Steven Harper's Blog, page 61
August 13, 2018
Sold! And Cover Reveal!
Recently, I got the news that Deborah Ross wanted to buy my novellette "The Bottle" for the fantasy anthology LACE AND BLADE 5. Awesome! This is my 51st short sale (including non-fiction), which means I've now sold one short piece for every year I've been alive!
Years ago, I wrote a genie story for MZBFM, but it was very short, and I've always wanted to write a genie-in-the-bottle story that more fully explored the relationship between genie and master. This desire combined with an old Arab folk tale about a man who accepted the service of a genie on the condition that he make different wish every day, or die. The man eventually realized he was running out of ideas for wishes, so he told his wife what was going on, and she told him to wish for a rope made of sand. The genie was unable to spin a rope from sand, but was required by the wish to keep trying until he did, and now he sits in the desert muttering, "Ropesssss of sssssand," which is now why we have sandstorms and why they make a "ssssssss" noise.
Anyway, I wrote about a young man caught in a similar curse, and in the process found myself also writing about the nature of free will and the symbiotic relationship between servant and master.
LACE AND BLADE 5 is set to release in February, 2019, so watch for it. Here we have the cover!
comments
Years ago, I wrote a genie story for MZBFM, but it was very short, and I've always wanted to write a genie-in-the-bottle story that more fully explored the relationship between genie and master. This desire combined with an old Arab folk tale about a man who accepted the service of a genie on the condition that he make different wish every day, or die. The man eventually realized he was running out of ideas for wishes, so he told his wife what was going on, and she told him to wish for a rope made of sand. The genie was unable to spin a rope from sand, but was required by the wish to keep trying until he did, and now he sits in the desert muttering, "Ropesssss of sssssand," which is now why we have sandstorms and why they make a "ssssssss" noise.
Anyway, I wrote about a young man caught in a similar curse, and in the process found myself also writing about the nature of free will and the symbiotic relationship between servant and master.
LACE AND BLADE 5 is set to release in February, 2019, so watch for it. Here we have the cover!
comments
August 11, 2018
Fish Fail!
Today was a total kitchen fish fail! I'd seen a dish called salt-baked fish. It's an Italian dish that involves sealing a fish into a crust of egg white and Kosher salt. You bake it until the crust hardens, then crack it open and lift the fish out. It looks fun! I was worried that the fish would be hugely salty, but the recipes I found for it all swore that the salt stayed away from the fish but sealed in juices.
Today I decided to try it. I followed the recipe exactly, as I always do the first time I make something. It came out of the oven looking interesting--a big pie of hardened salt. I cracked it open at the table, lifted the fish out, and served it. Darwin and I tried it. (Max hates fish in general and refused it.)
Ohhhhh, it was awful! Salt, salt, and more salt. Blargh! We picked through the fish, looking for bits that weren't all salt, but they were few and far between. Blech!
Fortunately, I'd reserved a bit of fish from the recipe and baked it normally so we had at least a little something to eat, but boy! Awful, awful, awful!
After cleaning up, I made myself a smoothie out of bananas and frozen blueberries. Much better!
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Today I decided to try it. I followed the recipe exactly, as I always do the first time I make something. It came out of the oven looking interesting--a big pie of hardened salt. I cracked it open at the table, lifted the fish out, and served it. Darwin and I tried it. (Max hates fish in general and refused it.)
Ohhhhh, it was awful! Salt, salt, and more salt. Blargh! We picked through the fish, looking for bits that weren't all salt, but they were few and far between. Blech!
Fortunately, I'd reserved a bit of fish from the recipe and baked it normally so we had at least a little something to eat, but boy! Awful, awful, awful!
After cleaning up, I made myself a smoothie out of bananas and frozen blueberries. Much better!
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August 6, 2018
Unpacking
Yes, Darwin and I are Those People.
When we get home from a trip, no matter what, we unpack everything. Suitcases are emptied. Clean clothes go back into the closet. The bag of dirty clothes goes into the washer. The toiletries are returned to their places. The car is emptied of all trash. Souvenirs are sorted and put away.
We collapse into bed, but in the morning we get up and the house is already completely in order. We like it that way!
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When we get home from a trip, no matter what, we unpack everything. Suitcases are emptied. Clean clothes go back into the closet. The bag of dirty clothes goes into the washer. The toiletries are returned to their places. The car is emptied of all trash. Souvenirs are sorted and put away.
We collapse into bed, but in the morning we get up and the house is already completely in order. We like it that way!
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Home Again!
After Salem, we spent the evening packing up everything we could. When we came out, we spent two days in the traveling. But we wanted to get home faster and save ourselves some hotel money, so we decided to make the return drive in one day.
In the morning, Darwin hauled our stuff outside while I fetched the car and managed to park it reasonably close to the flat we'd rented. Parking in Boston is a true nightmare, one on par with driving in Boston. And when you find a spot, it's expensive. We paid close to $200 in parking fees. We also paid close to $100 in toll road fees. And gas is a lot more expensive there. And . . .
