3:10 p.m. - 2003-08-19
Trip Up North
I just got back from New Hampshire/Baltimore/Chincoteague and I'm completely discombobulated. So here, in no special order whatsoever (forget chronological - ya'll are lucky to even get any sort of entry at all!) are the highlights of the trip:

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Bruce's reunion with his college/young and crazy political activist buddies at Chincoteague was amazing. It was even amazing for me, and I hardly know most of these people. There were folks Bruce hadn't seen for many, many years, and they greeted each other with the most wild excitement. Talk about a tribe!

According to Bruce, no one had changed that much.

There was some amazing food cooked by rotating groups of whoever felt like cooking, and somehow it all got cleaned up by rotating groups of whoever felt like cleaning up. There was a boat ride around the island with the wind whipping in our faces, and long talks with people about what they have been doing for, oh, say the last twenty years.

Bruce and I pulled the "crow's nest", a room of wrap around windows with a fantastic view from the third floor, for our accomodations. I think the theory behind this was that it wasn't air conditioned and being from Alabama we could handle the heat. But it really wasn't that hot, and I wound up feeling really spoiled by the insanely beautiful view.

Sadly, Chincoteague also has a population of stray cats, most of them left behind by summer tourists. This kind of distressed me, although there are some very active animal rescue groups there. But you know me. I just gotta' worry about those kitties.

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From there, on to Baltimore.

Bruce's Dad and stepmom Allaire were in really good spirits. There was a dinner at a fabulous Vietnamese place, and Bruce's dad very good naturedly took him to a park where he could look for fish. Allaire took me to a ritzy craft store where I oogled all the fabulous jewelry and we had this long and very interesting talk about all sorts of family stuff.

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Got to New Hampshire and immediately got hit with the fact that my parents are getting older. My mom has been struggling with arthritis and she looked terrible, walking with a cane and unable to grip things because her hands are so swollen. She really scared me.

The day after we got there, though, she went to see a new doctor. I was expecting the worst, because my mom is not the most compliant patient. She's an old tough Yankee lady who worked as a nurse for years and she basically has no use for most modern medicine. Surprisingly, though, she liked her new doctor immediately, and actually proceeded to go through with the tests that were ordered and she even took her medication.

Result: a couple of days later she looked 100 times better. I'm still worried though. She is, after all, 76 years old.

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My Mom: "Oooooooooh Myyyyyyyy Gawwwwwwd!!!! There's no power in New York!! Or Connecticut!!!!!"

My Dad (with a goofy, lop-sided smile): "Who gives a damn?! We're in New Hampshire!!"

We actually found out about the power outage while with Sarah and Ted, who live in the Hyde Park section of Boston. They even turned on CNN for us, so we could get the full story. And then we went and ate delicious barbequed tuna and chicken and talked about how much Boston has changed.

It has changed, too. The next day I went to the Trident, one of my old haunts on Newbury Street, and found that Eggs Benedict and a soda cost $15 bucks. A year ago I had the same thing for $7. I was startled by the affluence all around me. Aren't we supposed to be in terrible economic times?

The answer, of course, is that the rich are getting richer and the poor are getting poorer. Way poorer.

On the way back we stopped for the night at a little town in Virginia. In the morning Bruce went to a gas station for a cup of coffee and heard two men talking about how the last business in the downtown area had just closed. And how there were no jobs to be had anywhere, except perhaps, the local mill.

It just sickened me. The huge gap between the classes is getting to be a festering sore. I did have some hope went people were starting to talk about class warfare a few months ago, but that seems to have drifted away.

Sigh.

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Oh, I forgot the biggest and most amazing highlight of the trip. Well, besides seeing Gregg, George and Miguel at the Middle East.

Bruce and I went to Lyndeboro, NH to look at the cemetary there and try to find my great-great grandfather's grave. Across the street is the house he died in, which was owned by his nephew. I've always wanted to go knock on the door of this house, but I'm just too damn shy.

The Universe must be getting tired of my wallflower tendencies, though, because this time, as we were wandering through the graves, a man came out. He asked us who we were looking for and we explained my family. He looked interested.

"My mom bought the house in 1959 from your great great grandfather's nephew!" he burbled. "I even met him a couple of times! He was an agrarian idealist - you know, one of those Thoreau types! Why don't you come in? My mother can tell you all about him!"

He brought us into the house - the house my great great grandfather had spent the last years of his life in - and introduced us to his mother. She was a classic no nonsense Yankee lady, and listened with sharp intensity to my recitation of my family tree.

When I was finished, she waited for a minute, and then dropped a bomb. "Young lady, I have your great great great grandparent's marriage certificate."

She did, too! My 3rd great grandparents were married in Kinghorn, Scotland in 1843, and she had their certificate in a box, along with numerous family photos (some of people I recognised!!) and some other wedding certificates, obituaries, legal notices, etc, that my great great grandfather's nephew had left behind. It was astounding, and cleared up some mysteries that have been puzzling me for ages!

I hesitated to take the box, since it had come with her house. She insisted, though. "I've been waiting for years for you to come. I always knew someone in the family would want these things. I've just been keeping them for you."

And the cool thing was, as we were leaving she told me her lineage, as though recognising me as a fellow Yankee. It's hard to explain this, but there are certain old New Hampshire families that recognise each other as being "real Yankees", as distinct from the "newcomers", ie: those families who have lived in New Hampshire less than say, oh, about 100 years. On my mom's side I am definately eligible for "real Yankee" status, and it was sort of cool to have this real old Yankee matriarch acknowledging me as such.

Of course, it also means she expects I will grow into a classic "old Yankee lady" - the type of cranky old crone who screeches at small children and saves everything from elastic bands to old glass jars. But I think I can handle that.

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And there was the dinner at the Middle East. It hasn't changed too much, except the food cost about two dollars more per entre and the place looked like it had recently seen a mop.

We amused everyone passing by by taking numerous goofy photographs out front before we went in. And then, after we ordered food it was a fabulous gossip session! Once again I forgot to ask Gregg if I could see her engagement ring.

Sorry, Gregg.

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Best souvenier of the trip? Ummmmmm, difficult question. I got some fabulous beads at a little bead store in Wilton, NH. And a shirt for free (because it had big stains on it - I'll dye over them) at a Nepalese store on Newbury Street. And Bruce got me a huge encyclopedia of herbalism, and a French graphic novel calle "Epileptic 1" from Flyrabbit, my favorite store in Boston.

Donna, they also had a coffee table book on the crypts of Palermo! You would have loved it! Who can resist a mummified body?!

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