Alexandersmap

    Month: April 2020

    • Spring Fever and Old Graveyards

      Today the feeling stirred up and washed over me in a wave.  An eagerness to explore old places, brought on by reading about historic events 350 years ago.  I get like this.  Really, that’s where this blog started, and will return again when the world returns to normal and I’m up to the task.  Anyway, I was sparked with inspiration and wanted to jump in my car and drive immediately to old battle sites and places of significance that I’ve largely ignored until this feeling flushed the indifference away.  I’m eager to get to it already.  Damn you COVID-19.

      This is my history geek version of spring fever, this stirring, this desire to get out and see things with my own eyes rather than rely on history books and Wikipedia.  It makes me appreciate the freedom of movement I’ve had for most of my life.  For many people around the world this freedom of movement isn’t available.  I’m grateful for the odd assortment of ancestors and events that plopped me down in this place, in this time, with relative good health and a small dose of usable intelligence to productively exist and to peacefully coexist with others.

      I can’t responsibly travel far, but I can travel locally and maintain appropriate social distancing.  And I know the perfect places to visit – those nearby graveyards and old burial grounds.  Those who came before aren’t carrying COVID-19, and they’re safely maintaining a six foot boundary from me anyway.  There are lessons in graveyards, some of which I’ve explored before on this blog.  Graveyards offer their own version of travel in the form of time travel. There are plenty of stories close to home engraved on those headstones, and the land itself is largely the way it’s been for as long as the graveyard has existed.  I need to be outside more, and those permanent residents need a few more respectful visitors. A win-win it seems to me. And a sure cure for spring fever.

      So with that in mind I took a walk in the light, cold rain half a mile down the road to a graveyard occupied by people buried here during the early 1800’s to about 1885 or so, or put another way, roughly during the lifetime of Ralph Waldo Emerson. Maybe he knew someone buried here, but the 27 miles between that graveyard and Concord, Massachusetts might as well have been a thousand miles back then. These were farmers, blacksmiths and sawmill workers around here, they weren’t making the trek to Concord or Boston for Emerson lectures. They’d marvel at my quick ’round trips to places that they’d walk all day to get to. And mock me my complaints about not being able to roam freely in these times. They knew far worse than this. I can’t argue that point, thinking to myself as I took my iPhone out to snap a picture I’d upload with this post. Technological leaps they never could have imagined in their time on our side of the turf. Maybe I needed that reminder today. It’s always good to get the neighbor’s perspective on things.

    • Patriot’s Day 2020

      Today is Patriot’s Day in Massachusetts and Maine (once part of Massachusetts). The day marks the commencement of hostilities in the Battles of Lexington and Concord. Traditionally, it’s also the day that the Boston Marathon is normally run, at least when there isn’t a global pandemic anyway. And the Red Sox play a matinee game that caps a four day weekend of baseball. In a normal year anyway.

      Holidays are funny things, and Patriot’s Day is one of those quirky holidays. Growing up in Massachusetts, I came to expect the day off from school. Living in New Hampshire for half my life now, I no longer “officially” have the day off, but I’ve taken it as PTO a few times to track a favorite runner in the marathon or simply to soak up the energy. I wasn’t there in2013 but I’ve been right there many times. And like many I was pissed off at the affront. Patriot’s Day started off marking the start of war. It’s evolved into the celebration of the human spirit against adversity exemplified by thousands crossing that finish line. Today the course is quiet, as it should be. Runners and fans alike will wait until September and – hopefully – healthier days. And speaking of healthier days, I wonder what Patriot’s Day 2021 will bring? I hope something better for the lot of us. In the meantime, stay the course.

    • Lessons in History

      When I read about the Salem witch trials I get angry. Angry at the hysteria of the mob. Angry at the “leaders” of the day, like Cotton Mather who got sucked into the madness. Angry that adults would believe the words of accusers instead of listening to reason. Angry that people died for stupid reasons repeated over and over again. People are a bit too cavalier when they talk about witch hunts today.

      When I read about King Phillip’s War I get angry. Angry at the collective short memory of the sons and daughters of the Pilgrims who were alive if only for the grace of a Native American population that chose to ally with them. Angry at the relentless encroachment on the land and the lives of those who who inhabited it, who happened to be in the way.

