Tag: Culture

DEATH IN THE AFTERNOON

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 9 Comments

It used to be that every city had two newspapers – one in the morning, another in the afternoon. Or more. One was Republican, at least on its editorial page; the other, Democrat. You had a choice, and you had keen competition.

Frequently, the afternoon paper had the bigger circulation. Often, too, it concentrated on the hometown news and features, while the morning rival took a more serious tone, including more national and international coverage.

But then something shifted: afternoon circulation numbers began shrinking. We thought it had something to do with what we were publishing. The reality, however, had to do with the workplace. First, fewer Americans were working in factories – they weren’t getting off at 3 in the afternoon and heading home. And second, fewer workers were taking public transportation – they were driving, instead. And that meant they weren’t reading one paper while waiting for the bus or the train, and then reading the other for the return trip. As for the leisurely late afternoon before supper, it had vanished: they weren’t getting home until 6 or later.

One by one, the once prosperous afternoon editions folded or moved over to morning. And now you know why.

Hometown News

WHAT A YEAR THIS HAS BEEN

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 4 Comments

While this was the year I officially retired, what really happened has me once again (or should I say finally?) wearing my novelist’s cap, with four ebooks published at Smashwords since May and more planned ahead. What a relief it is to see these in public at last, rather than sitting forever in filing cabinets in the face of an increasingly difficult traditional book publishing industry. (Hooray for the ebook upstarts!)

The first half of the year included a rash of poetry acceptances in literary journals around the world, including three in India. In fact, in sheer numbers, it was my best year ever, even before I had three presses accept poetry chapbooks for their offerings. (Please stay tuned.) That’s always an honor and something of a breakthrough for me.

On a lower note (pardon the pun), I joined the baritone section of the Boston-based Revels Singers – performing with Ciarin Nagel of the Three Irish Tenors in June and Noel Paul Stookey of Peter, Paul, and Mary in September – on top of the choir’s weekly workouts in Watertown. Apart from the rush-hour part of the commute, it’s been a heavenly experience.

I can also claim some pride in my major contribution to the garden efforts – the many black bags of seaweed gleaned from Kittery Point, Maine. Rachel was especially impressed by the way the mixture repelled our notorious garden slugs, even before we got to its impact as a high-quality fertilizer. More will be on the way.

And, yes, I’m still Quakering madly.

Did I say retired? A better description is that I changed careers. At last.

And looking ahead, as we open new calendars, this hope: May we all have a happy and prosperous New Year!

FOND MEMORIES OF FORE STREET

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

My wife is a great cook. And so are the kids. This means that when we dine out, the meal often fails to live up to what we can have at home. The chain restaurants strike us as formulaic or bland. In many, there’s much that’s mostly show with little substance, or pretentious and pricy, or simply uninspired. It’s easy to feel we wasted our money.

On the other hand, we’ve also found some marvelous meals at bargain prices in humble places. including some that folks might describe as sketchy. At least until you take the first bite.  I could mention my favorite Vietnamese restaurants in Worcester, Massachusetts, and Hartford, Connecticut, for starters. Or my regular Greek restaurant in Watertown, Massachusetts. Or our favorite summer hangout for seafood and live oldies in York, Maine. Or dim sum in Boston’s Chinatown. Or Latin American highlighting different countries on different days in Dayton, Ohio.

Of course, when we find a truly authoritative operation – one that sets standards for presentation, skill, creativity, and downright pleasure – we treasure the experience. Our favorite is run by two women in South Berwick, Maine. Whenever we’re ready to spring for a great celebration, that’s our first choice and we’re always delighted.

Once my wife and I got away for a weekend stay in Portland, Maine, and the centerpiece of the trip was a dinner at the famed Fore Street Restaurant, which is set in a kind of William Morris former foundry a couple of blocks from the harbor. She can tell you every glowing detail of our meal, including the local sourcing of ingredients. The wait staff was attentive without being overwhelming or stuffy. And most impressive, a sauvignon blanc was suggested to pair with that evening’s selections – and management priced it close to retail, rather than charging the industry standard of three or four times that figure. It was incredible – the word “stony” fits perfectly – and we’ve never found another that approaches this bottle, not even from the same South African winery.

Well, Fore Street was named No. 16 in Gourmet magazine’s list of top 50 restaurants in the U.S. in 2002.

More recently, I’m so glad one of our regular mechanics and his wife were impressed with their big celebration dinner there a few months ago. And we’re so happy to hear the tradition continues.

THE REAL HEALTH CARE DEBACLE

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 7 Comments

I keep hearing those folks gloating and pointing fingers over the troubles in rolling out what they deride as Obamacare, and I want to shout, “Where’s your health care plan – one that will provide basic coverage for the remaining two-fifths of the American public?”

There should be an embarrassing silence. Behind all their bluff, they have nothing, not even two aspirin and a glass of water. Just who would they have you phone in the morning, anyway?

They might say we can’t afford it, but that’s another way of saying our current system is outrageously overpriced and needs reform.

But then they say it’s just fine. (For them, maybe.)

