Armchair Travel
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Orbitz Blogger Day
Had a great time at the Orbitz first annual Blogger Day at the company's headquarters in Chicago. It's great to see a corporation with a conscience.
Met the president and CEO Barney Harford and learned about the company's commitment to equal rights for all Americans, and their support for lifting the embargo on Cuba.
And they're leading a drive to collect signatures to take to Congress to get the Cuban embargo lifted. You can sign up at a website they've set up, opencuba.org. They've already got 95,000 signatures and they're just getting started.
This is very important since so many other groups that might be expected to speak up have hesitated to get out front on this issue.
They also have genuine corporate initiatives for sustainable travel, green hotels and carbon offsets.
We also had a boat tour on the Chicago River where docent Charles T. Sanford told us all about the architecture of the city, and about Chicago's first settlers, Haitian-born Jean Baptiste Pointe du Sable and his wife, a member of the Potawatomi Indian tribe.
I've been staying at the Amalfi Hotel, which has a real commitment to customer service. Friendly helpful employees, free internet, even free computers in their business center. Just printed out my boarding pass, and I'm all set to get home to the Happy Valley. ¶ 6:37 PM 0 comments
Met the president and CEO Barney Harford and learned about the company's commitment to equal rights for all Americans, and their support for lifting the embargo on Cuba.
And they're leading a drive to collect signatures to take to Congress to get the Cuban embargo lifted. You can sign up at a website they've set up, opencuba.org. They've already got 95,000 signatures and they're just getting started.
This is very important since so many other groups that might be expected to speak up have hesitated to get out front on this issue.
They also have genuine corporate initiatives for sustainable travel, green hotels and carbon offsets.
We also had a boat tour on the Chicago River where docent Charles T. Sanford told us all about the architecture of the city, and about Chicago's first settlers, Haitian-born Jean Baptiste Pointe du Sable and his wife, a member of the Potawatomi Indian tribe.
I've been staying at the Amalfi Hotel, which has a real commitment to customer service. Friendly helpful employees, free internet, even free computers in their business center. Just printed out my boarding pass, and I'm all set to get home to the Happy Valley. ¶ 6:37 PM 0 comments
Monday, September 28, 2009
Cornelia Hancock, Angel of Mercy
Here is another excerpt from Letters of a Civil War Nurse, by Cornelia Hancock, who arrived in Gettysburg three days after the battle. She is seeking the hospital of the 12th New Jersey regiment in which her brother is serving:
"As we made our way to a little woods in which we were told was the Field Hospital we were seeking, the first sight that met our eyes was a collection of semi-conscious but still living human forms, all of whom had been shot through the head, and were considered hopeless.
"They were laid there to die and I hoped that they were indeed too near to death to have some consciousness. Yet many a groan came from them, and their limbs tossed and twitched.
"The few surgeons who were left in charge of the battlefield after the Union Army had started in pursuit of Lee had begun their paralyzing task by sorting the dead from the dying, and the dying from from those whose lives might be saved; hence the groups of prostrate, bleeding men laid together according to their wounds.
"There was hardly a tent to be seen. Earth was the only available bed during those first hours after the battle."
Historians seem to take off with the Union Army in pursuit of Lee, a worthy endeavor, to be sure. You don't hear much in the history books about the mountains of carnage left behind. But it's lucky for humanity that there are heros like Cornelia Hancock to come in and deal with them.
"Our party separated quickly, each intent on carrying out her own scheme of usefulness. No one paid the slightest attention to us, unusual as was the presence of half a dozen women on such fields; nor did anyone have time to give us orders or answer questions.
"Wagons of bread and provisions were arriving and I helped myself to their stores. I sat down with a loaf in one hand and a jar of jelly in another; it was not hospital diet, but it was food, and a dozen poor fellows lying near me turned their eyes in piteous entreaty, anxiously watching my efforts to prepare a meal.
"There was not a spoon, knife, fork, or plate to be had that day, and it seemed as if there was no more serious problem under Heaven than the task of dividing that too well-baked loaf into portions that could be swallowed by weak and dying men.
"I succeeded, however, in breaking it into small pieces and spreading jelly over each with a stick. A shingle board made an excellent tray, and it was handed from one to another. I had the joy of seeing every morsel swallowed by greedily by those whom I had prayed day and night I might be permitted to serve."