      When I read about the Raid on Haverhill I get angry at the senseless violence of it all. Settlers trying to make a living on the only land available to them, suddenly upended by naked warriors killing men, women and children because they had the audacity to try to live on the edge of the wilderness. All taken away in a flash of violence against the living. Repeated over and over again. The tragedy of violence took place on both sides as this country grew.

      When I read about the slave trade, I get angry. The dark history of suffering in the rum I drink, the foundation of liberty in America built on the rights of men, even as the earliest generations of African Americans, Native Americans, Scots-Irish and others worked under the threat of the whip or the noose. Celebrate the grand ideals of the Founding Fathers, but don’t forget the price others paid for the rights and privileges we have today.

      I don’t enjoy being angry when I read these things, but I’m driven by a desire to understand the lives of those who came before us. Those ripples still rock our lives in ways we rarely take the time to understand. History is more than a place name or a question on a quiz. It’s our DNA. Ignore the lessons of history and they tend to repeat themselves. Can you hear the whispers in the land? Learn from our sacrifice.

    • On Seizing the Day

      “Let us therefore set out whole-heartedly, leaving aside our many distractions and exert ourselves in this single purpose, before we realize too late the swift and unstoppable flight of time and are left behind. As each day arises, welcome it as the very best day of all, and make it your own possession. We must seize what flees.” Seneca, Moral Letters

      If nothing else comes of this time, I’ve had significantly more time with 2/3 of the family. Sure, I’ve knocked off many of the nagging renovation projects this house I live in needed, but more importantly the family time has been a net positive. Tim Ferriss throws out a statistic that says 90% of the time you spend with your parents is used by the time you finish high school. My experience is that he’s half right in that one. One parent has been an active participant, one has accumulated other priorities and drifted away. Such is life. And now as a parent yourself you fully understand the reality of parenthood. So how much of that math do you apply to your own children? They don’t fly if you hold them tight, but they may flounder if you don’t give them the time they need. Balance is the key, Grasshopper.

      I’ve visited the Seneca quote a few times before in this blog. It’s a recurring theme, if you will. Carpe Diem! Memento Mori! I should read the Seneca quote every day until it’s burned into my brain, for even though I try to live it, sometimes life stirs the pot enough that you forget that this moment is all we’ve got. How cliché… and how absolutely on point. If COVID-19 isn’t a reminder of that, what is? How many healthcare workers, seeing so much death in such a compressed amount of time, have reminded us to tell our loved ones how much they mean to us now, not tomorrow – as if that’s guaranteed to us? How many listen, I wonder?

      This week marked 50 years since the Apollo 13 mission went from routine to a stunning rescue mission. I watched the Tom Hanks film again to honor the moment. What struck me was how routine the miraculous had become. You’re flying to the moon in a ship made of foil? Who cares? We’ve seen that show already. Until it became a struggle for life and death anyway. Then it became must see TV. How quickly the extraordinary becomes routine. Waking up today was extraordinary. What a gift! Billions before us would give anything for another day above ground. And what do we do with it? Binge watch Netflix? The virus is horrific, the collective pause it offers is a gift. Just as this day is. Take it for granted or embrace the possibilities it offers? There’s our choice.

      Seizing the day means more than trying to create a highlight reel of moments, it’s being present in the moment. Moments as mundane as washing dishes, and feeling the tactile experience and wonder of hot water and soap flowing over your hands and disappearing down a drain. Walking outside barefoot and feeling the coolness or warmth of the earth radiating through your feet. Watching larger birds flap about on the bluebird feeder seeing the worms inside and trying to find a way inside. Noting the incremental progress of the sunrise (or sunset if you will) as the earth tilts. Listening to a loved one as they move about in a quiet house and the gratitude of their presence in your life this day. All miraculous parts of this incredible life we’re given. Don’t let the routine lull you to sleep again. Be awake and alive while you’re here! We must seize what flees. Carpe Diem.

