The Lobster Coast covers the European History of (mostly) coastal Maine from earliest exploration until the present. After a fairly light and entertaining introduction, Woodward embarks upon the task of laying out the history of Maine's coast. I got the impression early on that he would spend most of his time focusing on the fishing industry - with a nod to the historical roots of Mainer's suspicion of people "from away." However, Woodward ends up all over the place by the end of the book, for example, talking about recent pushes for "smart development" to combat suburbanization and sprawl and mentioning many of the elites who summered in Maine in the past, while neglecting to discuss the strategic importance of the Maine coast during WWII and what the U.S. army did to change the character of the Maine coast during those years.
I don't recommend this book - except to Mainers who read everything they can about the Pine Tree State.
Monday, May 30, 2005
Sunday, May 29, 2005
The Van-ola + I-94 + Darkness
We hit a "bump" in I-94 on our way back from Madison. It took about 10 seconds before we became VERY aware that it wasn't a bump but a skunk. We arrived home a bit later to find that our nice clean and fancy looking van-ola smells like fresh skunk. When your dog mixes with skunk, you can give him a bath in canned tomato. What do you do when your entire car has been skunked?
We left it out of the garage to air out and returned from walking the dogs to find that our entire block stinks!
We left it out of the garage to air out and returned from walking the dogs to find that our entire block stinks!
Saturday, May 28, 2005
Wisconsin + Beer + 2:30 a.m.
Why is it, I wonder, that here in Milwaukee, and, if I correctly recall, particular areas of Madison, people announce bar time and their inebriated state by randomly shouting, "Whoooooooooh!" as they make their way home at the end of the evening?
I puzzled over this for some time last night when the dulcent "Whooooooohs!" of a couple of folks walking past my house roused me, but I was unable to come up with any explanation. It's as if being drunk isn't enough fun, one has to make sure that everyone knows they are drunk and loving it. Or perhaps, with the end of the night approaching, folks are trying to reassure themselves that the evening is worth the pending cost - lying in bed with one foot on the floor to keep the room from tipping over.
At any rate, goody-two-shoes that I may be, I have been around many a drunken revelry without the Whoooooohs so I find them curious and wonder about their function.
I puzzled over this for some time last night when the dulcent "Whooooooohs!" of a couple of folks walking past my house roused me, but I was unable to come up with any explanation. It's as if being drunk isn't enough fun, one has to make sure that everyone knows they are drunk and loving it. Or perhaps, with the end of the night approaching, folks are trying to reassure themselves that the evening is worth the pending cost - lying in bed with one foot on the floor to keep the room from tipping over.
At any rate, goody-two-shoes that I may be, I have been around many a drunken revelry without the Whoooooohs so I find them curious and wonder about their function.
Thursday, May 26, 2005
Book Recommendation: Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides
I know I am probably the last person on the planet to read Middlesex, but let me share my opinion all the same. I thought this was a good book, if a little uneven from time to time. It is the story of Callie/Cal Stephanides, who grows up as a the daughter of a successful businessman in Detroit's Greek-American community only to learn at age 14 that she is actually a phenotypical male who suffers from 5-alpha-reductase deficiency, i.e. has ambiguous genitalia.
As this is a novel, there is no indication anywhere that Eugenides read about Garfinkel's Agnes or is acquainted with the lives of the Reimer twins, however, Cal's story certainly does echo reading I've done elsewhere both in terms of typical responses to ambiguous genitalia and in terms of the effort required to learn how to "do gender." In fact, Dr. Luce is so similar to Colapinto's Dr. Money that I wonder if Eugenides should make his fiction resemble a real character a little less.
At any rate, what I liked most about Middlesex is the fact that Cal's biography, which hinges squarely on his hermaphroditism, is rooted in history and depends just as much upon world politics as it does upon his parents' genes. Cal's claim is not just, "This is who I am, this is how I was made." It's, "I am what history has yielded. I have only scratched the surface of the myriad of actions that created a world which led to the production of me." I think this is an important, if subtle, change in the typical narrative AND I like it.
As for imbalance - Eugenides' style keeps Cal/Callie in the forefront at all times and I think this may do him a disservice because it undermines his efforts to develop his other characters. Many primary characters go undeveloped the entire novel and, when he tries to elaborate upon others, he either awkwardly departs from Cal's narration or Cal apologies to the reader for laying out the thoughts and experiences of others but then goes on to do so all the same.
On the whole, however, a good read.