At any rate, we loaded up before anyone noticed I was illegally blocking a driveway and we zipped away. Even though it was a Sunday morning, it took a long time to work our way out of the city.
Fourteen hours later--fourteen LONG hours later--we arrived home, our vacation complete!
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In the morning, Darwin hauled our stuff outside while I fetched the car and managed to park it reasonably close to the flat we'd rented. Parking in Boston is a true nightmare, one on par with driving in Boston. And when you find a spot, it's expensive. We paid close to $200 in parking fees. We also paid close to $100 in toll road fees. And gas is a lot more expensive there. And . . .
At any rate, we loaded up before anyone noticed I was illegally blocking a driveway and we zipped away. Even though it was a Sunday morning, it took a long time to work our way out of the city.
Fourteen hours later--fourteen LONG hours later--we arrived home, our vacation complete!
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Salem
I had to visit Salem. It's a Witch thing.
We drove into the town, and I wasn't sure how to react. Salem, as we all know, was the site of one of the most awful and idiotic and frightening eras in American history. On the other hand, "only" 19 people were murdered at Salem, against the uncounted thousands of Native Americans who were murdered. On the other hand . . .
Anyway, I've always been angry about the Salem trials. The dichotomies and hypocrisy and utter idiocy are just too much for me. None of the victims were Witches as I think of them today, but they've been adopted post-mortem by the Pagan community and are the biggest symbol of fear, oppression, and mob rule in America. Note that Donald Trump (incorrectly) invokes the Salem Witches at every turn these days.
I maintain that if I were ever accused of Witchcraft in Salem, I would have told the judge to drop the whole thing, or I'd confess to Witchcraft and tell everyone that the judge signed the Devil's book along with me. Then I'd howl and scream and writhe on the floor while begging the judge to stop sending his soul out to get me. That would end the trials right quick.
At any rate, the outskirts of Salem are dumpy and ugly. I threaded our way to a parking lot in the downtown area and we set out to explore.
Salem has a love-hate relationship with the trials. When you walk around the place, you see lots and lots of signs and plaques that point out all sorts of historical events (none of which are recorded in any notable history books or taught in schools), and they rarely mention the trials at all. "Hey, guys," the signs plead. "Salem isn't just about hanging Witches! Really! Lots of other stuff has happened here, too. Guys? Hello?"
But everyone knows the only reason anyone visits Salem is because of the trials. And so they grudgingly set up a couple museums and a little Witch-themed shopping area that sells candles and psychic readings and statues of Witches and cheap stuff inscribed with pentacles. The place manages to be both tawdy and pitiful, to tell the truth.
We found the old cemetery. It was tiny, the size of a good-sized suburban yard, and like the one in Groton, it was crammed with the dead, even though not all of them had markers. None of the accused Witches had markers. The bodies of most of them were spirited away by their families and buried in secret, and the others were buried unmarked in the cemetery. The city did put in a memorial, though. It's a set of stone benches, each inscribed with the name of the accused Witch and the year in which he or she was hanged (or, in the case of Giles Corey, slowly crushed to death under a pile of stones). People often put cut flowers on the benches. A hefty crowd of visitors sifted through the grave markers.
One person related to the trials DOES have a stone: John Hathorne, the main judge in the cases. He kept the trials going, sentenced innocent people to hang, and refused to listen even when the Witches' "victims" admitted they had lied about being attacked by magic. When you were hanged for Witchcraft, your property was auctioned off by the town, and Hathorne bought property freed up by the executions he himself had ordered.
I hawked up and spat on his grave.
A huge, ancient oak tree that must have witnessed the trials and the hangings dominates one side of the graveyard. It's so big that its lower branches have drooped down to rest on the ground. It was covered in green acorns. I picked three of them to take home for my altar--life out of death.
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We drove into the town, and I wasn't sure how to react. Salem, as we all know, was the site of one of the most awful and idiotic and frightening eras in American history. On the other hand, "only" 19 people were murdered at Salem, against the uncounted thousands of Native Americans who were murdered. On the other hand . . .
Anyway, I've always been angry about the Salem trials. The dichotomies and hypocrisy and utter idiocy are just too much for me. None of the victims were Witches as I think of them today, but they've been adopted post-mortem by the Pagan community and are the biggest symbol of fear, oppression, and mob rule in America. Note that Donald Trump (incorrectly) invokes the Salem Witches at every turn these days.
I maintain that if I were ever accused of Witchcraft in Salem, I would have told the judge to drop the whole thing, or I'd confess to Witchcraft and tell everyone that the judge signed the Devil's book along with me. Then I'd howl and scream and writhe on the floor while begging the judge to stop sending his soul out to get me. That would end the trials right quick.
At any rate, the outskirts of Salem are dumpy and ugly. I threaded our way to a parking lot in the downtown area and we set out to explore.