    • Beliefs

      Today I’d planned to open the pool, if only to see water. Instead, it’s snowing again. The world mocks me my intentions once more. Life is a series of checks to our belief that we’re all that matters in the world. Most of us figure this out after a few knocks to the ego but you still feel betrayed at times. I debated putting on boots, but said the heck with it and walked out barefoot into the accumulating snow and lowered the umbrella before it broke under the weight of this latest reality check. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll raise it once again, but for now I need it to live to see another day.

      I mentioned I’d dipped a toe back into Facebook a week ago. It seems that the water is still a bit… funky for my swims into the turbulent waters of social media. I quickly re-discovered all the reasons why I’d left. The one that bothers me most was a post from a man I once worked with who’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, who spends his vacation time on missions to build homes for the poor in Haiti, who is deeply religious and strikingly kind. And he firmly believes exactly the opposite position on Trump. Surely I’ve disappointed him with my own beliefs over the years, as he disappoints me. I thought of leaving a comment on his most recent post but instead I’m going to step away. The world needs more unity and I’ll focus on the essence of this kind soul instead. We will surely agree to disagree on the rest. Beliefs are tricky things.

      Back inside, I see my footprints on the deck hold their form well after I’d walked there. The snow steadily falls but the footprints remain. I’ve seen this with thermal imaging where our heat trail remains after we’ve walked through a space. A bit of our heat and energy leaves us and marks where we’ve been, like the swirling wake behind a sailboat, softly marking where you once were for seemingly forever until the sea swallows these final traces long after you’ve sailed over the horizon. It seems we do matter, even if we don’t always believe it.

      I feel a bit less spun up about my friend’s beliefs after seeing the footprints. He’s not insulting me with his post, I’m the one choosing to react to it. I recognize the energy he leaves in his wake sometimes unsettles my own state, but it’s not malice that stirs me, just a different belief. We both stir the water in the way we each move through life, living to see another day and doing the best we can. The world needs more people like him, beliefs be damned.

    • Stupid Prizes

      I’m not sure where I heard the phrase first, but I know for sure I wrote it down most recently when I heard Naval say it, so I’ll offer him credit for repeating it once more that I might truly hear it: “Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.”  Boy, have I played some stupid games in my life.  To be fair, haven’t we all?  Life is full of stupid games, and what are you really pursuing in the playing of it?

      I once played a stupid game where we threw glass bottles in a stream and threw rocks at them to try to break them as they floated by.  The thought of that horrifies me now, but I was a dumb kid in a time when it didn’t seem like a big deal to introduce litter and broken glass into a stream.  My prize for playing that stupid game was getting hit by a car when I tried to run across the road to throw rocks at a bottle that had gotten away.  I deserved that car windshield, and I’m grateful the prize didn’t include a coffin in my size.  I’m not sure my mother deserved the prize of hearing her son was hit by a car but hey, I was playing a really stupid game and there were ample prizes to go around.

      More typical stupid games are trying to be cool in school and missing out on better prizes while you play stupid.  Taking a job you hate to try to play the corporate ladder game for another rung into a job you’ll hate more but has more prestige and money you’ll waste on stupid prizes.  I’ve had a few dress shoes pressed into my forehead owned by ladder climbers in my time climbing ladders.  Chasing metrics and KPI’s and all manner of Chutes and Ladders in the pursuit of differentiation in a red ocean of sharks feeding on one another most famously profiled in a New York Times profile on the culture five years ago at Amazon.

      Stupid games include competing to get your child into the right school, with the right social activities, playing the right position in the right sport on the right travel team, to win the next “right” prize.  It’s another ladder with people stepping on top of each other on the scramble, made worse as it’s removing childhood from the lives of children in the pursuit of status.  That seems a particularly cruel stupid game.  Rising above stupid games isn’t easy, but it’s our only hope of winning better prizes.  But then again judging people for the games that they play is a stupid game in itself.  What does it get you but resentment or jealousy or condescension?  Now that is stupid.

