Alexandersmap

    Category: Culture

    • En Passant, Knowing Your Place and Breaking Rules

      I once got in a debate with my grandfather about the rules of chess. Specifically, he would execute En Passant when I would attempt to move past his advancing pawn. At the time I thought I knew the rules of chess, but it seems I’d never fully grasped the rules the pawn plays by. It wasn’t until I took the time to learn chess at a deeper level that I realized he was right all along. And I can see him winking at me in my mind.

      For those who don’t play the game, a pawn may advance one square forward, can’t move past a piece that blocks its forward advance until that piece moves and may capture another piece diagonally forward only. Simple. And then they added another rule to help speed up the game a bit, allowing you to move every pawn two squares forward on its initial move only. Well, this created a problem as well, for if an opponent’s pawn had advanced to a point where your move two squares forward eliminated their ability to capture your pawn in it’s forward diagonal move, you were essentially stealing the already limited power from the opponent’s pawn.

      En Passant, French for “in passing“, is a rule that allows the opponent to say “not so fast!” (Well, really they would say “en passant“) and execute the move of putting their pawn onto your square where your recently deceased pawn had once been. It’s a way of telling you not to get too far ahead of yourself or you’ll pay the consequences.

      And there lies the dark side to En Passant: It’s reminding the pawns of the world to know their place, to not get ahead of themselves or they’ll suffer the consequences. En Passant was invented long before democracy, and pawns generally knew their place and skated their lanes. The bold were snuffed out if they went a step too far.

      In democratic societies we chafe at being pawns, and the bold among us do leap forward. The rules of law can still remind you you’re a pawn if you grow reckless, but mostly it’s other pawns telling you not to stick your neck out. And worse, En Passant largely resides in our own minds: Imposter syndrome, timidity, and fear of the unknown keep us skating in our own lane, one square at a time, while the big players in the world spin around us.

      A pawn that plays by the rules may advance forward diligently and become a queen or any player it wants should it reach the end. There’s a subtle message there too, and you look around and most people play that game. Skate your lane, reach the end and retire… Fine, I suppose, but a little less sparkle for your time on the board, don’t you think?

      No, there’s a place for boldness in this world. We are each in passing here for a very brief time. En Passant only applies to pawns, after all. And who said you had to be a pawn anyway?

    • Planets Dancing

      “in other breaking news
      a silver moon
      sailed
      above the world
      and the only ones
      who knew it
      were the ones who looked up”
      – Kat Lehmann, Small Stones From The River

      The skies cleared in New England after a day of heavy snow, allowing the few who ventured outside to see the waxing crescent moon looking like a giant in the western sky. A bit further along in their dip towards the western horizon was the equally stunning dance of Jupiter and Saturn. They’re slowly moving towards each other for the “Great Conjunction” on December 21st. Last night the moon was at 10% illumination, giving Jupiter and Saturn the spotlight. The three together made for a magical picture.

      I witnessed this dance across a field that cows graze on during the day, on days when it isn’t coated in snow. Last night the cows were huddled in their barn and the field sloped down towards the west, giving a wonderful view of the dance. I wonder if the cows took turns sneaking a peak through the barn door at this once in a lifetime event? Probably not. Most humans pay no attention, who can expect a cow to grasp the significance?

      Monday, December 21st seems to be trending towards rain and cloud cover. That’s par for the 2020 course, as we seem to have cloud cover for most of the celestial events this year. So maybe having the opportunity to witness something that hasn’t occurred at night since the year 1220 will be next to impossible here in New Hampshire. But we can hope for clear skies, for we’ll never see it again in our lifetimes.

      I wonder why more people aren’t lining the roads in wonder at the universe. But every day is a once in a lifetime event for each of us. Maybe we’re used to squandering moments? And maybe the world is too complex and broken for such things as great conjunctions. But I’d like to think that, maybe, they just haven’t looked up yet.

    • Which Comes First?

      Enter first applicant.

      “You understand that this is a simple test we are giving you before we offer you the job you have applied for?”
      “Yes.”
      “Well, what is two plus two?”
      “Four.”

      Enter second applicant.

      “Are you ready for the test?”
      “Yes.”
      “Well, what is two plus two?”
      “Whatever the boss says it is.”

      The second applicant got the job.

      Which comes first, orthodoxy or the truth?
      – Anthony De Mello, The Job, from The Song Of The Bird

      Hard to read this story and not immediately see similarities in the world of politics lately. You either kiss the ring and accept (and parrot) doctrine or you look for the truth outside the door. You see it with people who dare speak of the facts in the face of an overwhelming win in the US Presidential Election, and you see it with people who call you a snowflake if you believe Climate Change is an existential threat or wearing a mask in a pandemic might make a little sense. Call me what you want; give me science, thank you.