Salem has a love-hate relationship with the trials. When you walk around the place, you see lots and lots of signs and plaques that point out all sorts of historical events (none of which are recorded in any notable history books or taught in schools), and they rarely mention the trials at all. "Hey, guys," the signs plead. "Salem isn't just about hanging Witches! Really! Lots of other stuff has happened here, too. Guys? Hello?"
But everyone knows the only reason anyone visits Salem is because of the trials. And so they grudgingly set up a couple museums and a little Witch-themed shopping area that sells candles and psychic readings and statues of Witches and cheap stuff inscribed with pentacles. The place manages to be both tawdy and pitiful, to tell the truth.
We found the old cemetery. It was tiny, the size of a good-sized suburban yard, and like the one in Groton, it was crammed with the dead, even though not all of them had markers. None of the accused Witches had markers. The bodies of most of them were spirited away by their families and buried in secret, and the others were buried unmarked in the cemetery. The city did put in a memorial, though. It's a set of stone benches, each inscribed with the name of the accused Witch and the year in which he or she was hanged (or, in the case of Giles Corey, slowly crushed to death under a pile of stones). People often put cut flowers on the benches. A hefty crowd of visitors sifted through the grave markers.
One person related to the trials DOES have a stone: John Hathorne, the main judge in the cases. He kept the trials going, sentenced innocent people to hang, and refused to listen even when the Witches' "victims" admitted they had lied about being attacked by magic. When you were hanged for Witchcraft, your property was auctioned off by the town, and Hathorne bought property freed up by the executions he himself had ordered.
I hawked up and spat on his grave.
A huge, ancient oak tree that must have witnessed the trials and the hangings dominates one side of the graveyard. It's so big that its lower branches have drooped down to rest on the ground. It was covered in green acorns. I picked three of them to take home for my altar--life out of death.
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Octavia E. Butler Exhibit
It's official! The recording and transcript of my interview with Octavia E. Butler has been added to the Pasadena Museum of History. It seems that very few interviews and lectures with her got recorded, so my little cassette turned out to be a rarity.
The museum's web site is here: pasadenahistory.org/ and if you search on the name "Butler," you'll find a number of lectures and special activities that center around her and her writing.
I'm thrilled that I could contribute something to her history!
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The museum's web site is here: pasadenahistory.org/ and if you search on the name "Butler," you'll find a number of lectures and special activities that center around her and her writing.
I'm thrilled that I could contribute something to her history!
comments
August 5, 2018
Groton: The Exploration
Yesterday we got the car out of hock at the garage and drove to Groton, Massachusetts.
Groton is the town where Darwin's family is from. Several families founded the town in the 1600s, and Darwin is descended from nearly all of them: the Bloods, the Laurence's, the Nuttings. The list goes on. Since most of his family lines intersect here, he's been interested in visiting for years. Today was the day.
Groton is a smallish town in rural Massachusetts. It's in a deep, wide valley with a bunch of other small towns strung like beads along the string of an extremely busy two-lane highway. We drove slowly through Groton, noting the library, the town hall, the Groton Inn (est. 1640), various churches, and lots and lots of houses built in the 1700s. Darwin was enchanted and fascinated.
And then we found the cemetery. "The Old Burying Ground" they officially call it. It's across the street from a church, and was probably at the edge of town when it was first platted. It's a tree-covered cemetery surrounded by a low stone wall that was built in segments during the 1800s, if the inscriptions on the wall are any clue. (At one point you can see where they got a new or different mason to do the building--the wall becomes suddenly loose and shoddy.). We later learned that although there's lots of unmarked space, the yard is actually stuffed full of burials, with no more room for more. It looks emptier because a great many graves were unmarked or marked with wooden monuments or with stone monuments that didn't survive. The latest grave we found was form the 1940s. Most were from the 1700s and 1800s.
We found a lot of stones for Darwin's ancestors and distant cousins, including some from his great-something-grandparents. Darwin was a little overwhelmed at finding the graves of people he'd been reading about or researching for years. We found an awful grave marked with a double stone. It was for a three-year-old and and eighteen-month old who died within a day of each other of throat distemper (diphtheria), according to the stone. I can't imagine losing two small children within a day.
We also found a double tombstone that was for two different wives of the same man. He was buried next to them, with a stone of his own. Darwin and I puzzled over these for a while, and finally worked out that the man married Wife 1, and several years later, she died. He married Wife 2, and several years later, HE died, leaving Wife 2 behind, and her family or children must have raised the double stone once she died. This was odd. Why would Wife 2's family created a shared stone for Wife 1 and Wife 2? Especially since several years had passed between the deaths of Wife 1 and Wife 2?
At last Darwin hit on a theory: the two wives were sisters. When Wife 1 died, the husband married his sister-in-law (a common practice in those days), and then he died, and later Wife 2 died, so the family put up a single stone for both sisters. That makes a lot of sense, though we'll never know for sure.