      It would be easy to write that I’m done playing stupid games and this pandemic has shaken me of the beliefs that made me play them.  But we’re all human and will make decisions that in hindsight will be stupid.  No, life itself is a game and sometimes we find ourselves pursuing stupid.  I can’t guarantee to myself that I won’t pursue stupid games, but I can promise myself that I’ll stop playing the game as soon as I realize it’s stupid.  There are only so many games we get to play.  So I’ll at least try to raise my game and play at a higher level.  A higher level where I’m not worried about prizes and how others play the game.  That seems a worthy pursuit.

       

    • There But For The Grace Of You Go I

      “And as I watch the drops of rain
      Weave their weary paths and die
      I know that I am like the rain
      There but for the grace of you go I”
      – Simon & Garfunkel, Kathy’s Song

      These lyrics were highlighted for me by a young lady I met when I was 19 and figuring things out.  I’ve never forgotten them, though I haven’t spoke to her in years.  She married a friend of mine.  I don’t recall being invited to their wedding.  So it goes.  The lyrics remain with me, even if the person that brought them to me is a distant memory.  But isn’t that the way with so many moments in our lives?  People punctuate the moment, and then they’re on to other things, or maybe you are.  Life is a series of such moments built on one another.  I have the entire soundtrack of Simon & Garfunkel’s greatest hits permanently engrained in my brain from a constant cycle of flipping the cassette tape back when people bought cassette tapes.  Sure, everyone knows Mrs. Robinson and Bridge Over Troubled Water and The Sounds of Silence.  All classics.  but deep into the night when everyone else was sleeping I carried on with The Boxer, America and Kathy’s Song.  Years later, they remain my highlights in the Simon & Garfunkel catalog.

      Kathy’s Song was the one that seized my attention and truthfully hasn’t let go, beginning with the lyrics:

      “And a song I was writing is left undone
      I don’t know why I spend my time
      Writing songs I can’t believe
      With words that tear and strain to rhyme”

      Damn it Paul, I know how you feel.  We all work on things we can’t believe, that tear us apart inside.  I’m with you now…  and he doubles down with with the next verse:

      “And so you see I have come to doubt
      All that I once held as true
      I stand alone without beliefs
      The only truth I know is you”

      Followed by “And as I watch the drops of rain” and the rest, ending in perfection with There but for the grace of you go I... And I’ve been trying to write a line as beautiful as that ever since.  I was a teenager when the song was brought to my attention by an old soul in a young body passing through my life.  People come and go in our lives, but sometimes as they pass through they plant a little seed that takes root in our soul.

    • April Snow

      Normally I’d react differently to snow in April. Normal years I’m thinking about spring and hurrying along in life. But normal seems quaint in 2020. So when I looked out the window in the early light of morning and saw a snow globe I shook my head in mock indifference. Whatever. I slipped on some boots and walked out into the snow fall. There’s magic in early morning snow, whether you welcomed it or not. It’s not like I’m commuting somewhere, or worried about clearing the driveway. My commute was over when I walked downstairs.

      So out in it, I soaked up the silence as the world shrunk to snow-coated trees and grass and soon me too as millions of flakes drifted out of the sky like salt from a shaker and clung to every surface. I inspected the bluebells and daffodils and saw they shrugged indifference to the affront. Let it snow. Indeed. The northern hemisphere has tilted back to the sun and this won’t last forever. Nothing lasts forever; not snow or pandemics or daffodils or us. Take what the day brings you and embrace it. For this too shall pass.

    • Return to Normal

      I know they’re up there, just not as many. I’m sure the flight paths from Europe to America or Boston to Chicago are still traveled by some planes, but they aren’t flying over my home anymore. Chances are they aren’t over your home either. Like many businesses the airlines have furloughed thousands of employees and planes around the globe are getting an extended break from the constant flights that make up their existence. The highways and roads of the world are getting a similar respite from the constant flow of vehicles. Factories are shuttered while the curve flattens. And the planet gasps the cleaner air. The people in India see the Himalayas for the first time in a generation. People in Los Angeles see blue sky. Even here in relatively rural New Hampshire the stars seem clearer.