And that's just the beginning. Here's where she becomes a true angel of mercy:
"An hour or so later, in another wagon, I found boxes of condensed milk and bottles of whiskey and brandy. It was an easy task to mix milk punches and to serve them from bottles and tin cans..."
"As we made our way to a little woods in which we were told was the Field Hospital we were seeking, the first sight that met our eyes was a collection of semi-conscious but still living human forms, all of whom had been shot through the head, and were considered hopeless.
"They were laid there to die and I hoped that they were indeed too near to death to have some consciousness. Yet many a groan came from them, and their limbs tossed and twitched.
"The few surgeons who were left in charge of the battlefield after the Union Army had started in pursuit of Lee had begun their paralyzing task by sorting the dead from the dying, and the dying from from those whose lives might be saved; hence the groups of prostrate, bleeding men laid together according to their wounds.
"There was hardly a tent to be seen. Earth was the only available bed during those first hours after the battle."
Historians seem to take off with the Union Army in pursuit of Lee, a worthy endeavor, to be sure. You don't hear much in the history books about the mountains of carnage left behind. But it's lucky for humanity that there are heros like Cornelia Hancock to come in and deal with them.
"Our party separated quickly, each intent on carrying out her own scheme of usefulness. No one paid the slightest attention to us, unusual as was the presence of half a dozen women on such fields; nor did anyone have time to give us orders or answer questions.
"Wagons of bread and provisions were arriving and I helped myself to their stores. I sat down with a loaf in one hand and a jar of jelly in another; it was not hospital diet, but it was food, and a dozen poor fellows lying near me turned their eyes in piteous entreaty, anxiously watching my efforts to prepare a meal.
"There was not a spoon, knife, fork, or plate to be had that day, and it seemed as if there was no more serious problem under Heaven than the task of dividing that too well-baked loaf into portions that could be swallowed by weak and dying men.
"I succeeded, however, in breaking it into small pieces and spreading jelly over each with a stick. A shingle board made an excellent tray, and it was handed from one to another. I had the joy of seeing every morsel swallowed by greedily by those whom I had prayed day and night I might be permitted to serve."
And that's just the beginning. Here's where she becomes a true angel of mercy:
"An hour or so later, in another wagon, I found boxes of condensed milk and bottles of whiskey and brandy. It was an easy task to mix milk punches and to serve them from bottles and tin cans..."
Labels: cornelia hancock
¶ 7:35 PM 0 comments
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Letters of a Civil War Nurse
I went up to Montague last Saturday for some flea markets and an auction. There was a bookstore there with books three for a dollar. I had the feeling that if they didn't go for that price they might be... disposed of. So I went through them carefully.
I picked Ordeal by Slander by Owen Lattimore, The Gladiators by Arthur Koestler and Letters of a Civil War Nurse by Cornelia Hancock, edited by Henrietta Stratton Jaquette.
These are all great finds, but the latter is one of those books that shows why all that rummaging is worthwhile.
Cornelia Hancock is a courageous Quaker woman from New Jersey who, by hook or by crook, finds her way to the battlefield at Gettysburg three days after the battle.
"Every barn, church and building of any size in Gettysburg had been converted into a temporary hospital. We went the same evening to one of the churches where I saw for the first time what war meant.
"Hundreds of desperately wounded men were laid out on boards stretched across the high-backed pews... Thus elevated , these poor sufferers faces, white and drawn, were almost on a level with my own. I seemed to stand breast high in a sea of anguish.
"The townspeople of Gettysburg were in devoted attendance, and there were many from other villages and towns. The wounds of all had been dressed at least once....
"Too inexperienced to nurse, I went from one pallet to another, with paper, pencil, and stamps in hand, and spent the rest of that night writing letters from the soldiers to their families and friends. To many mothers, sisters, and wives I penned the last message of those who were to become the 'beloved dead.'"
But the wounded in the town were a tiny fraction of the men wounded in the battle. The rest were spread out over many acres in so-called hospitals that didn't even have tents.
Cornelia asked to be taken to the hospital of the Twelfth Regiment of New Jersey, in which her brother was serving.