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Groton is the town where Darwin's family is from. Several families founded the town in the 1600s, and Darwin is descended from nearly all of them: the Bloods, the Laurence's, the Nuttings. The list goes on. Since most of his family lines intersect here, he's been interested in visiting for years. Today was the day.
Groton is a smallish town in rural Massachusetts. It's in a deep, wide valley with a bunch of other small towns strung like beads along the string of an extremely busy two-lane highway. We drove slowly through Groton, noting the library, the town hall, the Groton Inn (est. 1640), various churches, and lots and lots of houses built in the 1700s. Darwin was enchanted and fascinated.
And then we found the cemetery. "The Old Burying Ground" they officially call it. It's across the street from a church, and was probably at the edge of town when it was first platted. It's a tree-covered cemetery surrounded by a low stone wall that was built in segments during the 1800s, if the inscriptions on the wall are any clue. (At one point you can see where they got a new or different mason to do the building--the wall becomes suddenly loose and shoddy.). We later learned that although there's lots of unmarked space, the yard is actually stuffed full of burials, with no more room for more. It looks emptier because a great many graves were unmarked or marked with wooden monuments or with stone monuments that didn't survive. The latest grave we found was form the 1940s. Most were from the 1700s and 1800s.
We found a lot of stones for Darwin's ancestors and distant cousins, including some from his great-something-grandparents. Darwin was a little overwhelmed at finding the graves of people he'd been reading about or researching for years. We found an awful grave marked with a double stone. It was for a three-year-old and and eighteen-month old who died within a day of each other of throat distemper (diphtheria), according to the stone. I can't imagine losing two small children within a day.
We also found a double tombstone that was for two different wives of the same man. He was buried next to them, with a stone of his own. Darwin and I puzzled over these for a while, and finally worked out that the man married Wife 1, and several years later, she died. He married Wife 2, and several years later, HE died, leaving Wife 2 behind, and her family or children must have raised the double stone once she died. This was odd. Why would Wife 2's family created a shared stone for Wife 1 and Wife 2? Especially since several years had passed between the deaths of Wife 1 and Wife 2?
At last Darwin hit on a theory: the two wives were sisters. When Wife 1 died, the husband married his sister-in-law (a common practice in those days), and then he died, and later Wife 2 died, so the family put up a single stone for both sisters. That makes a lot of sense, though we'll never know for sure.
We had lunch in a cafe that was trying hard to be a Cool Organic Place, but the food was decidedly mediocre for the price. Ah well.
Then we explored the town some more, looking at the 18th century buildings and even finding a house some of Darwin's ancestors lived in. It was a private house at the end of a long driveway, so I drove down it. "What are you doing?" Darwin hissed.
"Heading up for a look," I said. "We came all this to find these things, and then we aren't going to look? The owners won't do anything anyway." I drove up until we were close enough for Darwin to snap a couple photos, then I backed to the road and took off. No one did anything. There!
The library had a little information for Darwin, too, and we spent some time there so he could root through old books.
A big house on main street has been converted into an historical society museum. It was closed, but I made Darwin come around and peer in through the windows. "Nobody cares," I insisted, and nobody did. Darwin got a good look. A sign out front announced a free tour of the place tomorrow morning.
"Do you want to come?" I asked, and he said he did.
So in the morning, we got the car out of hock and drove back. This was a Saturday, so the traffic around Boston was lighter, but in Groton it was actually heavier! And it was bucketing rain. A flood warning was in effect for the area, in fact, though we encountered no problems.
It took us longer than expected to the car out of the parking garage in Boston, so we arrived about five minutes after the tour had already begun, and we joined a group of six other people in the house's drawing room. To my surprise, the tour was being conducted by a tall, gawky teenaged boy. I think the woman who ran the place was his mother. But he knew the material and was very well-spoken, so kudos to him!
The house had only recently opened after heavy renovation and rescuing, and we saw a great many artifacts from the 17th and 18th century families that had owned the place. The original family wasn't related to Darwin, but there were a great many references in the house to his relatives.
Here we have to pause for some Darwin family history. Back in the Colonial days, a tribe of natives kidnapped two small children from the Nutting family, some of Darwin's ancestors. The kids were his great-something-uncle and aunt. The natives hauled the children to Quebec and sold them to a white family, who took them in, though it wasn't clear whether it was as adopted children or as actual slaves. Many years later, the Nutting family found the children and asked for them to be returned home. Unfortunately, the kids had no memory of their original family, and they viewed their Canadian "parents" as their family. They refused to come home, and stayed in Quebec for the rest of their lives under their adopted names.
Now. While we were shifting to a different room, I struck up a conversation with one of the women on the tour. She mentioned that she was related to people in Groton through her ancestors, and I asked which. "The Nuttings," she said, and mentioned that she always thought her entire family was from Canada, but it turned out she was descended from a child who was kidnapped away from her Groton family, and . . .
So Darwin got to meet one of his cousins! And the woman's sister was there as well, so that made two!