      There’s nothing new in this, of course – refer to Galileo or Darwin for examples of the dangers of proposing that the way people see the world might not be entirely accurate. This is especially true when you mess with people’s ideas about religion, politics, and nationalism. Americans generally come together when it counts most, and perhaps we’ll see that once the man who fancies himself the boss for life has less of a hold on power and his spin on orthodoxy.

      The question is, are some things worth the fight for truth, or is everything?

    • Learning to Love Them

      “A man who took great pride in his lawn found himself with a large crop of dandelions. He tried every method he knew to get rid of them. Still they plagued him.
      Finally he wrote the Department of Agriculture. He enumerated all the things he had tried and closed his letter with the question: “What shall I do now?”
      In due course the reply came: “We suggest you learn to love them.”
      – Anthony De Mello, Dandelions

      2020 is almost over, but the damage done this year will be with us for a long time. Damage to our confidence about walking around in public places. Damage to our relationships with people who took the other side in an election. Damage to our faith in humanity itself. Which makes you wonder, what will plaque us when this is over?

      Will we not talk to “certain people” again? Will your neighbor keep their Trump sign up until 2024? Will social change gradually become accepted by the vast majority? Will we ever stand closer than six feet with strangers again? Will those who had COVID suffer from the invasive symptoms of the virus for their lifetimes? Will the planet quickly reject humanity as a virus of its own?

      So many questions developed and honed in the tumultuous forge of 2020. So what shall we do now? What could we possibly love about this year?

      We can get rid of the number on the calendar but we can’t rid ourselves of the lingering resentment for what was taken away from us when the New Year rings in: Loved ones. Friendships. Events. Time.

      We can love the lawn despite the dandelions.

      Personally, I’ve lost a step-father but grown closer to my mother. I’ve found time with friends who were supposed to be on the other side of the world right about now. I’ve missed out on a graduation ceremony and an anniversary trip to Hawaii but gained moments with my children and my wife. I’ve lost time in places far away but immersed myself in necessary home projects and sunk my hands deeper into the garden than before.

      There’s no doubt this year will leave a mark. We’ll all look back on it with complicated emotions. But even soldiers in war would talk of that time fondly for the bonds formed under duress. We’ll learn to love some of 2020, despite it all.

    • Have a Look

      “The universe is full of magical things patiently waiting for our wits to grow sharper.” – Eden Phillpotts

      Rumors of Aurora Borealis potential had me looking up at the skies last night and tracking its progress across the globe with my trusty Aurora app. Overcast skies last night combined with being too far south made it all but impossible to see it where I am, but there’s hope tonight when I’m further north. Expectations rise with the solar flares.

      Do you wonder at the skies the way that I do? I should hope so. Without magic and wonder life would be a quiet bore. A bitter slate of scarcity and distraction and isolationism. There are plenty of people in this mad world who consume and sling bile. That’s no way to live.

      The Northern Lights are big and evasive when you live far away, but there’s magic right in our midst, should we look for it. It’s in the eyes of a toddler looking at you with a soggy smile. In the vibrating purr of a cat sneaking in for body heat and affection. In the wispy steam drifting from your coffee on a cold morning. Lurking in a dusty book on the shelf that you’ve skipped over for years. It’s right under your nose waiting for your wits to grow sharper.

      Have a look.

    • To Hell With Comparison

      “We have so far to go” sighed the boy
      “Yes, but look at how far we’ve come.” said the horse
      – Charlie Mackesy      , The Boy, The Mole, The Fox and The Horse

      I listened to an associate talk of stocks purchased and his regret that he only made $300K on his Moderna but would have made a million if he’d stuck with it. He’d already made millions selling his business, and talked of starting another business to build and sell. He’s a hustler, a builder, a big shark in a red ocean always hungry for more. And a charming guy who quickly wins people over with his personality and work ethic.

      Another friend who worked for this friend learned all he could from the big shark and started his own company. He’s built it up to be substantial. There’s no doubt that he’s a big shark himself now, and he talks exactly like the first guy. Rattles off accomplishments in every conversation, big wins, and a trophy house on a famous lake. Also a hustler, he’s built something special but isn’t slowing down. No, he’s got an empire to build and the climb isn’t over.

      You can quickly feel inadequate when you talk to someone who leapfrogs the average. These two make me dizzy when I talk to them, and there’s plenty more just like them who will rattle off wins like entrees on a Cheesecake Factory menu. I can’t help but admire them, and compliment each accomplishment for what it is. And there’s a little bit of comparison that slips in right about then where I think about what I’ve done in the industry versus what they’ve done, and… I silently curse myself for not being a bigger shark.