"As we drew near our destination... a sickening , overpowering, awful stench announced the presence of the unburied dead, on which the July sun was mercilessly shining, and at every step the air grew heavier and fouler, until it seemed to possess a palpable horrible density that could be seen and felt and cut with a knife."
Maybe it's hard to see why I relish this kind of thing. I guess it's because I get a perspective you're not likely to find in most history books. I'll have a bunch more selections from this courageous woman, who was also an excellent writer.
I picked Ordeal by Slander by Owen Lattimore, The Gladiators by Arthur Koestler and Letters of a Civil War Nurse by Cornelia Hancock, edited by Henrietta Stratton Jaquette.
These are all great finds, but the latter is one of those books that shows why all that rummaging is worthwhile.
Cornelia Hancock is a courageous Quaker woman from New Jersey who, by hook or by crook, finds her way to the battlefield at Gettysburg three days after the battle.
"Every barn, church and building of any size in Gettysburg had been converted into a temporary hospital. We went the same evening to one of the churches where I saw for the first time what war meant.
"Hundreds of desperately wounded men were laid out on boards stretched across the high-backed pews... Thus elevated , these poor sufferers faces, white and drawn, were almost on a level with my own. I seemed to stand breast high in a sea of anguish.
"The townspeople of Gettysburg were in devoted attendance, and there were many from other villages and towns. The wounds of all had been dressed at least once....
"Too inexperienced to nurse, I went from one pallet to another, with paper, pencil, and stamps in hand, and spent the rest of that night writing letters from the soldiers to their families and friends. To many mothers, sisters, and wives I penned the last message of those who were to become the 'beloved dead.'"
But the wounded in the town were a tiny fraction of the men wounded in the battle. The rest were spread out over many acres in so-called hospitals that didn't even have tents.
Cornelia asked to be taken to the hospital of the Twelfth Regiment of New Jersey, in which her brother was serving.
"As we drew near our destination... a sickening , overpowering, awful stench announced the presence of the unburied dead, on which the July sun was mercilessly shining, and at every step the air grew heavier and fouler, until it seemed to possess a palpable horrible density that could be seen and felt and cut with a knife."
Maybe it's hard to see why I relish this kind of thing. I guess it's because I get a perspective you're not likely to find in most history books. I'll have a bunch more selections from this courageous woman, who was also an excellent writer.
Labels: cornelia hancock
¶ 9:26 PM 0 comments
The Sun Wheel at UMass Amherst
I've always enjoyed looking at the standing stones behind the UMass football stadium, but I never knew who put them there or what their purpose was.
Tuesday I met astonomer Judith Young, the driving force behind the sun wheel, as it is called, who explained why the stones were placed where they were and how the early peoples who built stone wheels used them as calendars.
A group of about 30 people learned all about solstices and equinoxes, sunrises and moonrises, even the 26,000 year cycle of the North Star. Seems even the pole star moves, but not enough so you'd notice it in a fleeting human lifetime.
Solstices are the longest and the shortest days of the year and equinoxes are when day and night are equal.
I've always heard that after the winter solstice, the days get longer by about one minute per day on average, and I've always wondered if they get longer by one minute every day or do they grow longer faster at some times and slower at others.
Professor Young explained that the days grow longer very slowly around the solstices in December and July and much faster around the equinoxes, which you would think would come exactly halfway between solstices, but you'd be wrong because the earth's orbit around the sun in not perfectly round, but slightly elliptical, and on top of that the earth's axis is tilted.
But the answer to my question is that the days get longer faster in the middle of the winter.
You can find out more about the Sun Circle at Young's website.
¶ 2:24 PM 0 comments
Tuesday I met astonomer Judith Young, the driving force behind the sun wheel, as it is called, who explained why the stones were placed where they were and how the early peoples who built stone wheels used them as calendars.
A group of about 30 people learned all about solstices and equinoxes, sunrises and moonrises, even the 26,000 year cycle of the North Star. Seems even the pole star moves, but not enough so you'd notice it in a fleeting human lifetime.
Solstices are the longest and the shortest days of the year and equinoxes are when day and night are equal.
I've always heard that after the winter solstice, the days get longer by about one minute per day on average, and I've always wondered if they get longer by one minute every day or do they grow longer faster at some times and slower at others.