After the tour, we explored yet more of Groton, taking our time. We came across what looked like a park, and in the middle was a large shed made of wood. Signs posted outside announced that it was a farm stand. The double doors were flung wide, and no humans were in evidence. Inside we found a glass-fronted refrigerator with home made blueberry jam and fudge and cartons of blueberries in it. There was also a freezer with ice cream bars, a table with Groton t-shirts on it, and other home made food items.
Another sign informed you that everything was on the honor system, and pointed you toward a locked cash box mounted on the wall. A price list was on the table. Darwin and I found this completely charming, and Darwin announced we had to buy some stuff. We loaded up with jam and ice cream and blueberries and Darwin stuffed the money into the slot at the top of the cash box. We never did meet the owners.
Several times while we walked around Groton, Darwin paused to spread his arms and breathe in deeply. "I love this place," he said, and he's already making plans to return, this time with intent to stay in Groton itself.
On our way back to Boston, I checked the GPS and discovered Salem was only 25 minutes away . . .
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August 3, 2018
Boston 3: Library and Paul Revere
Yesterday Boston was in the 90s, but we intrepidly trepped out like we'd never trepped before!
We wanted to visit the Boston library because they might have genealogy stuff for Darwin and because . . . library! This required working out the mass transit system, but fortunately I'm well-versed in subways after living in Europe. Boston's was easier to figure out than most. Darwin had never used a subway in his life, so I taught him the basics. We bought passes for the week and hopped aboard the blue line, which dropped us right in front of our goal.
Darwin rooted around in the local history and family history room while I explored the library. The Boston library was built back in the early 1800s, when libraries were built to resemble Greek temples. Big, echoing vaults, long reading rooms, statues and paintings everywhere. It's half museum, really. We found a 300-year-old table built of oak and marble that must have weighed 1000 pounds. I surreptitiously tried to lift one side, and it was like lifting a house. My . . . favorite work of art was the series of paintings in one gallery titled "The Triumph of Religion." The series started with a bunch of Pagan gods (who looked vaguely Egyptian) doing awful things to hapless humans or their souls. Then Christianity arrived, and everything turned lovely. (No mention of the Inquisition or the Salem trials or . . . ) It was painted between 1895 and 1905 or so, but the artists left one panel blank for the Sermon on the Mount. In the room were a pair of ceiling-high, glass-fronted cabinets--locked--with old books in them. I told Darwin that the books were clearly magic, and the library had commissioned the paintings to keep the books under control, but without the final panel, the books could easily escape. He wasn't as fascinated with the idea as I was.
After the library, we took the train over to the Italian section of town because that's where Old North Church and the statue of Paul Revere are (but of course). By now it was getting on 5:00, when everything closes, and the ticket-taker just waved us through.
Ticket-taker? You mean all these important national monuments cost money to see? Yes, they do. You didn't think the actual US government gave them money for upkeep, did you?
Anyway, we were able to zip through the church quickly. It was the same inside as all the other churches: a giant whitewashed room filled with boxed-in pews with a minster's stand at the front atop a short spiral stair. This church also displayed the window through which, according to legend, the minister who hung the famous lanterns jumped in order to escape British soldiers.
We also examined the famous Paul Revere statue to our heart's content. I pointed out to Darwin that the horse was plainly a stallion, a fact he was . . . disconcerted to learn.
It was truly hot and severely muggy, and we were more than a mile from the subway station that would take us to the flat. So we sprang for a taxi. Worth it!
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We wanted to visit the Boston library because they might have genealogy stuff for Darwin and because . . . library! This required working out the mass transit system, but fortunately I'm well-versed in subways after living in Europe. Boston's was easier to figure out than most. Darwin had never used a subway in his life, so I taught him the basics. We bought passes for the week and hopped aboard the blue line, which dropped us right in front of our goal.
Darwin rooted around in the local history and family history room while I explored the library. The Boston library was built back in the early 1800s, when libraries were built to resemble Greek temples. Big, echoing vaults, long reading rooms, statues and paintings everywhere. It's half museum, really. We found a 300-year-old table built of oak and marble that must have weighed 1000 pounds. I surreptitiously tried to lift one side, and it was like lifting a house. My . . . favorite work of art was the series of paintings in one gallery titled "The Triumph of Religion." The series started with a bunch of Pagan gods (who looked vaguely Egyptian) doing awful things to hapless humans or their souls. Then Christianity arrived, and everything turned lovely. (No mention of the Inquisition or the Salem trials or . . . ) It was painted between 1895 and 1905 or so, but the artists left one panel blank for the Sermon on the Mount. In the room were a pair of ceiling-high, glass-fronted cabinets--locked--with old books in them. I told Darwin that the books were clearly magic, and the library had commissioned the paintings to keep the books under control, but without the final panel, the books could easily escape. He wasn't as fascinated with the idea as I was.
After the library, we took the train over to the Italian section of town because that's where Old North Church and the statue of Paul Revere are (but of course). By now it was getting on 5:00, when everything closes, and the ticket-taker just waved us through.
