God: Taking Back Our Country from the Religious Right offers a fine line of reasoning in this direction. (As for advertising, politics, entertainment, professional athletics …?)

And, yes, the best reply to hypocrisy comes from the discipline of faith itself. Whatever happened to corrective rebuke and redirection, within the faithful group? (What old Quakers used to call “close labor.”)

Oh, my, and here I’d started out to reflect on the unfortunate state of religious fiction and poetry in our time, especially from Christian writers. With little support from my side of the spectrum, what appears is typically constrained by an orthodoxy that inhibits candor and rigorous exploration, and what emerges sounds saccharine, hollow, or even a false note altogether. That’s before we get to that matter of being preachy.

Still, I can point to the growing popularity of Rumi, a Sufi mystic of the 13th century, or to Zen-influenced Americans or Jewish novelists and a few obliquely Christian poets as signs of hope.

Care to add to the list?

TRUE HOSPITALITY

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

The New Hampshire economy – like the rest of New England, actually – relies heavily on tourism. But to put a smiling face on the cash cow, businesses and public officials alike call it the hospitality industry.

Dictionaries, however, say nothing about making a profit on hospitality. In fact, one calls it “behaving in a kind and generous manner toward guests; fond of entertaining; affording or expressing generosity toward guests.” Generosity extended by the host, we should note, and not the guest.

But looking at the word afresh, I’m also seeing another industry arising: the hospital. As in hospitalization. Oh, my.

SOARING AND SWIRLING

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

In mid-March, the buzzards return, soon followed by hawks.

“Buzzards,” as one acquaintance long ago explained, “is what cowboys call turkey vultures.”

But buzzard is so much more fun to say, fast or slow.

Yes, a few linger around here all winter, along with a number of hawks. But one day, looking up, you realize the balance has changed.

They’ve mostly headed for Florida again. Along with the rest of the “snow birds.”

PARKING LOT DRAMA

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 3 Comments

I’m sitting in the car on a sunny afternoon, waiting for my wife or a daughter to emerge from the supermarket.

I watch a young woman pace nervously (am I being redundant), then climb on the trunk to look around or perhaps be seen by someone. She repeats this several times.

Finally, I break the ice, offer to make a phone call or help in some other way. She laughs and declines the offer.

“I’m waiting for some guy,” she says.

Oh, yes, I should have known. I think of all the other times I was waiting for some girl or woman. We know it’s a common scene.

And then he pulls up, much older than I’d expected. He goes to the driver-side window, waves a coat-hanger, and goes to work.

So it wasn’t just some guy, after all. So much for the romance that usually accompanies the story. Unless that happened somewhere down the road once she got going.