Professor Young explained that the days grow longer very slowly around the solstices in December and July and much faster around the equinoxes, which you would think would come exactly halfway between solstices, but you'd be wrong because the earth's orbit around the sun in not perfectly round, but slightly elliptical, and on top of that the earth's axis is tilted.
But the answer to my question is that the days get longer faster in the middle of the winter.
You can find out more about the Sun Circle at Young's website.
Monday, September 21, 2009
A Great Year for Good Reads
I've found a lot of great reading this summer, more than enough for several winters. For one thing, I found a box of American Heritage -- about forty volumes -- for eight bucks, and, you collectors out there will appreciate this: it's bone dry.
You find boxes like this all the time, but the slightest bit of moisture and they're moldy stinky trash.
I opened the first one and there's an article by Barbara Tuckman about Vinegar Joe Stilwell and Chiang Kai-shek. Bingo. And one about the legal battle over Cornelius Vanderbuilt's last will and testament.
I've mentioned a few book titles like The Bitter Tea of General Yen, Maine Memories, and The Lobster Coast.
This weekend I was in Montague at a dealer where the books were three for a buck. I selected The Gladiators by Arthur Koestler, a very interesting guy, it turns out, tho I didn't know it at the time. I'm just interested in historical fiction about Rome to stimulate my imagination for my opera about Rome.
Number Two was Ordeal by Slander by Owen Lattimore. I thought he had done a translation of Homer's Iliad, but that's Richard Lattimore. Owen Lattimore was FDR's liaison to Chiang Kai-shek during the war and was accused by Joe McCarthy of being the number one Soviet agent in the US.
And the third great read for 33.3 cents was Letters of a Civil War Nurse, one of those accounts historians cherish, a firsthand account of some historic event, what's known as a primary source.
Cornelia Hancock was a young woman from New Jersey who bluffed and blustered her way to the battlefield at Gettysburg three days after the battle, determined to help the wounded. Her letters to her family and friends provide an eyewitness account of the carnage there.
Every building in town had been converted into a hospital and the wounded had been spread out into acres and acres of 'hospitals' that didn't even have tents.
"As we drew near our destination," Miss Hancock writes, "a sickening, overpowering stench announced the presence of the unburied dead, on which the July sun was unmercilessly shining, and at every step the air grew heavier and fouler until it seemed to possess a palpable horrible density that could be seen and felt and cut with a knife."
There's a whiff of this amazing narrative, which continues when Cornelia Hancock begins work at the "contraband" hospitals for the slaves freed by the Union Army, where conditions were deplorable.
"When you see the men in charge here," she writes, "you could not help thinking where are all those good abolitionists that do so much talking and so little acting."
I'll have some more selections from Cornelia Hancock coming up. What a find! ¶ 8:02 PM 0 comments
You find boxes like this all the time, but the slightest bit of moisture and they're moldy stinky trash.
I opened the first one and there's an article by Barbara Tuckman about Vinegar Joe Stilwell and Chiang Kai-shek. Bingo. And one about the legal battle over Cornelius Vanderbuilt's last will and testament.
I've mentioned a few book titles like The Bitter Tea of General Yen, Maine Memories, and The Lobster Coast.
This weekend I was in Montague at a dealer where the books were three for a buck. I selected The Gladiators by Arthur Koestler, a very interesting guy, it turns out, tho I didn't know it at the time. I'm just interested in historical fiction about Rome to stimulate my imagination for my opera about Rome.
Number Two was Ordeal by Slander by Owen Lattimore. I thought he had done a translation of Homer's Iliad, but that's Richard Lattimore. Owen Lattimore was FDR's liaison to Chiang Kai-shek during the war and was accused by Joe McCarthy of being the number one Soviet agent in the US.
And the third great read for 33.3 cents was Letters of a Civil War Nurse, one of those accounts historians cherish, a firsthand account of some historic event, what's known as a primary source.
Cornelia Hancock was a young woman from New Jersey who bluffed and blustered her way to the battlefield at Gettysburg three days after the battle, determined to help the wounded. Her letters to her family and friends provide an eyewitness account of the carnage there.