Ticket-taker? You mean all these important national monuments cost money to see? Yes, they do. You didn't think the actual US government gave them money for upkeep, did you?
Anyway, we were able to zip through the church quickly. It was the same inside as all the other churches: a giant whitewashed room filled with boxed-in pews with a minster's stand at the front atop a short spiral stair. This church also displayed the window through which, according to legend, the minister who hung the famous lanterns jumped in order to escape British soldiers.
We also examined the famous Paul Revere statue to our heart's content. I pointed out to Darwin that the horse was plainly a stallion, a fact he was . . . disconcerted to learn.
It was truly hot and severely muggy, and we were more than a mile from the subway station that would take us to the flat. So we sprang for a taxi. Worth it!
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August 1, 2018
Boston 2
So our Boston trip has settled into a pattern:
1. 10 AM: Grudgingly get out of bed.
2. 10 AM - 12 PM: Futz around the flat.
3. 12 PM: Realize we've been in the flat all morning and we should go out and do stuff. Leave to tromp around Boston.
4. 6 PM: Realize we're both exhausted. Return to flat. Stay in for rest of evening.
5. Repeat.
Are we getting old? Only six hours of sightseeing does us in?
So far, we've visited the Granary cemetery, Boston Commons, Quincy Market, Faneuil Hall, Old King Chapel, the site where the first public school was set up, the New England Aquarium, and Boston Harbor.
The Granary cemetery (where several signers of the Declaration of Independence and Paul Revere and Benjamin Franklin's parents are buried) was, as always, interesting to us cemetery folk. The spot was Boston's first official graveyard, and it's called the Granary because later a grain warehouse occupied the lot next to it. The earliest graves are from the late 1600s, and the latest from the 1940s. It's easy to tell which stones were carved by the same stonecutter--the designs and handwriting are the same. A winged skull at the top of the stone was a very popular choice.
Boston Commons is a park with a shallow pool and sign that says NO WADING, which everyone ignores.
Quincy Market and Faneuil ("fan-yel") Hall are the best food court experiences in America, but the area around it (which has been a shopping center for 300 years) is . . . dull. All the stores are ones you can find anywhere in America: Abercrombie & Fitch, Sephora, American Eagle, Victoria's Secret. I can shop at those places at home. The places that aren't national chain stores sell tourist trinkets, which don't interest me, either--I have enough junk in my house, thanks. But the food market was frigging awesome, with menus of all types and nationalities, and I want to eat all my meals there.
Old King Chapel was fascinating. It was originally a Church of England thing that its founders had to fight to build, since King George wasn't too popular among Bostonians. It has the second-oldest graveyard in Boston next to it. Before the Revolution, it was a staging ground for a lot of revolutionary activity. The Boston Tea Party was organized there, and at one point, 5,000 people somehow crammed inside to argue about the upcoming revolution. (The building is the size of a decent-sized modern church, and 5,000 people is more than three times the 1,600 students at the school where I teach, to put it into perspective.) Darwin and I were drawn in, imagining people skulking through the streets at night, whispering word of uprising from house to house, ("And don't tell Fred--he has Tory leanings."), knowing they'd be executed if they were caught. During the Revolution, when the British occupied Boston, the church was converted into a military riding school, and the Brits trashed the place. After the war, George Washington visited and gave a speech vilifying the Brits for their behavior. They've marked the spot where Washington delivered this speech, but they don't allow anyone to stand there. I didn't know that early Colonial churches had pews that are more like boxes at a ball park, essentially tiny rooms enclosed by a waist-high wall. This was partially to help with heat, but mostly to show status. You =bought= your pew, and your ability to pay was a big part of your status.
The church was also the place where Samuel Seawell, a judge who ordered the execution of numerous accused witches in Salem, publicly recanted and begged forgiveness. He worked hard for charitable causes for the rest of his life. That was nice of him. I still spit on his name.
The New England Aquarium was mostly fun. When we arrived, we found a LONG line for tickets, so I whipped out my phone and discovered you can buy tickets on-line. The site even used my camera to scan in my credit card! In seconds I had two tickets, so we left the queue maze and strolled up to the ticket-taker. She scanned the email I'd received, and we went right in. I love the modern age.
The penguins were the most fun. Darwin was particularly enchanted by the young man in a wet suit who stood in the penguin exhibit doing penguin-related things. He was . . . exceedingly attractive. We dubbed him the Hot Penguinologist, and watched him more than the penguins. We happened to be there at feeding time, so we had an excuse to stare at the Hot Penguinologist for considerable time, in fact.
But man--the kids! The place was crowded with children. Families. Tour groups. Daycare groups. And they all had to yell and scream and squeal and shriek. It was deafening. I'm not a grouchy "shut that kid up" kind of person--kids are loud by nature. But after an hour of nonstop squealing/screeching/yowling/shrieking, you get a headache.