As this is a novel, there is no indication anywhere that Eugenides read about Garfinkel's Agnes or is acquainted with the lives of the Reimer twins, however, Cal's story certainly does echo reading I've done elsewhere both in terms of typical responses to ambiguous genitalia and in terms of the effort required to learn how to "do gender." In fact, Dr. Luce is so similar to Colapinto's Dr. Money that I wonder if Eugenides should make his fiction resemble a real character a little less.
At any rate, what I liked most about Middlesex is the fact that Cal's biography, which hinges squarely on his hermaphroditism, is rooted in history and depends just as much upon world politics as it does upon his parents' genes. Cal's claim is not just, "This is who I am, this is how I was made." It's, "I am what history has yielded. I have only scratched the surface of the myriad of actions that created a world which led to the production of me." I think this is an important, if subtle, change in the typical narrative AND I like it.
As for imbalance - Eugenides' style keeps Cal/Callie in the forefront at all times and I think this may do him a disservice because it undermines his efforts to develop his other characters. Many primary characters go undeveloped the entire novel and, when he tries to elaborate upon others, he either awkwardly departs from Cal's narration or Cal apologies to the reader for laying out the thoughts and experiences of others but then goes on to do so all the same.
On the whole, however, a good read.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
summer madness
Madison is quite beautiful in the late spring - when the hordes of students have departed and the stench of scooter exhaust is replaced by the beautiful smell of rosa rugosas and lilacs. The trees provide a green canopy that filters the sunlight.
Ahhh... what a beautiful day!
Ahhh... what a beautiful day!
Monday, May 23, 2005
ersatz
I have so much work to do but I need to procrastinate a little bit and tell you about meeting my dad's new wife and what was noteworthy about seeing the two of them together.
My sister was in town with me. Friday night we went out to buy decorations for the baby shower. After that we went to dinner. We returned to the island on a late ferry and were surprised to see my dad and his new wife snuggled up on the couch watching TV. We expected to beat them home because Dad said that Mary wasn't leaving Connecticut until about 6. We thought that, with the weekend traffic to Maine from "points south," Mary would be lucky to catch the last ferry at 11:30. At any rate, she and dad were watching "Phantom of the Opera." They paused it and jumped right up and Mary hugged us both - except in my case she gave me a one armed hug and used the other hand to grab my belly. So, it started off feeling even more awkward than it would have if Mary had been a little more reserved, but such is life.
I watched the two of them, Mary and my dad, all weekend. In the end I still don't know what I think about Mary. My dad is clearly happy with her which is great to see. However, she is one of those people with a smile that is a little too bright, a voice a little too squeaky and cheerful, and a simpery- sweet demeanor that makes her seem a little unbelievable. You know what I mean? I know that she was likely nervous and trying really hard but, in my mind, she came across as one of those people who is just as likely to sport that tremendous smile when they are breaking your heart as when they are making your day. The issue is, then, is she mostly nice when no one is looking?
Anyway, I feel fine about her despite this reservation about genuineness. In the end the thing that ended up bothering me was my dad's behavior.
Although Mary and my mom are very different in many ways (Mary dresses stylishly, wears make-up, does her hair and nails, and doesn't read to name a few things), they share some characteristics such as having a lot of energy and motivation. My dad clearly counts on Mary to come in and get him organized, washed, and fed.
You must understand, my dad hasn't done a load of laundry since 1969. Once my mother died, he began bringing all his laundry to the cleaners. As far as I know, my dad has never mowed the lawn unprompted, his house is an absolute shambles both in terms of cleanliness and maintenance because he refuses to clean and he won't "maintain" without someone to direct him. My dad has probably shelled out thousands of dollars in late charges since my mom died because he just tosses all the mail into a big pile and goes through it every four or five weeks paying bills in no particular order. This is just a sample of the extent to which my dad doesn't do for himself.
So, I guess I was disappointed when I saw my dad sitting in front of the TV while Mary sorted his bills, waged war on the ant infestation in the kitchen, loaded a shopping cart with all dad's dirty laundry that she would take with her to Connecticut to wash, dry, iron and bring back on her next visit, prompted him to estimate how much paint would be required to repaint the outside trim and to change the oil in the lawnmower, and made a to-do list of the chores she expected him to see to before her next visit.
This seemed all the more disturbing to me when Mary told me that she doesn't clean her own house (she had a house cleaner that comes in every 2 weeks), Dad refused to let her even see his house before she said, "I do," and that the accumulated dust and filth in my dad's house has so aggravated her allergies that her doctor has prescribed new allergy medication, including an inhaler, for her. She excuses all of this by referencing a sob-story Dad apparently concocted about how the mess in the house is not his, but his kids' and about how he got stuck with an old broken-down house that only gets worse because it is ill-treated by his kids. Of course, in the rendition I heard, it was most specifically my older brother and sister-in-law that have so abused my father's house. I was a little shocked to hear from Mary negative things, some exaggerated and others patently false, my dad said about my siblings. I responded, "Believe me, most of this mess is his." She said, "No, he wouldn't leave a mess like this." To which I replied, "Watch out for him, Mary. He is a great guy but he's sneaky. Make sure that you make him pull his own weight."