Every building in town had been converted into a hospital and the wounded had been spread out into acres and acres of 'hospitals' that didn't even have tents.
"As we drew near our destination," Miss Hancock writes, "a sickening, overpowering stench announced the presence of the unburied dead, on which the July sun was unmercilessly shining, and at every step the air grew heavier and fouler until it seemed to possess a palpable horrible density that could be seen and felt and cut with a knife."
There's a whiff of this amazing narrative, which continues when Cornelia Hancock begins work at the "contraband" hospitals for the slaves freed by the Union Army, where conditions were deplorable.
"When you see the men in charge here," she writes, "you could not help thinking where are all those good abolitionists that do so much talking and so little acting."
I'll have some more selections from Cornelia Hancock coming up. What a find! ¶ 8:02 PM 0 comments
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Maine Memories and Spider Migrations
Maine Memories (1971) by Elizabeth Coatsworth is a real treasure. Besides the great stories I mentioned before, there are personal recollections of her life in Nobleboro with her husband Henry Beston.
One afternoon while they were out canoeing on Damariscotta Pond, they saw what they thought, in glaring sunlight, was a turtle. It turned out to be a squirrel swimming across the pond, which is actually more like a large lake.
"He looks tired, like an exhausted man," Beston said.
"Certainly he eyed us eneasily," Coatsworth writes, "but as we paddled beside him, he refused to deflect his course. He swam steadily on, only his anguished eye admitting our presence. At a boulder, he emerged nimbly enough, but leaping to the shore, he miscalculated the weight of his wet body and fell into the shallows again, scrambling out in a jiffy."
Then when they enter their little cove, they encounter "stranger and more ethereal travelers." The southeast wind was so soft that it "never stirred the water or brushed a leaf," but it was just right for a certain class of travelers: spiders.
"The sunny air was crossed by glints and slivers of light, some floating parallel to the water, four or five feet in the air, a few in fine half circles, and more at spearlike angles advancing with one end high in the air, and the other nearly or quite touching the still surface."
"The almost imperceptible breeze carried the threads at a surprising rate."
They paddle up close and notice that thanks to surface tension, some spiders are actually paragliding, leaving a V-shaped wake as their windborn strands carry them along.
What's going on here is a spider migration, previously observed by the seventeenth-century preacher Jonathan Edwards, famous for being kicked out of Northampton, later president of Princeton, who got innoculated against smallpox to show everyone it was safe and promptly died. You remember him -- Aaron Burr's grandfather.
Anyway, Edwards actually observed the spiders spinning webs to get themselves in position, then letting out a long strand of filament into the breeze. Then, at just the right moment, each spider has to cut the strands of his earthbound web and fly off on the windborn strand, not an easy call to make, when you think about it.
Edwards declared it was a good metaphor for the human soul in its quest for salvation, and although I don't go in for that sort of thing much, I have to admit he has a point.
One afternoon while they were out canoeing on Damariscotta Pond, they saw what they thought, in glaring sunlight, was a turtle. It turned out to be a squirrel swimming across the pond, which is actually more like a large lake.
"He looks tired, like an exhausted man," Beston said.
"Certainly he eyed us eneasily," Coatsworth writes, "but as we paddled beside him, he refused to deflect his course. He swam steadily on, only his anguished eye admitting our presence. At a boulder, he emerged nimbly enough, but leaping to the shore, he miscalculated the weight of his wet body and fell into the shallows again, scrambling out in a jiffy."
Then when they enter their little cove, they encounter "stranger and more ethereal travelers." The southeast wind was so soft that it "never stirred the water or brushed a leaf," but it was just right for a certain class of travelers: spiders.
"The sunny air was crossed by glints and slivers of light, some floating parallel to the water, four or five feet in the air, a few in fine half circles, and more at spearlike angles advancing with one end high in the air, and the other nearly or quite touching the still surface."
"The almost imperceptible breeze carried the threads at a surprising rate."
They paddle up close and notice that thanks to surface tension, some spiders are actually paragliding, leaving a V-shaped wake as their windborn strands carry them along.
What's going on here is a spider migration, previously observed by the seventeenth-century preacher Jonathan Edwards, famous for being kicked out of Northampton, later president of Princeton, who got innoculated against smallpox to show everyone it was safe and promptly died. You remember him -- Aaron Burr's grandfather.
