Hawthorne: The House of the Seven Gables

I started reading The House of the Seven Gables a few weeks before Halloween. Here in Salem we talk about this piece of literature quite often. Hawthorne was born here and wrote about our little city several times.  We also have a museum dedicated to the House of the Seven Gables, which includes Hawthorne's birth house - moved to the site of the museum in the 1970s - and I have visited several times. It's one of my favorite places to bring guests when they visit. I know about the gables, and the family who actually lived in the home (The Turners, not the Hawthornes), about how Hawthorne changed his name from Hathorne because he felt shameful of his family's history during the Salem Witch Trials. I know Hawthorne married one of the Peabody sisters - wealthy women known for making the world a better place through education and through writing.


Can I tell you a secret, though? I had never read this book. Not in high school, not in college. Never. GASP. I'm not finished yet, but I had a real-life experience that related so greatly to the beginning of those book that I couldn't wait to share it with you.


This gothic novel, written in the 1850s, is about family history dealing with guilt, shame, atonement, witchcraft, and the supernatural. Although it's written in sort of a matter of fact manner, the content is quite intense. Today, we'll simply talk about the pre-story. That of the house being built in the 1700s.

In the first pages: "Halfway down a by-street of one of our New England towns stands a rusty wooden house, with seven acutely peaked gables, facing towards various points of the compass, and a huge, clustered chimney in the midst. The street is Pyncheon Street; the house is the old Pyncheon House; and an elm-tree, of wide circumference, rooted before the door, is familiar to every town-born child by the title of the Pyncheon Elm."

The land on which this house was built is nearby a beautiful stream, and Colonel Pycheon built the home in order to pass it on to future generations of Pycheons. The problem was, the man who owned the land, Matthew Maule, who is poor and seen by members of the town as a bit strange, refuses to sell it to Pycheon. So, Pycheon uses the Witch Trials as an opportunity... He accuses Poor Maule of being a witch - he's murdered by the "judges" in Salem, and the land is turned over to Pycheon. Terrible. Maule's last words: "God will give him blood to drink". Of course, when Pycheon dies mysteriously in his home, and when he is discovered he has blood in his mouth. Where were the lawyers?  Where was the documentation of who owned the land?

While reading this part of the book, I attended work meeting with several individuals around the county to discuss a large fundraising event I'm helping to plan. In those meetings, we talked with people who founded/work for nonprofits in the area that promote land protection for the greater good. For example, one organization uses old records from the City of Salem to determine who the official owners of land are. One individual shared stories with us about families who were given land in the 1700s in a town north of here called Essex. The land was to be used as wood lots - it was too swampy to live on and too rocky to farm on. Assignment of the properties was completed, mostly, verbally and very few actual measurements were used. Families knew their land "ended at the big, overgrown tree", for example. As coal became a primary heating source in the 1800s, the woodlots became used less and less and the ownership became more and more murky. Now, in the 2000s, there are some parcels of land that should be taxed but sit empty, and it is unclear who owns them. So, this small nonprofit uses its resources to review old records in hopes of finding the families who own the parcels, and convince them to create a conservation restriction on the land - then the land can be used for trails and other public use.

As the woman from this small nonprofit explained this all to me, I couldn't help but think of Pycheon and Maule. Their story could never existed but for the distribution of land with little or no record and the increase in use of coal for heating.   As I sat in this meeting listening to this history of the region, I started thinking about how sometimes there are lessons in life that are so obvious and sometimes there are lessons in life that sneak up on us, and sometimes there are lessons that we learn without ever even really learning them.  It never occurred to the settlers around Essex that the woodlots would become obsolete some day so they never felt the need to document more clearly who owned them.  There was a sense of trust that we can not understand in our modern society.  Was it better to leave the land ownership up to interpretation and to trust your neighbors?  Maule would say "no", that's for sure.  Would Pycheon be so lucky with his witch accusation if there was a document showing Maule owned the land?  I think not.

Books & Graves: Little Women

A few weeks ago my little family found our way to Author's Ridge at Sleepy Hollow Cemetery in Concord, Massachusetts - the grave sight of the Alcott, Hawthorne, and Emerson families as well as Thoreau.   Just the name of the place gives me goosebumps.  So many incredible individuals buried all in one place.

Ok heart, stop pounding. 

This will be the first of several posts about this incredible place.  I'm starting with a childhood hero, Louisa May Alcott.

