Pride in Heritage, Or Personal Responsibility, Or Something.....

I've often thought about the impact of one's heritage on one's present and future.  Most of us recognize the value of family stories in shaping what we value and what we become.  Social workers recommend that children who are fostered and/or adopted have some sort of album chronicling their lives to take with them and reflect upon to help them feel grounded.  I remember hearing a well-spoken sociologist describe the appeal that belonging to gangs has to disadvantaged youth in inner cities.  It seems there is a deep need within each of us to belong to a community of some sort - a deep need for belonging.  So, it shouldn't surprise us that so many people seek self-worth in their ancestry, or their contemporary affiliations.  I have been re-visiting these concepts recently for 2 reasons:  1)  I have been visiting blogs whose main focus is on "preppy" lifestyle (which shouldn't surprise you too much when you consider my current temp work); and 2) I have been watching and re-watching anything and everything PBS offers about Downton Abbey, which so aptly (and charmingly) explores social classes, ethics of heirarchy, etc.

In my last post, I mentioned that I had taken seasonal work in retail.  Chances are, you have heard of the company.  I have been taking phone orders for L.L.Bean, a company that was founded here in Maine 100 years ago.  I can't help it -- even though I can take no personal responsibility for the aesthetic and success of the company, somehow I feel proud of the company, its history and its products.  What's that all about?  I admit that I feel pride in being a "Yankee", but I'm also aware that in the big scheme of things, it just doesn't matter!  In God's eyes, we are all, each one of us, equally beloved.  He has numbered each hair on our heads, and His love for us exceeds the human heart's ability to fathom it.  And so, to me, in my calmer moments, it seems folly to pay too much heed to one's own heritage.  After all, just as we do not wish to suffer judgment, or worse yet punishment for our ancestor's trespasses, why should we hope to garner accolades for their attributes?  It seems to me that what matters is now, the present, and how we go forward from here. 
The Brits, have a saying, I think, something like:  "End how you mean to go on."  I mis-paraphrased it the other day, something like:  "Start how you mean to finish"; and while I think that thought has merit, it misses the meaning of "End how you mean to go on."  EHYMTGO implies that right at this moment you are at an important decision point.  You are involved in something which needs concluding, and should not be abandoned.  It almost seems that it warns against turning away and ignoring something you have botched.  I can't think how many times I have wanted a fresh start (daily), and how many times I have rued my actions or inactions (nightly).  But if I judge myself too harshly, I risk being paralyzed with shame, self-loathing.  In order to escape such punishment, I might minimize the impact of my own unwise decisions or actions.  Far better to acknowledge the error of my ways, and learn to make wiser decisions in future.  As Oprah says:  "When you know better, you can do better."(And in most cases, not only can you do better, but you have an obligation to yourself and others to do better.)  One of the most effective rebukes is: "Tut, tut! You know better than that!".  Another wise person (anyone know?) said something like:  "Those who ignore history are destined to repeat it."  What a gift it is to realize that we can learn from the mistakes of others!  I suppose that is another reason to be realistic about one's ancestry, and careful not to glamorize their achievements.  Surely there are lessons to be learned.
EHYMTGO insists that you learn from the past and tie up the loose ends and resolve to do better going forward.  I suppose this is important to me now also because we are in the New Year, and I am again plagued by the question of resolutions.  I think they are a good thing, in general, reserving a time on the calendar for reflection and EHYMTGO-ing.  And yet I rarely make any (beyond my usual triad:  Lose weight, eat more nutritiously, and get more exercise), and it seems these I never fully keep, so what's the point?  But I'm going to continue mulling this over, and maybe post again....

You can stand a little more fall color, right?

Good!  Here are some more pics of our Sunday afternoon in Castine.
Hungry for lunch, we looked for a place to eat in Castine.  We had no idea how tiny and quiet a town it was.  Apparently most places were closed until next summer!

We stopped at this house because I wanted to take a picture of the ship, and when the yellow lab came out barking, the lady who lived there came out to see what all the racket was for, and then talked and talked, giving me hints on where we might try to get a bite. (Basically, 2 spots:  a sub sandwich counter at a gas pump, and a place she referred to as “The Variety”.) 