Anyway, Edwards actually observed the spiders spinning webs to get themselves in position, then letting out a long strand of filament into the breeze. Then, at just the right moment, each spider has to cut the strands of his earthbound web and fly off on the windborn strand, not an easy call to make, when you think about it.
Edwards declared it was a good metaphor for the human soul in its quest for salvation, and although I don't go in for that sort of thing much, I have to admit he has a point.
Labels: Elizabeth Coatsworth, Henry Beston, Jonathan Edwards
¶ 9:00 PM 0 comments
Monday, September 14, 2009
Sally Hartshorne
Sarah Jane Dickson Hartshorne - Sally, as she was known - died peacefully September 6 at the Center for Extended Care in Amherst, Massachusetts.
She was born October 27, 1928, in Montclair, New Jersey, to Charles Keith Dickson and Anne Brown Dickson. She grew up in New Canaan, Connecticut, and attended Rosemary Hall in Wallingford. She graduated from Vassar College in 1948.
In 1949 she married Robert Doremus Hartshorne, Jr. and they lived in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and later moved to Dedham, where they raised four sons.
Sally was a member of St. Paul's Church, the Dedham Choral Society, the League of Women Voters and the town's Fair Housing Committee.
In 1978 she earned a Master's Degree from Boston College, where she taught for many years. She also taught at Brown University, where she was awarded a PhD in Literature in 1990. She published a number of scholarly papers about American women writers including Harriet Beecher Stowe, Willa Cather, and Marilynn Robinson.
She loved to share her love of learning with others and acted as a mentor and supporter to many students, colleagues, and friends.
In 1990 Bob and Sally moved to Waterbrooks, the home in South Conway, New Hampshire, where they had spent vacations for many years. Sally was an active member of the South Conway Club and a member of the Board of Trustees of the Conway Public Library, where she helped to oversee a major expansion.
She was a member of the Democratic Party and an early and enthusiastic supporter of Barack Obama.
Her interests included tending her beautiful gardens, climbing in the White Mountains, sailing on the coast of Maine, traveling the world, cross-country skiing, tennis, bicycling, and above all, reading. She was also a lover of animals and kept numerous dogs, cats, rabbits, and even a pet quail.
She was known to friends and family for her kindness, her lively wit, and her support and understanding in times of need.
During the last year of her life she lost her memory and most of her faculties, but hung on with determination to her love of life, her sense of humor, and her love and consideration for others. She was always ready to make a new friend and have a good laugh. When at last she could no longer speak, she could still smile.
She is survived by her husband Robert, her sons Robert, Stephen, Paul, and Charles, her daughers-in-law Laurie Ellis and Allison Foster, and her granddaughters Sarah and Joanna.
A memorial service will be held Saturday, October 3, at 2 p.m. at the South Deerfield Congregational Church. A second memorial service will be held October 31 at 2 p.m. at St. Andrew's Episcopal Church in Tamworth, New Hampshire.
In lieu of flowers, contributions may be made to the Conway Public Library.
Sally's granddaughter and namesake has a wonderful entry on her blog, Erratic in Heels. ¶ 2:43 PM 7 comments
She was born October 27, 1928, in Montclair, New Jersey, to Charles Keith Dickson and Anne Brown Dickson. She grew up in New Canaan, Connecticut, and attended Rosemary Hall in Wallingford. She graduated from Vassar College in 1948.
In 1949 she married Robert Doremus Hartshorne, Jr. and they lived in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and later moved to Dedham, where they raised four sons.
Sally was a member of St. Paul's Church, the Dedham Choral Society, the League of Women Voters and the town's Fair Housing Committee.
In 1978 she earned a Master's Degree from Boston College, where she taught for many years. She also taught at Brown University, where she was awarded a PhD in Literature in 1990. She published a number of scholarly papers about American women writers including Harriet Beecher Stowe, Willa Cather, and Marilynn Robinson.
She loved to share her love of learning with others and acted as a mentor and supporter to many students, colleagues, and friends.
In 1990 Bob and Sally moved to Waterbrooks, the home in South Conway, New Hampshire, where they had spent vacations for many years. Sally was an active member of the South Conway Club and a member of the Board of Trustees of the Conway Public Library, where she helped to oversee a major expansion.