As we found our way to the cemetery, we drove by Louisa May Alcott's Orchard House and memories began pouring in.  I'm not from the Boston area and have yet to make my way into the house.  Alcott's vision of the importance of family and being an awkward outsider resonates with me today.   For those who don't know, Little Women is a coming of age tale of four sisters who live a genteel life in the mid-1800s.

My first memory was of sitting in the local library in the town were I lived as a child.  (Guys.  I grew up in a town so small that the library doesn't even have a website!  Here is their facebook page if you want to see one of the most beautiful buildings that ever existed:  https://www.facebook.com/FriendsoftheAdamsFreeLibrary ) It was after school one day, when I was maybe 9 or 10.   I was sitting in the children's section in one of the old wooden chairs that creaked softly as we sat down, as if saying, "Ohhhhh good! You're here!" with a friend.  She read Little Men and I read Little Women.  These were small board books, not the actual novels.  We loved them.  I remember sitting in that library in my squeaky chair smelling the smell of old books sitting with my sweet friend and reminiscing about Jo March and her sisters.  Their relationships with each other were so kind and loving - and the passion they had for family makes me teary today.  Even though each was so different - Meg is the "perfect little woman", Jo is a strong-willed individual, Beth is kind and gentle, and Amy is the vain and self-centered baby - they were each other's closest confidents and friends. 

Later, when I was in middle school, I read the novel itself.  Later that year, the movie - staring Clair Danes - came out.  I was eleven.  I was obsessed.  I related to the story of Jo even more now.  She had a strong willed attitude in a time when women were expected to be demur  - She was pretty bad ass if you asked me.  Her strength in believing in who she was even though others around called her a "boy" (albeit, lovingly) was empowering to an awkward, book loving, red haired, eleven-year-old with crooked teeth and a fast smile.  Jo was my hero.

Finally, high school.  In my junior year of high school I took an advanced writing course and an acting course, both with the same teacher.  His name was Mr. Roberts and I will never forget him.  Mr. Roberts was a plump, sassy soul and taught from his desk.  He rarely moved around, which in most cases, I would say might make him a terrible teacher.  Contrary.  He was one of the best teachers I have had yet.  I was excruciatingly shy in high school (I know you don't believe me.  It's true.  One year we all had to chose nicknames for each other and I was named, "She who does not speak."  Truth.) Mr. Roberts helped me learn that through writing I could be brave.  I learned to express myself in journals, studied poetry, and, back to the point of this post: I learned that there is more to writing than just what is written down. In Mr. Roberts class we learned about the transcendentalist movement, of which LMA was a part. Her works were more than just stories written for people to read.  In order for us to understand a piece of literature, we had to understand the context of the author's life.  Transcendentalists fundamentally believed that humans and nature are inherently good.  It was essential that individuals be self-reliant and independent, and that we do not simply follow doctrine and rules for the sake of order.  We had to become our own selves so that we could best contribute to "the community."  I realized then that Jo March wasn't simply an awkward teenager who didn't "fit it" with her sisters and peers.  She was trying to be her own person, and by doing so, she would become a successful career person and happy in her marriage - a contributing member of her community, and also very happy.  Jo's life, of course, doesn't simply have a happy ending because that's not have life is, really, but she is a good person trying to do good things.  Red-headed, crooked tooth, book nerd, shy me didn't have to play sports or wear name brand clothes.  I started spending time with people I met in French Club.  I even tried track (and fell. a lot.  but also laughed.  a lot.)   Jo March is my spirit animal.

So, visiting the grave of the creator of one of my first literary role models was an experience I will always place on list of "Woah.  I did that." moments.  And, I had my brave, bright, friendly little girl, L-Bear, with me.  She laughed and waved at strangers wandering by.  I felt so proud to be her mommy.  The pile of pens in front of Alcott's grave reminded me that, although sometimes we very very alone and scared and awkward, we are all simply trying to "be".  Trying to be ourselves.  Trying to be part of this community.  Trying to be an individual.  So, write.  Read.  Shave your head.  Dress like a man (or a lady).  Do whatever it is that makes you feel like you.  Make Louisa proud.  

Untitled by Anonymous.

Leering,

Leaching,

Loathing,

Life.

Compassionate, Optimistic, Gregarious,

Lost.

Seeking.  Searching.  Missing.

Hope.

Review: Devil in the White City by Eric Larson

Woah.  