But then they won’t even let us take a close look at another model, single-payer, like Canada’s. Thing is, every Canadian I’ve talked to loves it. And if it’s anything like the government-paid system my military surviving spouse mother-in-law has, my family would take it in a heartbeat.

The party-line critics of health care for all Americans have done everything they can to derail the rollout. They’ve kept a lot of the details up in the air and fought funding. No wonder there are screw-ups.

But remember this, it’s much better than anything they’ve offered.

We’re still waiting for their plan.  And waiting. And waiting.

Maybe they’ll look in the mirror in the meantime and see where the real problem is.

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 …

DREAMING OF A WHAT?

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 2 Comments

Golly, it really is too early in the season for this much snow. I spent much of yesterday digging out from a foot or so of the stuff, our first real round as we plunge into another winter, even though it’s officially still autumn and we’ve had a blanket of white on the ground for a week now.

It’s also too early to be this cold, considering the minus-2 Fahrenheit forecast for tonight. That should seal in the snow cover, for sure.

My wife is no doubt anticipating sending me outside with a guest or two to harvest Brussels sprouts in a little over a week, when it comes time to prepare for our traditional Yule feast. Looks like once again we’ll be using an ax to break the icy covering and a shovel to locate the greens. I’ve previously posted about the way frost gives the sprouts and kale a wonderful sweetness, but the snowpack always thickens the plot. She finds it highly amusing, watching from the kitchen window.

Meanwhile, as I shoveled yesterday, I kept remembering that since this is just the start, it would be wise to make an extra effort to leave room for the next storm … or three or four or … Thus, don’t leave the pile at the end of the driveway so tall you can’t see oncoming traffic, be sure to push the icy wall along the driveway back so you won’t have to throw the next round higher than your shoulders, keep as much on the side away from the foundation so it won’t drain into the cellar, … Yes, there’s a long list, based on long experience living here.

Then I remembered something else. Last month, I finally got the bindings on my cross-country skis fixed – and new boots to go with them. Sure looks like a good day to go outside and try them out in a loop around the yard. Hope I keep my balance. Here we go, even before the latest forecast: With Christmas really just around the corner, we’re expecting another inch or two tomorrow.

Whee!

SCARF ‘ROUND THE NECK

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 7 Comments

At the first college I attended, nearly all of the writers wore scarves. I don’t think it was a conscious decision to create a group identity, but the school, small as it was, had an excellent writing program. As a commuter campus, we wound up hanging out in what was called a cafeteria, not that I recall a real food line. But the round table (as a roundtable, at that) was open, and maybe the scarves were initially just a way of finding a circle of kindred spirits.

In a way, the strip of cloth may have served like those reminders of guilds and monastic orders of ancient times and their echo in modern clerical and academic vestments. We weren’t yet hippies, with all of their expressive sartorial flair, but it was on the horizon. Think of it as a badge of self-identity and distinction.

In the years since, as I’ve come to appreciate the way scarves can add a layer of comfort through a northern winter, I keep recalling that circle and our aspirations. A few went on to earn literary recognition, but some of the others were also immensely talented and yet have vanished from sight.

Come to think of it, so have many of my own favorite scarves – especially the ones my new stepdaughters latched onto when they came into the picture.

Any way I look at it, a scarf still beats a necktie as an item of apparel. Remind me to wear one next time I pose for the back-of-the-book jacket portrait.

Oh, here we are, back to those aspirations, aren’t we?

HOLIDAY GREETINGS

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 2 Comments

We’re in that time of the year when we receive cards and letters. Personal ones, I mean, rather than direct-mail advertising.

Each year, I find myself reflecting on differences among generations regarding this custom. My dad’s circles, for instance, would send out and receive about two hundred cards apiece – keeping touch long after their high school and Air Force years, and trailing off only with illness and death. My generation, in contrast, falls away quickly. Each year, more lost connections, often with a pang of disconnection. There are, of course, a few who cling on, often with nothing personal included. There are also some older friends of my parents or a handful of relatives, in some sense of duty. (Only one of my first cousins has kept in touch). There are even a few correspondents who have reconnected, after years of silence. My wife and kids, being of a practical mindset, figure the folks we see regularly know what’s up with us (and so there’s no sense in mailing greetings), while those we don’t see, well, they’re history (so what’s the point?).

I think a lot of my dad’s era was a continuation of an earlier awareness, before cheap long-distance phone calls and then email. Those connections were special. My kids, on the other hand, don’t send letters of any kind, but they do have a wide range of online correspondents and texting. (Should we ask what will happen to the timeless art of the love letter?) What all this says about American society is another matter.

Quakers in some measure maintain an ancient practice of epistles, typically sent from one Meeting to another or even from a Meeting or “weighty Quake” to individuals. Some of our most powerful expressions survive there, and not from George Fox exclusively. Still, in an email world, how do we extend our faith? What efforts will survive? What will be read over the years? How do we reach out with something personal and special? Suddenly, I notice how many people are buying candles, especially at this time of year! Candles, in an electronics age. Remarkable! A spark of Light in the dark!