She was a member of the Democratic Party and an early and enthusiastic supporter of Barack Obama.
Her interests included tending her beautiful gardens, climbing in the White Mountains, sailing on the coast of Maine, traveling the world, cross-country skiing, tennis, bicycling, and above all, reading. She was also a lover of animals and kept numerous dogs, cats, rabbits, and even a pet quail.
She was known to friends and family for her kindness, her lively wit, and her support and understanding in times of need.
During the last year of her life she lost her memory and most of her faculties, but hung on with determination to her love of life, her sense of humor, and her love and consideration for others. She was always ready to make a new friend and have a good laugh. When at last she could no longer speak, she could still smile.
She is survived by her husband Robert, her sons Robert, Stephen, Paul, and Charles, her daughers-in-law Laurie Ellis and Allison Foster, and her granddaughters Sarah and Joanna.
A memorial service will be held Saturday, October 3, at 2 p.m. at the South Deerfield Congregational Church. A second memorial service will be held October 31 at 2 p.m. at St. Andrew's Episcopal Church in Tamworth, New Hampshire.
In lieu of flowers, contributions may be made to the Conway Public Library.
Sally's granddaughter and namesake has a wonderful entry on her blog, Erratic in Heels. ¶ 2:43 PM 7 comments
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
For Real Comfort, There's Northing Like a Shroud
I saw a book I couldn't pass up at the South Hadley flea market last week, Maine Memories by Elizabeth Coatsworth. It's a series of stories about life on Damariscotta Pond, where she lived with her husband, naturalist Henry Beston.
This is a fantastic book. Coatsworth includes a lot of stories that she heard from the older members of the farm families in and around Nobleboro, and they're great reading. There's something about a story that's been seasoned by telling and retelling and becomes part of the fabric of the community. Here's one:
"There lived many years ago in a neighboring town a solitary woman who, they say, 'wrote.' No one has the least idea what she wrote, but the memory of desk, ink, and pen clings to her story. As she got on in years she made herself a shroud, to have on hand for her burial if she should sometime be taken suddenly ill."
There came a spell of very hot weather and the lady decided the shroud would be loose and easy to wear during the hot spell "and could be put to some use before it took on its grimmer duties."
Then she started wearing it in the garden, and then when she rode her horse around town.
"She discovered there was nothing like a shroud for real comfort, and in summer she was rarely to be seen in anything else. She wore out shroud after shroud, and when she finally died, the neighbors had to make one for her, as there wasn't a shroud in the house fit to be worn."
This is a fantastic book. Coatsworth includes a lot of stories that she heard from the older members of the farm families in and around Nobleboro, and they're great reading. There's something about a story that's been seasoned by telling and retelling and becomes part of the fabric of the community. Here's one:
"There lived many years ago in a neighboring town a solitary woman who, they say, 'wrote.' No one has the least idea what she wrote, but the memory of desk, ink, and pen clings to her story. As she got on in years she made herself a shroud, to have on hand for her burial if she should sometime be taken suddenly ill."
There came a spell of very hot weather and the lady decided the shroud would be loose and easy to wear during the hot spell "and could be put to some use before it took on its grimmer duties."
Then she started wearing it in the garden, and then when she rode her horse around town.
"She discovered there was nothing like a shroud for real comfort, and in summer she was rarely to be seen in anything else. She wore out shroud after shroud, and when she finally died, the neighbors had to make one for her, as there wasn't a shroud in the house fit to be worn."
Labels: Elizabeth Coatsworth, Henry Beston, Maine
¶ 5:48 PM 1 comments
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
A Coat, A Hat and a Gun
"I got up on my feet and went over to the bowl in the corner and threw cold water on my face. After a little while I felt a little better, but very little. I needed a drink, I needed a lot of life insurance, I needed a vacation, I needed a home in the country.
"What I had was a coat, a hat and a gun. I got them on and went out of the room."
Raymond Chandler, Farewell My Lovely ¶ 7:44 PM 2 comments
"What I had was a coat, a hat and a gun. I got them on and went out of the room."
Raymond Chandler, Farewell My Lovely ¶ 7:44 PM 2 comments