I'm not even sure how to feel.  No mystery here - Larson puts it all out there.  This is a book about a serial killer and about the Chicago World Fair.  The writing was very conversational, which at times could be hard to handle... Especially when Larson described Holmes and his murders.  But... It also added to the creativeness of the book itself.  How better to describe the doings of a psychopath than my describing his activities in a very casual manner?  

Holmes was a terrible person.  The World Fair was a perfect back drop for this tale:  The juxtaposition of his cunning murders against the ambitions of the Fair's creators - for environmental awareness, American pride, economic stability - made for a perfect foil.  

Not my usual style of book, but very well done.  Glad it's over.  Might have nightmares... But definitely worth picking up.

Literary Travels

Recently, I was fortunate enough to find myself at a new place of employment.  I'm thrilled - I am now working as the fundraising and development person for a (very) small, local charity whose mission is to preserve the culture and history of the county in which I live. I will be spending my days cultivating donors, assisting with event planning, and sustaining relationships with the board and corporate donors.  Many of you know I live in Salem, Massachusetts - home of the Salem Witch Trials in 1692.  I didn't grow up here, but was drawn to the city because of its incredible history and its attitude about using that history to prevent such a horrific event from happening again. As I've spent more time here, I have also grown to know that Salem has a great maritime history. Museums all over town, and even our city logo portray this, and it's a great way to help the city become better known for something positive.

Since starting my new job, what I recently began thinking more about is the area's literary history.  I suppose it's well known that Thoreau's Walden Pond is nearby.  And that Nathaniel Hawthorne was born right here in Salem.

If you've been reading my few posts in the last year, you may know I bought a new house, had a baby, and got a new job.  I haven't had much time for blogging!  Now that things are settling down and no giant life changes are knowingly in my immediate future, I'm introducing a new blog segment.  We will be traveling around New England visiting the homes & graves of some of the famous authors in the area.  My hope is to involve my family a bit in my literary adventures.  My plan is to chose a New England author, read his or her book(s) - hopefully it's on my fantasy list! - visit the grave or homesite to take some pictures, then blog about the experience.  

To get started, I picked up Carved in Stone at my local book store, Wicked Good Books. I've always had a curiosity about gravesyards and the people buried there.  I'm excited to include my sweet baby and my love in this reading adventure, and I hope to post more frequently.  




*These images are not mine and I claim no ownership or rights to them. I googled and found two awesome shots of two incredible graveyards in Salem.  The B&W is an image of Broad Street Cemetary - which was in the backyard of the first apartment I had in Salem.  The second is Old Burial Point, which is where Nathaniel Hawthorne's infamous Grandfather Judge is buried. 

Monster High

About a year ago, while I was driving to work, I heard a radio spot about new dolls for girls.  These new dolls were called, "Monster High" dolls and were geared toward girls who might see themselves on a more "alternative" spectrum than their Barbie loving friends.  The dolls are dressed in various monster attire - a werewolf, a vampire, a witch.  

My kind of dolls. 

I couldn't wait to get home and look up these new, alternative dolls geared toward... Well... Toward young me.  A doll that wasn't really about fashion or dating?  A monster doll that could go on adventures traveling through realms or even through time?  Sign me up! 

The marketing manager at Mattel (manufacturer of the dolls), Cathy Cline, was interviewed for the radio spot: 

*The message about the brand is really to celebrate your own freaky flaws, especially as bullying has become such a hot topic.*

These dolls are being marketing in a way that says, "I stand out. It's OK that I am different.  

One doll, the vampire, is VEGAN.  A girl after my own heart. 

I got home and Googled. 

What a disappointment. 

Have you seen these "monsters"?  Let me describe them to you: They are anorexic looking "girls" in (pardon) stripper attire:  Mini-skirts, knee high boots, giant heads, knees that can't carry their "weight" and buckle as the doll "walks", giant (pardon) hooker lips, and more eyeshadow than, well, Barbie. 

So much for being alternative.  

Imagine yourself at your favorite big box store.  Imagine yourself in the toy aisles.  Now, imagine you need a gift for a friend's daughter's birthday.  How do you know what to buy?  You go to the aisle coded with pink princesses, hair & make-up supplies, baby dolls, cooking equipment.  Where are the science toys?  The carpentry toys?  The sports equipment?  Oh, those are in the boys' section.  

And now, you can feed into your insecure, non-pink liking, bullied child's issues by purchasing her a doll "like her" - buckled knees, big hair, and stripper boots at no extra charge.  