Eventually, Darwin and I retreated to the aquarium cafe, where we had a reasonably priced lunch with lots of caffeine to ward off further headaches. It was post-rush, so all the screamers had already eaten and it was QUIET. Once fortified with food, caffeine, and silence, we dove back into the noise to see seals and huge fish and tiny fish and more of the Hot Penguinologist. Darwin got to pet a small manta ray.
Several times, Darwin and I unconsciously held hands and twice I kissed him without thinking about it. No reaction from any of the attendees, though when we strolled down to Boston Harbor for a look, we did get a Heavy Silent Glare from one guy. That was it.
Coming up: the Boston Library, Salem, and Nantucket.
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1. 10 AM: Grudgingly get out of bed.
2. 10 AM - 12 PM: Futz around the flat.
3. 12 PM: Realize we've been in the flat all morning and we should go out and do stuff. Leave to tromp around Boston.
4. 6 PM: Realize we're both exhausted. Return to flat. Stay in for rest of evening.
5. Repeat.
Are we getting old? Only six hours of sightseeing does us in?
So far, we've visited the Granary cemetery, Boston Commons, Quincy Market, Faneuil Hall, Old King Chapel, the site where the first public school was set up, the New England Aquarium, and Boston Harbor.
The Granary cemetery (where several signers of the Declaration of Independence and Paul Revere and Benjamin Franklin's parents are buried) was, as always, interesting to us cemetery folk. The spot was Boston's first official graveyard, and it's called the Granary because later a grain warehouse occupied the lot next to it. The earliest graves are from the late 1600s, and the latest from the 1940s. It's easy to tell which stones were carved by the same stonecutter--the designs and handwriting are the same. A winged skull at the top of the stone was a very popular choice.
Boston Commons is a park with a shallow pool and sign that says NO WADING, which everyone ignores.
Quincy Market and Faneuil ("fan-yel") Hall are the best food court experiences in America, but the area around it (which has been a shopping center for 300 years) is . . . dull. All the stores are ones you can find anywhere in America: Abercrombie & Fitch, Sephora, American Eagle, Victoria's Secret. I can shop at those places at home. The places that aren't national chain stores sell tourist trinkets, which don't interest me, either--I have enough junk in my house, thanks. But the food market was frigging awesome, with menus of all types and nationalities, and I want to eat all my meals there.
Old King Chapel was fascinating. It was originally a Church of England thing that its founders had to fight to build, since King George wasn't too popular among Bostonians. It has the second-oldest graveyard in Boston next to it. Before the Revolution, it was a staging ground for a lot of revolutionary activity. The Boston Tea Party was organized there, and at one point, 5,000 people somehow crammed inside to argue about the upcoming revolution. (The building is the size of a decent-sized modern church, and 5,000 people is more than three times the 1,600 students at the school where I teach, to put it into perspective.) Darwin and I were drawn in, imagining people skulking through the streets at night, whispering word of uprising from house to house, ("And don't tell Fred--he has Tory leanings."), knowing they'd be executed if they were caught. During the Revolution, when the British occupied Boston, the church was converted into a military riding school, and the Brits trashed the place. After the war, George Washington visited and gave a speech vilifying the Brits for their behavior. They've marked the spot where Washington delivered this speech, but they don't allow anyone to stand there. I didn't know that early Colonial churches had pews that are more like boxes at a ball park, essentially tiny rooms enclosed by a waist-high wall. This was partially to help with heat, but mostly to show status. You =bought= your pew, and your ability to pay was a big part of your status.
The church was also the place where Samuel Seawell, a judge who ordered the execution of numerous accused witches in Salem, publicly recanted and begged forgiveness. He worked hard for charitable causes for the rest of his life. That was nice of him. I still spit on his name.
The New England Aquarium was mostly fun. When we arrived, we found a LONG line for tickets, so I whipped out my phone and discovered you can buy tickets on-line. The site even used my camera to scan in my credit card! In seconds I had two tickets, so we left the queue maze and strolled up to the ticket-taker. She scanned the email I'd received, and we went right in. I love the modern age.
The penguins were the most fun. Darwin was particularly enchanted by the young man in a wet suit who stood in the penguin exhibit doing penguin-related things. He was . . . exceedingly attractive. We dubbed him the Hot Penguinologist, and watched him more than the penguins. We happened to be there at feeding time, so we had an excuse to stare at the Hot Penguinologist for considerable time, in fact.
But man--the kids! The place was crowded with children. Families. Tour groups. Daycare groups. And they all had to yell and scream and squeal and shriek. It was deafening. I'm not a grouchy "shut that kid up" kind of person--kids are loud by nature. But after an hour of nonstop squealing/screeching/yowling/shrieking, you get a headache.
Eventually, Darwin and I retreated to the aquarium cafe, where we had a reasonably priced lunch with lots of caffeine to ward off further headaches. It was post-rush, so all the screamers had already eaten and it was QUIET. Once fortified with food, caffeine, and silence, we dove back into the noise to see seals and huge fish and tiny fish and more of the Hot Penguinologist. Darwin got to pet a small manta ray.