And ever since I have wondered if my dad is more phony than Mary's smile.
My sister was in town with me. Friday night we went out to buy decorations for the baby shower. After that we went to dinner. We returned to the island on a late ferry and were surprised to see my dad and his new wife snuggled up on the couch watching TV. We expected to beat them home because Dad said that Mary wasn't leaving Connecticut until about 6. We thought that, with the weekend traffic to Maine from "points south," Mary would be lucky to catch the last ferry at 11:30. At any rate, she and dad were watching "Phantom of the Opera." They paused it and jumped right up and Mary hugged us both - except in my case she gave me a one armed hug and used the other hand to grab my belly. So, it started off feeling even more awkward than it would have if Mary had been a little more reserved, but such is life.
I watched the two of them, Mary and my dad, all weekend. In the end I still don't know what I think about Mary. My dad is clearly happy with her which is great to see. However, she is one of those people with a smile that is a little too bright, a voice a little too squeaky and cheerful, and a simpery- sweet demeanor that makes her seem a little unbelievable. You know what I mean? I know that she was likely nervous and trying really hard but, in my mind, she came across as one of those people who is just as likely to sport that tremendous smile when they are breaking your heart as when they are making your day. The issue is, then, is she mostly nice when no one is looking?
Anyway, I feel fine about her despite this reservation about genuineness. In the end the thing that ended up bothering me was my dad's behavior.
Although Mary and my mom are very different in many ways (Mary dresses stylishly, wears make-up, does her hair and nails, and doesn't read to name a few things), they share some characteristics such as having a lot of energy and motivation. My dad clearly counts on Mary to come in and get him organized, washed, and fed.
You must understand, my dad hasn't done a load of laundry since 1969. Once my mother died, he began bringing all his laundry to the cleaners. As far as I know, my dad has never mowed the lawn unprompted, his house is an absolute shambles both in terms of cleanliness and maintenance because he refuses to clean and he won't "maintain" without someone to direct him. My dad has probably shelled out thousands of dollars in late charges since my mom died because he just tosses all the mail into a big pile and goes through it every four or five weeks paying bills in no particular order. This is just a sample of the extent to which my dad doesn't do for himself.
So, I guess I was disappointed when I saw my dad sitting in front of the TV while Mary sorted his bills, waged war on the ant infestation in the kitchen, loaded a shopping cart with all dad's dirty laundry that she would take with her to Connecticut to wash, dry, iron and bring back on her next visit, prompted him to estimate how much paint would be required to repaint the outside trim and to change the oil in the lawnmower, and made a to-do list of the chores she expected him to see to before her next visit.
This seemed all the more disturbing to me when Mary told me that she doesn't clean her own house (she had a house cleaner that comes in every 2 weeks), Dad refused to let her even see his house before she said, "I do," and that the accumulated dust and filth in my dad's house has so aggravated her allergies that her doctor has prescribed new allergy medication, including an inhaler, for her. She excuses all of this by referencing a sob-story Dad apparently concocted about how the mess in the house is not his, but his kids' and about how he got stuck with an old broken-down house that only gets worse because it is ill-treated by his kids. Of course, in the rendition I heard, it was most specifically my older brother and sister-in-law that have so abused my father's house. I was a little shocked to hear from Mary negative things, some exaggerated and others patently false, my dad said about my siblings. I responded, "Believe me, most of this mess is his." She said, "No, he wouldn't leave a mess like this." To which I replied, "Watch out for him, Mary. He is a great guy but he's sneaky. Make sure that you make him pull his own weight."
And ever since I have wondered if my dad is more phony than Mary's smile.
Goodbye, Island Home!
It was a difficult trip to the island this last time. I spent a couple of days helping Dad and Mary clean out the house and I found all kinds of interesting things including my mother's wedding dress, which I had never laid eyes on before, and my baby book. I took some things that I wanted, like the wedding dress and the Children's Literary Classics that I loved reading when I was young, some things that my mother told me to look out for before she died including a box of her own childhood letters and photos and my grandmother's Hummel figurines, and some things that I just wanted to save from the dump, mainly photos and all of my dad's short stories. My father is an excellent writer.