Recently, I picked up a book called "Redefining Girly".  My Huz gave it to me for my birthday.  The author, Melissa Atkins Wardy, takes the modern concept of "girly" (i.e., pink, sexualized, weak, princess) and calls it out as a marketing tactic helping toy manufacturers segment toys so that each family must have one for each "gender" specific item for the girls and one for the boys, thereby selling twice as many toys.  Wardy makes a point to emphasize that there is absolutely nothing wrong with wearing pink/liking princesses/whatever.  She wishes there were more of a selection, and I have to agree with her, especially when it comes to dolls like these. 

Marketers say it is innate that girls like these "pink" ways, and that they are just selling what girls want.  I don't think so. 

I'm frustrated that we segregate toys into "gender specific" categories. I'm angry that these "monsters" at sexualized versions of the creatures we all know.  I don't understand why girls have to decide between Barbie with her heels, a vampire dool in knee highs, or "boy" toys.  

What do you think?  Am I overreacting? 

http://www.npr.org/blogs/monkeysee/2013/07/17/202417282/KIDS-GOTH-BARBIE

Boston Strong: A Year Later

An entire year has passed since the Boston Marathon Bombings.  Hard to believe so much has happened since then.   

At the time this all happened, we were all scared, confused, and angry.  Now, because we are tough New Englanders with tough hearts we have picked up all of the pieces.  The Marathon is slightly later in the month this year, but it is happening all the same.  Everywhere I go I hear the phrase: "Boston Strong".  I keep thinking about the strength and resilience of all who were impacted.  The first responders who ran toward those who were hurt instead of away.  The police and government officials who shut down our city in order to protect it.  What an amazing place to live.  What amazing heroes I have all around me.  

I am still conflicted about the way we should handle the case for the terrorist who harmed so many people.  He is a young college student who, I believe, thought he was doing something to make the world right.  He thought he was making a statement about  how Americans treat the rest of the world.   It's sad that our world is so segregated, and that there is so much hatred for other people that causes so much self-destruction.  

My hope is that we continue to learn from this experience.   Let's keep talking about those who helped people who were missing limbs.  Let's keep talking about how resilient we are.  Let's keep talking about how we can interact with each other to make the world a better place to live.  

Here is last year's post from a bit after the bomber was caught.  I have tears in my eyes re-reading it.  As I wrote it I kept thinking about the fact that I was bringing  a sweet new baby into this world, and that I hoped I could teach her to always fight terror with love and to always have hope.  I think we can do that.  I know we can.  Because we are strong.  We are Boston Strong.  Good will always conquer all.  

http://nerdylooksgoodonyou.blogspot.com/2013/04/captured-hunt-is-over-search-is-done.html

Fairest of Them All

I have a vivid memory of playing with my sister in our "sky blue pink" bedroom with a bunk bed:  I, being the ever-bossy older sister, turned to her and said, "I am the princess.  You have to do what I say."   She, being the ever-clever younger sister, said, "I am the queen.  You have to do what I say." 

I was flabbergasted. 

I could not fathom anyone being more powerful than a princess.  How could that possibly happen?  She was right.  She secured her position as the queen and we proceeded in our attempts to climb though our full-length mirror, mimicking as much as possible Alice as she climbed through her famous looking glass. 

I was reminded of this memory this past Monday when I took L-Bear to a check-up.  When the nurse came in to weigh & measure my dark haired, bright green eyed, smiling baby, she smiled and stated, "She looks like Snow White!"  I loved this.  For me to have a classic storybook character look alike for a daughter is so perfect.  

Later, after the doctor came in to chat about introducing solids, the nurse was back.  This time L-Bear needed to get three shots. If you are a parent, you know this is a miserable experience. Each time L gets a shot, she looks up at me while I hold her and makes THAT sad face that says, "Why are you doing this to me!?" then cries.  It's awful.  Well, this time, the usual face was presented.  She looked up at me.  Whimpered a little.  I reminded her that I was proud of her for being brave.  Then, something surprising happened:  L-Bear smiled at the nurse. It was as if she was thinking, "I know this hurts, but I am brave and I understand."  

The nurse paused, then smiled at me and said, "Pretty and brave.  Little Snow White."  

I was so proud. 

Because of the Disney version of this fairy tale, I think we sometimes forget earlier versions.  Snow White's life was so hard.  Her mother died.  Her father's new wife hated her.  A hunter tried to kill her. But, after using her wits to convince the hunter to let her live, instead of feeling sorry for herself, she found a new life with people who cared about her.  She created a happy existence for herself - became one with the natural world around her.  