Several times, Darwin and I unconsciously held hands and twice I kissed him without thinking about it. No reaction from any of the attendees, though when we strolled down to Boston Harbor for a look, we did get a Heavy Silent Glare from one guy. That was it.
Coming up: the Boston Library, Salem, and Nantucket.
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July 30, 2018
Boston 1
Today, we packed up the flat, bid our landlady good-bye, and drove through horrible, awful, rotten traffic to Boston.
We didn't arrive at Beacon Hill until late afternoon. The flat is situated in a 150-year-old brownstone, and the entrance is down a little alley lit by its own gaslight. I later learned the area used to be occupied by servants who waited on the wealthy in their bigger houses, which is why the flats in the area are all so small. Eventually, however, the state installed a freeway that cut the servant neighborhood off from their employers. Over time, the wealthy area declined, and the servant area became gentrified. Such is city life!
We unloaded the car, dumped everything into the apartment, and drove the car to a garage for long-term parking. That was extremely difficult and involved a number of wrong directions and hair-raising U-turns, but we finally found the place. Darwin and I got our bikes off the rack to ride back to the flat, and suddenly Darwin's bike chain jumped the sprockets and tangled itself into a snarl. I had a look at it. The chain guard had somehow come almost off and got itself enmeshed with the chain. Darwin doesn't know for bikes and didn't know what to do. I decided that the guard, which was only plastic, needed to come the rest of the way off and the bike would be fine. But I had no tools. I finally wrenched the stupid thing back and forth a dozen times, greasing up my fingers marvelously, until it finally snapped off. At last we were able to get where we needed to be.
At the flat, I washed the grease off and we decided to look for supper. I asked Siri about nearby restaurants and discovered Cheers was only a little ways away. Well, why not?
Cheers was originally called the Bull and Finch, but when the TV show went on the air, using shots of their exterior, they changed the name to Cheers and even remodeled part of the place to mimic the set on the show. When you arrive at Cheers, you go downstairs just like on the show, and a greeter talks to you. If you want food, he sends you upstairs. You wind your way past a gift shop and a thousand photos from the show and up a spiral staircase, where another greeter brings you into the section which is done up like the bar in the show. An adorable waiter with an adorable Boston accent wearing an adorable gay pride bracelet took our order. Darwin had clam chowder (which the waiter adorably pronounced "chowdah") and I had nachos. It was fun.
The Boston Commons is right across the street from Cheers, so we wandered over to have a look. It's a big park with only a few trees and a no wading, no dogs, we're not kidding! duck pond in the middle. It made for a nice stroll, but it was getting dark, so we headed back to the flat to make plans for tomorrow.
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We didn't arrive at Beacon Hill until late afternoon. The flat is situated in a 150-year-old brownstone, and the entrance is down a little alley lit by its own gaslight. I later learned the area used to be occupied by servants who waited on the wealthy in their bigger houses, which is why the flats in the area are all so small. Eventually, however, the state installed a freeway that cut the servant neighborhood off from their employers. Over time, the wealthy area declined, and the servant area became gentrified. Such is city life!
We unloaded the car, dumped everything into the apartment, and drove the car to a garage for long-term parking. That was extremely difficult and involved a number of wrong directions and hair-raising U-turns, but we finally found the place. Darwin and I got our bikes off the rack to ride back to the flat, and suddenly Darwin's bike chain jumped the sprockets and tangled itself into a snarl. I had a look at it. The chain guard had somehow come almost off and got itself enmeshed with the chain. Darwin doesn't know for bikes and didn't know what to do. I decided that the guard, which was only plastic, needed to come the rest of the way off and the bike would be fine. But I had no tools. I finally wrenched the stupid thing back and forth a dozen times, greasing up my fingers marvelously, until it finally snapped off. At last we were able to get where we needed to be.
At the flat, I washed the grease off and we decided to look for supper. I asked Siri about nearby restaurants and discovered Cheers was only a little ways away. Well, why not?
Cheers was originally called the Bull and Finch, but when the TV show went on the air, using shots of their exterior, they changed the name to Cheers and even remodeled part of the place to mimic the set on the show. When you arrive at Cheers, you go downstairs just like on the show, and a greeter talks to you. If you want food, he sends you upstairs. You wind your way past a gift shop and a thousand photos from the show and up a spiral staircase, where another greeter brings you into the section which is done up like the bar in the show. An adorable waiter with an adorable Boston accent wearing an adorable gay pride bracelet took our order. Darwin had clam chowder (which the waiter adorably pronounced "chowdah") and I had nachos. It was fun.
The Boston Commons is right across the street from Cheers, so we wandered over to have a look. It's a big park with only a few trees and a no wading, no dogs, we're not kidding! duck pond in the middle. It made for a nice stroll, but it was getting dark, so we headed back to the flat to make plans for tomorrow.
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