That van-ola of ours came in handy pretty quick. There was no way that I was going to get all my shower gifts and all the stuff from the house back to Milwaukee. Jason and the dogs drove out for a few days vacation and then we all trekked home in the vanola.
My last morning on the island was strange one. I fully expect that my dad will sell the house before I return to Maine, probably next summer. So, even though it will still be my island, it will be different. I spent the last morning visiting some of my old haunts, like the cemetery at the bottom of the hill where I spent many hours napping amid the gravestones (oldest c.1690), telling ghost stories with friends, and engaging in various other teenage pursuits.
brackett cemetery
That van-ola of ours came in handy pretty quick. There was no way that I was going to get all my shower gifts and all the stuff from the house back to Milwaukee. Jason and the dogs drove out for a few days vacation and then we all trekked home in the vanola.
My last morning on the island was strange one. I fully expect that my dad will sell the house before I return to Maine, probably next summer. So, even though it will still be my island, it will be different. I spent the last morning visiting some of my old haunts, like the cemetery at the bottom of the hill where I spent many hours napping amid the gravestones (oldest c.1690), telling ghost stories with friends, and engaging in various other teenage pursuits.
brackett cemetery
Jason and I took the dogs down to the beach at the bottom of the hill too. I lived on this beach in the summer. My mother set three rules. The first rule restricted swimming for 20 minutes after eating (this rules was s big pain because, as we were watchless, we needed to ask someone on the beach what time it was when we ate and then we needed to keep asking folks what time it was until 20 minutes was up). The second was that you could go swimming once the air temperature hit 70 degrees. The water rarely exceeded 65 and was more likely to be colder than that. So, the other rule was that we had to come out of the water to warm up for a bit when the tips of our fingers and/or our lips began to turn blue. By age 7 or 8 my brothers and I visited the beach on our own. We were adept swimmers - I began swimming so early that I don't even remember learning how.
sandy beach, facing whitehead passage and the open Atlantic.
It is important to me that my children get to know the island. I don't expect them to be islanders too, but I want them to have memories of the tides and this beach, to nurse barnacle cuts, to find jellyfish on the shore and learn, over time, that it is just as much fun to return them to the water as it is to skewer them with driftwood. I want my kids to appreciate 20 minutes of quiet or visiting with neighbors on the ferry. I want them to know island kids by name and feel, even after not seeing them for 15 years, that they are more than just acquaintances.
Anyway, I've returned to the Midwest.
sandy beach, facing whitehead passage and the open Atlantic.
It is important to me that my children get to know the island. I don't expect them to be islanders too, but I want them to have memories of the tides and this beach, to nurse barnacle cuts, to find jellyfish on the shore and learn, over time, that it is just as much fun to return them to the water as it is to skewer them with driftwood. I want my kids to appreciate 20 minutes of quiet or visiting with neighbors on the ferry. I want them to know island kids by name and feel, even after not seeing them for 15 years, that they are more than just acquaintances.
Anyway, I've returned to the Midwest.
Saturday, May 14, 2005
How pregnant do you have to be?
In the last couple of days here in Maine, I've received 2 (TWO) spontaneous acknowledgements of my preggo state. So, apparently, I have finally reached the point at which those who know me but do not know that I am with child are certain that their recognition of my substantial belly will not be a misplaced reference to weight gain that is not associated with child-bearing.
In case you were wondering, if you're a big girl like me you apparently need to be this big to be seen as pregnant beyond a reasonable doubt.
about this pregnant
Incidentally, I have also experienced my first unsolicited belly touching. My 94-year-old Great-Aunt Edna copped a feel at the baby shower and my dad's new wife can't seem to keep her hands off me.
In case you were wondering, if you're a big girl like me you apparently need to be this big to be seen as pregnant beyond a reasonable doubt.
about this pregnant
Incidentally, I have also experienced my first unsolicited belly touching. My 94-year-old Great-Aunt Edna copped a feel at the baby shower and my dad's new wife can't seem to keep her hands off me.
Thursday, May 12, 2005
In Maine
I'm out in the field right now. A great deal is going on but I don't particularly feel like blogging about it all. Let me just say a few things:
1. My whining about a baby shower with my family was unwarranted. They threw a joint shower for my sister-in-law and myself. Basically, they had me running around to prepare my own shower. It was a lot of fun.
2. I met Mary. I don't really have much to say about that.
3. I found my mother's wedding dress when I was cleaning out my dad's house.
4. I found a couple of really great resources to help with my dissertation. I also have a couple of exciting meetings set up.
1. My whining about a baby shower with my family was unwarranted. They threw a joint shower for my sister-in-law and myself. Basically, they had me running around to prepare my own shower. It was a lot of fun.