I know what you're thinking - true love's first kiss saved Snow White after she, naively, ate a poisoned apple given to her by a disguised evil queen.  Do you really want L-Bear to grow up as a damsel in distress, waiting for a Prince?

You are mistaken, my friend. 

In Grimm's version, based on oral tales of the centuries, there is a prince. And there is an apple.  And the sweet trusting Snow White was tricked.   True Love's first kiss didn't save Snow White, though.  The Prince and his fellow travelers came upon Snow White in her glass coffin, and seeing how beautiful she was, decided to bring her back to his home for a proper burial.  In doing so, the coffin was dropped, the apple was dislodged, and Snow White awoke, ever grateful.  

The Evil Queen, you ask?  She, still "green with envy", attended Snow White's wedding.  While there, "iron slippers had already been put upon the fire, and they were brought in with tongs, and set before her. Then she was forced to put on the red-hot shoes, and dance until she dropped down dead." 

Yup.  Good wins again.  Snow White's ability to believe in the goodwill of human-kind enabled her to thrive, even in the worst of situations.  Her ability to trust and to continue living with a heart full of love and hope, enabled her to push through her darkest days, and find true happiness.  

So, when I think back to these early days on L-Bear's life,  I will always remember her as my sweet, brave Snow White.  Smiling through hard times, knowing sometimes life is hard, but always remembering to keep love and hope at the forefront of her being.  

Read Instead?

As you know, I'm all about reading.  I love an interesting fiction story and I love reading biographies about my "heroes" (more on that next week).  One aspect of reading I sometimes struggle with is the "Read Instead" concept.   For a long time, I didn't have cable.  I used my computer to catch up on current events and I had a roommate who worked at Blockbuster so we always had movies around to watch should the feeling strike us.   When I moved in with my Huz in 2007, I "upgraded" and we have had cable since.  Now I have shows that I greatly enjoy, and often they fit into the same genres as my favorite books - "documentaries" about mermaids, weekly series about fairy tale characters who live in modern Maine, and quirky movies and shows with sci-fi themes.   What I wanted to talk with you about today is the idea that - aside from the terribly annoying commercials that always seem to be never ending - I think I've decided that maybe television isn't so bad.  

Bear with me.

This change of heart really stems from the availability of commercial free Netflix and other streaming availability.   I hope we continue down this avenue and that our "shows" become more widely distributed without the commercial breaks.  It seems our lives are constantly more and more commercialized and I can't help but wonder if we will finally reach a point where we all say "STOP.  NO MORE!".  I really think we will, and I think it will be soon.  Personally, I've stopped watching certain shows because of annoyingly obvious product placement.  Perhaps I'm not the audience most commercials strive to entertain, anyway, because I buy most of my clothes from consignment stores and find my music on Spotify and Pandora (and often mute the commercials)... but it is easy for me to block out those screaming announcers who want me to purchase whatever it is they think I must have. 

You may be thinking - "But all of those Netflix shows are funded by product placement!".  I know, I know... but it feels better to be marketed to in a way that let's me decide I want to be more like Claire Underwood and her cool, modern, sense of style and well-organized office so I might as well buy an Apple computer!    Oh wait, I don't want to be like Claire... I do still love my Macbook, though.  I digress.

So, back to this "Read Instead" phenomenon.  Let's forget commercials for a minute.  Let's pretend they don't exist, and forget that the reason people make television shows is to make money.  Instead, let's think about why we enjoy television: We like to escape from our stressful lives for a little while.  We like to learn about ideas or concepts completely unknown to us.  

Those are the same reasons I read books.  

I'm not saying we should all stop reading.  I'm not saying that television should replace my beloved favorites - Poe, Gaiman, Barrie, Martin.  What I hope to convey is that maybe we can supplement our reading habits with other opportunities.  We can use television to learn and to take a break for a while.  

So, maybe instead of "Read Instead", we should really "Read" (at all) and "Watch Sometimes". 

Faith, Charity, Love

When I first began this post, I planned to write a breakdown of everything "wrong" about St. Patrick's Day and share the old fables about this man we celebrate every March 17.  As I began writing, I realized such a post is against my belief that believing in magic makes it real. 

So, instead, I wish you all a beautiful day full of rainbows with pots of gold at the end, leprechauns granting you everything your heart can desire, and all the cabbage you want to eat.  

Happy St. Patrick's Day.  May you be in heaven a half hour before the devil knows you're dead.