The ship was quite a surprise as we came upon it.  I knew that the Academy had a teaching ship, but truly I had no idea where to look for it.  We drove further and there it was!  They were changing companies.  Different groups of students inhabit the ship for a week or two at a time, and apparently they change on Saturday afternoon.
I don’t know what is inside the building on the left, but there was an observation deck on top, which was easily accessible, and from which point I took a few pictures, some of which I posted last time.

If you have exceptional eyesight, you can see the name “State of Maine” on the bow.  You can see the brick wall of the deck I’m standing on, and I just really loved the tugboat.  Wasn’t there a tugboat starring in a very old children’s book?  Anyway, that’s what it reminded me of.
We found The Variety and ate there.  I had a crab roll, Jeff had a haddock sandwich, and our only Maine-born boy (who won’t eat seafood) had a turkey club sandwich.

I met a couple of students who had just gotten off the ship, and came by The Variety for a slice of pizza.  They told me they didn’t mind if I included them in the picture (although I may have failed to mention that the pic might end up on my blog).  They are first-years, my Evan’s age, so I wanted to make sure they were eating right, studying hard and getting enough sleep.  But I didn’t.  Okay, maybe a little.  I did ask if they were homesick, but they aren’t really too far away from home.  And as future merchant marines, they had better not be homebodies – they’ll be traveling all over the world.


Inside, The Variety was tiny, and looked like it had once been a soda fountain/ice cream shoppe.  There were even those rotating stools at this counter.  There were about 4 tables in the place.  TiNy.

All the walls had that beautiful wood that you see behind the shelves.  It was heavily and beautifully oiled or something.  It reminded me of well-cared for yachts.   Ship-shape and all that.
Just a little more of Castine next time.

Busy Weekend,…You?

So, when we talked last, I was having a rollercoaster type of a week.  (Thank you for the kind words in the comments.) Some of the challenge was what was going on around me, but sometimes I  think that what goes on in my head and heart determines how all the rest affects me.

So, like the rain falling in a Russian novel, perhaps all our rain and clouds and fog and mist and wind has had a cleansing effect on my outlook.
 

Sean’s last football game of the season was Saturday afternoon.  I couldn’t believe I didn’t bring my camera.  My sports shots are consistently terrible, but I’m sure I could have gotten a couple of worthwhile pictures.  Our team suffered a humiliating loss.  And it was against our traditional arch-rivals.  Ah, well…

On Sunday morning, instead of church, we drove up the Maine coast to Castine.  Evan plays “club” Lacrosse for University of Maine, and they were playing against Maine Maritime Academy.

Evan standing in his defense zone, watching a rare moment when our offense was pressuring the Mariners’ goal.

We had never been to Castine, and really knew precious little about the academy.  If you have never heard of a maritime academy, it is a college-type school to train students (I think they are called midshipmen?) how to run and navigate commercial vessels.   Like tankers and other huge ships.  They are not a military institution, but I get the impression that they are run somewhat like one.

We went directly to the LaX game, and were immediately struck by how small the campus is.  And it really looks no different to me than any other small New England liberal arts college.  Old brick buildings, ivy, gardens, students running around in athletic gear.  Well, and the occasional phalanx of uniformed, um, cadets? Midshipmen?  Whatever, you get the idea.

The game was unmitigated disaster for Evan’s team.  I’ll just say that Evan’s team did, in fact score (in the single digits).  And the MMA Mariners scored in the double digits.

We got only about a 5 min visit with him after the game, as their vans were hitting the road immediately to get back to Orono.


We drove around a bit, taking in the stately homes overlooking the river as it met the Atlantic.  Each one was picturesque.  It was partly cloudy, and the sun would peek between and around the dark saturated clouds, with startling frequency.