      No, the sky isn’t empty at all. It’s as full as it ever was, we’ve just finally cleaned the windows enough to see outside. The universe pirouettes above and around us, and collectively we finally see it. Perhaps we’ll remember it when things return to abnormal. For isn’t this far closer to the planet’s normal state than the constant buzz of machinery spewing emissions into the air? Billions of years of normal versus a century or two of abnormal. We just don’t see the forest for the trees.

      Too many act like temporary renters of the space we occupy. Having experienced the attitudes of renters versus homeowners, I know not all renters feel enough of a sense of ownership over where they reside to treat the place well. There are plenty of people roaming the planet with a renter’s mentality. Use it up, discard, get another one. But there are too many of us for that to go on indefinitely. There’s nothing good about COVID-19 for humanity, but the planet might feebly raise a hand to express gratitude. We’re too deep in it to know the long-term impact, but maybe we needed the pandemic to shake us all awake from the drunken stupor we’ve been in. The planet gets a much-needed breather while humans focus on something besides themselves for a bit. The return to abnormal will come, will it be enough of a jolt to reset our worldview? It seems to me that Earth could use more homeowners and fewer renters. What will the new normal be?

    • Dry Towns, Blue Laws and Border Crossings

      There was a time, within my time, when towns were well known for being wet towns or dry towns. I’m not talking about the amount of rainfall, but rather whether a town allowed alcohol sales or not. I went to a dry wedding once and marveled at the resentment in the room as people found out about it. Imagine moving to a dry town and realizing it afterwards? Like that wedding people would simply carry in what they’d like to drink. Rules are meant to be broken, aren’t they?

      New Hampshire only has one “dry” town out of a combined 259 total towns, cities and “unincorporated places”.  That town is Ellsworth, a small town just west of I-93 between the Lakes Region and the White Mountains.  There are only 83 residents in Ellsworth, and every one of them of drinking age have to go to another town to purchase alcohol.  I’m guessing there aren’t a lot of restaurants or stores selling alcohol in Ellsworth anyway, but if they have anything going for them it’s that quirky statistic that makes them unique in the state. Live Free or Die indeed.

      Neighboring Massachusetts by comparison has 8 dry towns. It used to be many more in my lifetime, but the trend is downward. Look, even the Puritans drank alcohol, and for generations it was safer than water in those early colonial years when life was hard and cholera was common. The Pilgrims brought beer across the pond and negotiated with Massasoit with aqua vitae. People went straight from the cold church to the warm tavern. Alcohol consumption was common right up to a century ago, when Prohibition crashed the party for the entire country. From 1920 until 1933 the United States was “dry”. But rules are made to be broken, and organized crime and small time bootleggers, rum-runners and illegal moonshine stills came into prominence immediately afterwards.

      Dry towns are bureaucracy in action, or simply inertia. Most dry towns today are in rural, sparsely populated places that don’t have restaurant and store owners campaigning for change. Dry towns are a curiosity now, 100 years after Prohibition, but also a legacy to the cultural and political winds that blew across the country then. Being a wet town kid, I remember going with my grandfather to the bar where he would proceed to drink many beers in tiny glasses. That bar was on the edge of town, and that edge was wet meeting dry. How many people crossed the border over the years to have a couple of drinks and zig-zagged home? Now that former dry town sells much more alcohol than that old wet town. Money talks, and there’s money in alcohol sales.

      Sunday’s were once a sacred day in Massachusetts, with Blue Laws that prohibited the sale of alcohol. So naturally residents drove across the border to states that didn’t have blue laws. New Hampshire’s southern border is dotted with old convenience stores that sold beer to eager Massachusetts residents on Sundays. New Hampshire built liquor stores on the highways for the quick and convenient sale of alcohol to out-of-staters. The Blue Laws are long gone, but “sin taxes” aren’t. People still stop to fill up their trunks.

      So Ellsworth, New Hampshire remains the lone holdout on the dry side of the law. I hope they always will be, as a reminder of where the country was 100 years ago. If we’ve learned anything over the last few years, it’s that the political winds can blow in strange ways, and a few people can impose their views upon the masses given the opportunity. But if Prohibition teaches us anything, it’s that Americans chafe at arbitrary rules and find ways around them. Our forefathers would recognize the debate either way, and marvel at the choices in the liquor stores.