      “Comparison is the primary sin of modern life.” – Michael Ray“

      When you try to keep up with the Joneses you willingly enter into an arms race you can’t win. But the tendency to compare runs deep. And I thought about my two friends. They talk often, and I wonder about their conversations. I did this! Well, I did this! And so on until their next client calls with a billion dollar deal just in time for the holidays. And I shake my head. I don’t want to swim in that ocean.

      “Comparison is the death of joy.” – Mark Twain

      When you live your life based on how you perceive yourself to be in relation to someone else you can never measure up. And you set yourself up for a life of frustration and exhaustive one-upmanship. And yet most of us do it anyway. Worse, we start looking at what our children have accomplished compared to the neighbors kids and seed our issues right in to the next generation.

      “The trouble with the rat race is that even if you win, you’re still a rat.” – Lily Tomlin

      You can’t help but think about how far you have to go when you start comparing yourself to others. But it helps to look back and recognize just how far you’ve come. Often the best views are well before we reach the summit. We’re all on our own path, and it might just look pretty good to someone else. Shouldn’t we recognize that ourselves and appreciate where we are?

      And still comparison persists. Comparison can be a spur or a cancer. It serves to fuel progress, inspire action, alter our course and generally goad us out of complacency. Comparison isn’t all bad. Until you use it to degrade yourself or those you love, or to win at any cost. In those moments, to hell with comparison. Isn’t it better to be George Bailey than Mr. Potter?

    • Calling Out Crazy

      It used to be that a few among us would get spun up believing Elvis was still alive, Paul was dead, aliens kidnapped the most isolated segment of the population for experiments and Jesus appeared on burnt toast. Those were the days…

      Used to be the this sort of belief distribution system was isolated to the National Enquirer and other cheap sensationalist checkout lane rags. Today any of us in a free society can have our crackpot beliefs and conspiracy theories and broadcast them across the globe with our own domain name or YouTube channel. Amplify the crazy and collect your followers. Find enough followers and the clickbait revenue starts trickling in. Find a crazy enough theory and a big enough audience and you make real money. Now that’s America for you.

      I believe the problem isn’t the crazy theories swirling around us – they’ve always been there – the problem is the amplification of crazy. The enablement of crazy. The endorsement of crazy. And the acceptance of crazy.

      When do you reach the tipping point of crazy? When political leaders endorse the burning of accused witches at the stake? When they start mixing the Kool-Aid and locking the doors? Or when the President’s inner circle endorses beheading rivals or rolling out the military in a declaration of martial law?

      I hear people parroting crazy theories more than ever. You either engage and refute in a vain attempt to educate or you slowly back away. I believe it’s normal to back away. But when the crazy gets amplified, enabled, endorsed and accepted too much and you reach that tipping point the crazy start pointing the finger at you and stacking firewood around a pole with your name on it.

      Sometimes we’ve got to temper the madness around us. Ostracize the outliers to protect the village. Throw that wet blanket on the sparking wildfire of crazy. Call out crazy for what it is and move on to some measure of normal. Before things really get crazy.

    • White Cap

      “I am in love with Ocean
      lifting her thousands of white hats
      in the chop of the storm,
      or lying smooth and blue, the
      loveliest bed in the world.”
      – Mary Oliver, Ocean

      I anticipate a white cap day on Buzzards Bay as a Nor’easter rolls through. For now the bay is restless but content to let the rain fall in abundance to its surface instead of rising up to meet it. For the march of thousands of white hats the current and wind must be more contentious than this. It will come in time, as it always does on Buzzards Bay.

      Nor’easter days are meant for hunkering down, catching up on reading and sipping hot beverages. On Cape Cod the storm will bring heavy rain and high winds. The salty water will surely rise to greet her fresh visitors. I’m a visitor myself; like a river forever moving between the mountains and the sea. I want to leave the comfort of the warm house to walk on the beach. You don’t come this far to look at it from afar. For I’m mostly water, shouldn’t I rise up to meet it too?

      Up in New Hampshire all this water will mean white hats of a different kind, with heavy snow in the mountains and clever swirls of white donning posts and mailboxes in the lower elevations. I’ll welcome the grace of snow-packed trails covering the ankle-breakers when I return to the mountains. Whenever that might be – I really don’t know. But they’ve heard my silent promise to return. We have unfinished business, those mountains and me.

      I laugh when I read polls asking where you would want to live forever. How do you choose between the mountains and the sea? Its a Sophie’s Choice question; asking one to pick between a mountain waterfall and the crashing surf. Instead I look to the Abenaki who moved for generations between the White Mountains and ocean fishing villages. They didn’t choose one over the other, they chose a life in between. And that’s where you’ll find me too.