2. I met Mary. I don't really have much to say about that.
3. I found my mother's wedding dress when I was cleaning out my dad's house.
4. I found a couple of really great resources to help with my dissertation. I also have a couple of exciting meetings set up.
Monday, May 02, 2005
Van-ina to Van-ola
We need a new car. We’ve been putting it off for a while. The thing is, our current car, the van-ina, is too small for a baby and 2 dogs even if it wasn’t on its last legs. Seriously, I am impressed every time I turn the key in the ignition and my little van-ina shudders to life.
my little van-ina
my little van-ina
So, what kind of car to buy? I am a big advocate of the station wagon – roomy enough for the lot of us and you can keep the dogs in the back away from the kid. However, Jason correctly points out that a station wagon is great until we need to go anywhere overnight – there will be insufficient space for all of us and all of the gear we need to take with us. It has to be a mini-van, he claims.
I agree and then I find myself completely repulsed by the idea of owning a mini-van. It’s not that I have a deep loathing for mini-vans. I have had many friends and family members who drive them. It’s just that when I imagine MYSELF as a mini-van owner that I freak out. I don’t want it sitting in my driveway. I don’t want to drive home to Maine every summer in a mini-van with Wisconsin plates. I don’t want to have to parallel park it but I refuse to start frequenting places with parking lots.
First I tried to offer reasonable arguments against the mini-van: gas mileage – hybrid not coming out until 2007; safety; difficulty parking – especially on our frequent trips to Chicago; and the fact that we are only going to run out of space on overnight trips and we could just get one of those roof containers for a station wagon. Jason has done a pretty good job shooting down my reasonable arguments. Next, I resorted to temper tantrums, sulking, and many other attempts at emotional blackmail and cajoling. “I can’t drive one of those!” I exclaimed in tears, “If I am going to start driving a mini-van to the dog-park and the grocery store [the only places we drive on a regular basis] I might as well drop out of my Ph.D. program and we can move to the suburbs, where I can start stockpiling lunchables, get involved in AYSO, and read Nora Roberts novels.” My partner remained strangely unmoved by my ranting and raving.
Finally, I thought I had the answer. “If I can find an international student who is graduating and leaving the country and selling their station wagon for a good price, we could buy the wagon and have it for the next year. Perhaps we could get by with a wagon until Toyota introduces the hybrid mini-van. Since we will get it for a steal, it won’t be such a big deal.” Jason agreed that buying a car from someone moving out of the U.S. tends to be the way to go (we’ve done it before).
So, this Sunday at church there was a notice on the bulletin board announcing the sale of a mini-van on account of the owners moving to Vancouver. We went to look at it. It is horrible but it is a deal. Today the mechanic gave it a clean bill of health. Shoot me. Shoot me now.
van-ola
I agree and then I find myself completely repulsed by the idea of owning a mini-van. It’s not that I have a deep loathing for mini-vans. I have had many friends and family members who drive them. It’s just that when I imagine MYSELF as a mini-van owner that I freak out. I don’t want it sitting in my driveway. I don’t want to drive home to Maine every summer in a mini-van with Wisconsin plates. I don’t want to have to parallel park it but I refuse to start frequenting places with parking lots.
First I tried to offer reasonable arguments against the mini-van: gas mileage – hybrid not coming out until 2007; safety; difficulty parking – especially on our frequent trips to Chicago; and the fact that we are only going to run out of space on overnight trips and we could just get one of those roof containers for a station wagon. Jason has done a pretty good job shooting down my reasonable arguments. Next, I resorted to temper tantrums, sulking, and many other attempts at emotional blackmail and cajoling. “I can’t drive one of those!” I exclaimed in tears, “If I am going to start driving a mini-van to the dog-park and the grocery store [the only places we drive on a regular basis] I might as well drop out of my Ph.D. program and we can move to the suburbs, where I can start stockpiling lunchables, get involved in AYSO, and read Nora Roberts novels.” My partner remained strangely unmoved by my ranting and raving.
Finally, I thought I had the answer. “If I can find an international student who is graduating and leaving the country and selling their station wagon for a good price, we could buy the wagon and have it for the next year. Perhaps we could get by with a wagon until Toyota introduces the hybrid mini-van. Since we will get it for a steal, it won’t be such a big deal.” Jason agreed that buying a car from someone moving out of the U.S. tends to be the way to go (we’ve done it before).
So, this Sunday at church there was a notice on the bulletin board announcing the sale of a mini-van on account of the owners moving to Vancouver. We went to look at it. It is horrible but it is a deal. Today the mechanic gave it a clean bill of health. Shoot me. Shoot me now.
van-ola
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