  You’d be warm and remove your jacket, and then the breeze would kick up, and the sun would be obscured and you’d put it back on.  The foliage is probably just past its peak, but it would come alive in the direct sunlight, to best advantage when it had clear blue sky for a backdrop.  Then in the overcast, the subtlety of the colors would yearn for your attention, and as your eyes adjusted, the texture and detail would gain prominence, lovely to behold.  You’d forget that the colors were supposed to be past peak, and you’d breathe in the crisp autumn musk and sigh.




And that was just part of the day!









More soon……

Historic New England

Oh, I’ve had such a wonderful day!  I took a day off work to meet a college friend who lives in New Hampshire.  We chose a spot on the Maine-N.H. border – South Berwick to be exact.
Historic New England (formerly known as The Society for the Preservation of New England Antiquities) has 3 properties in South Berwick, but only one was open today:  The Hamilton House.  So that’s where we met, and took the tour, before having lunch (an amazing lunch) at the Pepperland Café.  This fabulous restaurant is across the street from another Historic New England property, the Sarah Orne Jewett House.  Do you know the name?  I know it, but I don’t know if one would if one hadn’t read Country of the Pointed Firs for their New England Literature class (sprinkled in with Emerson, Thoreau, Dickinson and Frost).
On the tour, guests are not permitted to take photos inside the house.  But, oh did I have an itchy shutter-release finger.  The house, built in 1785-6, was home for Hamiltons, then Goodwins, before being bought and restored by the Tyson ladies of Boston.  They must have had significant resources at their disposal, and worked hard to restore it to the grandeur of its early 19th-century life. They added gardens and used the house as a summer home, wintering in Boston, and ultimately leaving the house and garden and much of the furnishings to the Society, I think they said in the 1940’s.  Do see the photos of the interior on the website.

We strolled in the garden before and after the tour, enjoying balmy breezes off the Salmon Falls River.

So, I’ll share with you some shots of the lovely gardens.  In the picture below, I have my back to the house, and you can see a little cottage.  Apparently, this was situated in N.H., and was to be demolished.  But the Tyson ladies had it moved.  This garden area used to be the location of a decrepit barn, which they obviously removed.  By placing the cottage among the gardens, they had a little place for seclusion, or for entertaining.  Currently, the docents have some office space in there, and they begin the tour there.
The cottage has a little garden all its own.  (And I didn’t adjust the color on these morning glories!!)

Apparently, it was a common practice to use a millstone as a paver in gardens, and the Tysons collected no less than 14 for their gardens.  I photographed many of them, but I’ll spare you.

You probably recognize the pineapple as a colonial symbol of hospitality.  I read (I think on the Colonial Williamsburg website), that when a sea captain came home from exotic places, a pineapple was displayed prominently (perhaps on the gate, or above the front door?) to indicate that he was receiving callers.

This fountain is marble, and a treasured piece, and is replicated on a painted mural in the sitting room overlooking this garden.  (oops, I just realized I uploaded this photo twice, but it’s so pretty, I’ll leave it.)
There were some lovely cherubs cavorting here and there, see them hold up the bird bath?


One feature of Georgian architecture is Palladian windows.  This one in the door below was installed in the little garden cottage to echo those in the main house.  There was a much larger one opposite it, which I wish I had photographed, but it was in shadow.  You could see that both were entirely the original glass, completely with ripples, bubbles and wavy distortion.  I was hoping that would show in the pic, but it doesn’t.

Just a striking bouquet, even in shadow, in front of the large Palladian window that I didn’t get a picture of.
So sweet, I wish I had taken close-up pictures of the facial expression.

Just a gratuitous view of an old New England barn, where one of the 3 full-time gardeners has just finished mowing.
After my visit with my friend, I drove and drove all around the hilly farmland, enjoying rustic pastoral views at every turn.  Farmers’ Markets, antique shops, and PYO (pick-your-own)  apple orchards.  In all my years here, I have never picked apples.  Everybody always asks:  “Have you picked your apples yet?”  And for years, I would shrink guiltily, and say vaguely, “No, not yet…”, and silently wonder if I should feel ashamed of not harvesting the bounty allotted to me.  I’ve since gotten over it.