      So today as the white caps rise, I’m reminded of the Mary Oliver poem above. I’m on the very edge of that in between for this Nor’easter, and the chop of the storm has begun. Who’s up for a walk?

    • Halifax Christmas Tree

      If you live in Boston or Halifax you likely know Boston’s Christmas tree is an annual gift from Halifax. Since 1971 Halifax has sent a tree to Boston. Fifty years of tree giving. This isn’t inconsequential. The cost of transporting a tree 700 miles to Boston surely add up. So why make the commitment at all? The story behind that tradition is lesser known.

      In 1917, at the height of World War One, a French ship named the SS Mont Blanc was loaded with munitions and set out from Halifax Harbor for Europe. The ship would never leave Halifax. She collided with another ship in the narrows and caught on fire. When the fire reached the munitions there was a massive explosion that wiped out part of Halifax, killing over 2000 people and injuring another 9000. At the time it was the largest manmade explosion in history. And it occurred in a heavily populated area.

      When Boston’s Mayor Curley heard about the tragedy, he immediately sent a group of doctors and nurses to aid Halifax with medical supplies. Boston’s response was actually significantly faster that Ottawa’s. The team of doctors and nurses spent Christmas 1917 in Halifax, decorating Christmas trees in the hospitals. The bond between Halifax and Boston was forever fused.

      The connection between the two cities goes beyond Christmas trees: Halifax broadcasts Boston’s WCVB and also has a large following of Red Sox and Patriots fans as the games are broadcast there. And then there’s family connections. Since the Port of Halifax was the Ellis Island of Canada, many New Englanders are descendants of immigrants who came through Nova Scotia. The bond is indeed deep.

      In 1971, within the lifetimes of many of the people who lived through that tragedy, Halifax began donating a tree every year. I bet there were several survivors of the explosion who shed a few tears the day that first tree was shipped to Boston. Boston remembered as well, and the tree serves as a reminder of the common bond between the two cities. Today is the lighting of the Christmas tree in Boston, and we turn our eyes north to our friends in Halifax.

      The pandemic has closed borders, blocking access to people and places we took for granted. With the border closed even the Christmas tree took a unique route to Boston in 2020: It was shipped from Halifax to Portland, Maine and then driven down the rest of the way. Many of us look forward to having the borders open again so that we may once again see our friends and kin up north.

    • From Asquamchumauke to Baker: What’s in a Name?

      The Baker River flows from Mount Moosilauke to the Pemigewasset River in present day Plymouth, New Hampshire. On the map the name is cut and dried: Baker. But when you cross the river at the Gorge Brook Trailhead another name emerges from the past: Asquamchumauke. History once again whispering for all who might hear.

      Dartmouth College honoring the original name

      Asquamchumauke means “crooked water from high places” in the language of the Abenaki tribes that once thrived here. It’s a lovely, descriptive name that brings romantic notions of Native Americans living in this place for generations. Yet we’ve called it Baker since well before the American Revolution. The story behind the name change is another fascinating chapter in the violent history of New Hampshire.

      Thomas Baker was a soldier in Deerfield, Massachusetts on February 29, 1704 when the Deerfield Raid occurred. Deerfield was a seminal event in Queen Anne’s War and New England history. French and Native American warriors overran the fortified settlement, 47 settlers were killed and 112 captives, including Baker, were marched up to Montreal. The Native American warriors came from around the northeast, including several tribes of the Wabenaki Confederacy. One of them was a Pennacook sachem named Wattanumman.

      Whether Baker and Wattanumman met during the fighting or forced march to Montreal is unclear, but events would bring them together again eight years later. Thomas Baker led an expedition north with around 30 men and ambushed Wattanumman, a dozen of his men and their families at the site in present-day Plymouth where the Asquamchumauke River meets the Pemigewasset River. Wattanumman and several others were killed and scalped. The men collected furs and anything of value and brought it all down to Massachusetts where Baker was rewarded for his efforts with £40.

      And this is where present-day morality meets the violent frontier morality of New England in the earliest days of our history. Both men participated in violent raids against the other in a time of war. But for fate Baker might have been killed in Deerfield, which may have extended Wattanumman’s life a few more years. Who knows? All of us are subject to the whims of fate.

      There was one other reward for Thomas. To honor what Baker and his men did in this place the name of the river was changed from Asquamchumauke to Baker, a name it still has today. With one event the life of Wattanumman was erased, and the legacy of Baker was sealed. We Americans tend to honor people with place names, while the Native Americans honored the spirit of the place itself. Asquamchumauke: crooked water from high places.

      Has a nice ring to it.