Each time I return to New Hampshire, I fall in love with it all over again. Sadly, however, my time here is coming to an end for this visit. Tomorrow I fly back to Washington and return to my non-holiday life. It had to happen sometime.
In last week’s post, I was all over the natural beauty of New Hampshire. There’s no doubt about it, the place is gorgeous. And while its pretty face is its best feature, it is simply the gateway to everything else that the state has on offer. At the top of that list is freedom. The state’s motto, Live Free or Die, is as meaningful to today’s residents as it was for those who lived here when New Hampshire became a state in search of a motto.
Don’t quote me on this, but I believe I read that New Hampshire was voted the #1 state for freedom on a recent quality-of-life survey. If true, it couldn’t happen to a nicer state. In addition to the live-free-or-diers who populate New Hampshire, there’s a whole group of liberty lovers moving here, if not in hordes, in a steady stream, to be among other freedom lovers. All of that movement is thanks to the Free State Project. You can read all about when the group formed and why, but in essence, a bunch of libertarians decided that New Hampshire would be a great place to create a liberty community. I was one of those libertarians and an early mover. We were a trickle at first, but 20 years later, the trickle is now a steady stream, except in summer, when the banks threaten to overflow.
It’s been good this week to mingle among free minds and spirits, if only for a wee pick me up. Sometimes it’s just nice to talk about Ron Paul.
You might be wondering if I love New Hampshire so much, then why did I leave?
It’s the cold. The kind of cold that goes right to the bone, which I find unbearable. It drove me away. I was reminded of such a couple of days ago, when the temperature dropped below freezing and hasn’t budged since. So cold that now, on my daily walk, I can see the ponds* have frozen over, like little skating rinks. While stopped to enjoy this little piece of nature, a stiff, frigid breeze blows through my coat and down my neck and goes right to my bones. Brrr.
That’s why I left. But no matter where my physical bones lead me, my heart always remains in New Hampshire.
*In the South, we call them swamps. In New Orleans, ponds are what form in the potholes when it rains.
I expect the question on your mind ever since my post last week is how did the six-person, one-bathroom thing work out?
Honestly, far better than I expected. At one point before post-Christmas Christmas arrived, I thought the situation might call for a chamber pot under every bed. Seriously, I did. As it turns out, we haven’t needed any, and just as well, because where in all of creation was I going to find a chamber pot or two or six on Christmas Eve?
One of the coolest things about New Hampshire is it is full to the brim with picture postcard scenes all year – but perhaps winter is best of all when a shimmering moon glistens on a blanket of newly fallen snow. Quintessential New England – my home for 25 years, eight of them in New Hampshire. But there’s no quintessential falling from the sky this week, so you will have to imagine white where it is green.
What we lose in snow we gain in not having to shovel. Which gave us plenty of time to spend on other kinds of holiday exercise, namely getting the Christmas tree to stand up, decorating it without knocking it over, wrapping presents, hunting for bedsheets, and an assortment of other housewifely duties. In a cause for great joy, it all got done in time for the arrival of our son and his family from Akita, Japan. It’s been two long years since I’ve seen them, so this time together is ever so special. Precious time.
No question, the gathering of family over the holidays is by far the best part of Christmas. Second best: the lights. All the rest – the food, the presents, the music, the snow – it’s all filler. As for the lights, I get my fill every year, randomly driving around streets in town oohing and aaahing to my heart’s content. Top of my list this year is the humungous display put on by Tulalip Casino in Washington. Acre upon acre of lights. Tons of wattage, and simply a feast for the eyes. Here in our neck of the New Hampshire woods, a little less ostentatious.
I wish you all a splendiferous new year. Keep the joy forever in your heart, and peace, and love, and all that good stuff.
And for our musical interlude this week, Lloyd George …
I am going bi this Christmas. Bi-coastal, that is. Grandma is on the move.
We celebrated our pre-Christmas Christmas yesterday with my daughter and family out here on the West Coast. As far as pre-Christmas Christmases go, this one was perfect – no calories involved, just simply the exchange of gifts – no fuss, no muss. Which isn’t my motto, but I’m working on it.
Tonight I fly off to the East Coast on the redeye, landing in Boston tomorrow morning before sunrise, then watching the sun come up on the bus trip up to New Hampshire.
It’s hit the ground running for Grandma: three days until our post-Christmas Christmas, this one with my son and his family who will arrive in very post-Christmas fashion late on the 26th, in time for post-Christmas Christmas on the 27th. And we’re all bunking in at Grandpa’s for the hols. Six people, one bathroom, how great is this going to be?
Here’s where things stand. Our production team, which consists of Grandma and Grandpa, and our collective Done list and To-Do list:
Done: 1) Turkey is thawing in the fridge. 2) Christmas tree is on the porch waiting to come inside. 3) Presents ordered from Amazon sitting there waiting for me to …
To-Do: 1) Wrap them. 2) Put up the tree and decorate it and the house. 3) Reconfigure furniture so it all fits. It can be done. 4) Make grocery shopping list for everything but the turkey. 5) Go shopping. 6) Baking – don’t even mention it. 7) See the Bob Dylan movie. 8) Sleep, preferably before or after the movie.
If I sound a bit stressed, really I’m not. I’ve got three 24-hour days to get it all done, and look at you, if your eyes are on this on Monday morning, you’ve only got two days left. I’ve got it easy.
Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah everyone!
It wouldn’t be the holidays without Darlene Love …
For those of you who have followed me over here from Facebook, welcome to my little corner of the internet. A few weeks ago, finally freed from the time-hog of writing a book, one of the first things I wanted to do was get social. Writing a book is a solitary endeavor, no getting around it. There is absolutely no time for socializing. Seven years, and I purposefully made no new friends. Because if you have a friend, you inevitably will spend time with that friend. And if you’re spending time with that friend, who’s writing the book?
“They,” those know-it-all “theys,” say that it’s good to take a break now and then, refresh, reinvigorate; but I write slower than molasses, and I need every minute I can get. My social life for seven years consisted of hanging out with my characters, living my life vicariously through them. So when the book was done (well, draft one, at least), it was time to broaden my horizons, at least socially. And so for the first time since joining Facebook way back when, I now read my Newsfeed. Boy, people are busy, aren’t they? I’ve posted in the past – trip to here, trip to there, grandbabies, concert this and sunset that, and that was it. I joined Facebook to be where my kids were (how socially aware is that, I ask). They have both long moved on to the next thing and then the thing after that, while I remain, taking my sunset photos.
But now, in addition to posting photos of this and that, I am very socially active and hearting this and liking that and hugging the other.
That’s all well and good, but it’s not fulfilling my social needs. I like to talk and I like to write, which is so not Facebook. But I can do that here. And while writing a blog is a lot like talking to oneself, if you, dear reader, sign up to follow me and later find a reason to comment now and again, I’ll talk to you too.
Every Monday morning, I’ll be in your inbox, being sociable. Bonus: Each blog features a song from my Top 100. This week, Joan Armatrading …
When your year starts off in Hawaii, you know the next twelve months are going to have to be pretty spectacular to beat that. Actually, the year was shaping up to be a good one – daughter Bridget’s bachelorette party in New Orleans in March, and her fairytale wedding in Ithaca in July. But I get ahead of myself. Let’s go back to January to the beach in Hawaii.
The Japanese half of the family met up with the American half smack dab in the middle – or as close as we could get if were to meet on land – in the beach town of Kailua on the island of Oahu. We took side trips to the north of the island, famous for its waves, and Honolulu and Waikiki, but most of the time was family time, eating and playing and the usual family fun. You know.
Kailua
Waikiki
As vacations go, best ever!
Back on the mainland, life returned to normal, and the month ended on a high note, out to see Dave Jordan at the Ogden Museum. Jordan has been playing for years but was under my radar until local radio station WWOZ put his latest album, Burning Sage, in the rotation. I liked what I heard, so I was keen to see him, and was not disappointed. Here’s Tucumcari Tonight from the new album.
February slid in with a Super Bowl party over at my cousins’, and keeping to the “watching TV” theme, the next week was the Oscars. Normally, I wouldn’t watch them – it’s no fun if you haven’t seen any of the movies, which is me to a T. If it’s not on Netflix, I haven’t seen it. But this year was different. In October last year, my girlfriend Celeste came down for the New Orleans Film Festival, and we went for the whole deal – minus the gala dinners and hob-knobbing – so we ended up seeing a lot of movies, and some of them ended up with Oscar nominations. Reflecting on that now, I wonder what the 2022 Oscar ceremony is going to be like … but, hey, that’s for next year’s letter.
Mardi Gras parade season got down to serious business February 16, culminating on Mardi Gras Day, February 25; and in between those two dates, it’s all parades and partying. I have learned to pace myself, and some days that actually works. This year Dennis came to town, and we sent him home with a lot of killer Mardi Gras schwag. The day after Mardi Gras – Ash Wednesday – was a full day of NOLA MUST DO items, starting with church service at the iconic St Louis Cathedral on Jackson Square in the French Quarter. The place was standing room only, everyone come for the ashes and maybe a bit of repentance. As we stood cheek by jowl, no one – well, at least not me – was thinking about COVID-19. Next on the NOLA MUST DO list was $20.20 lunch at Antoine’s. That’s their thing. Next year it will be $20.21. Who says there isn’t inflation?
The next day, we headed up the mighty Mississip to the Whitney Plantation. Unlike most plantations, which focus on the plantation owners’ houses, the Whitney tells the plantation story through the lives of the slaves. February also saw the French Film Festival come to town, so checkmark all over that! And to close out the month, dinner at my favorite restaurant, Jacques Imo’s, followed by what turned out to be my last live show of the year, Jon Cleary & The Absolute Monster Gentlemen at the Maple Leaf. A little Jon Cleary, if you please.
March came in with a bang – first my friend Celeste arrived, fresh from Ecuador – and we settled down to some serious foodie activity, starting with another NOLA MUST DO restaurant, Sweet Soul Food. Their bread pudding is to die for. That, as it turns out, is a typical refrain in NOLA. But I’ll save all my gushing over bread pudding for another time. On the heels of Celeste’s arrival, daughter Bridget arrived with the girls in her wedding party, ready for her bachelorette party, New Orleans style. She couldn’t have chosen a better place to hold it. Better yet, I had no responsibilities other than to show up for the food and drink, and I passed that test with flying colors. I got to meet the in-laws for the first time, too, spending quality time with Joyce and Haskel out on the town.
On March 10th, the last of the bachelorette party flew home, and on March 11th, I went into lockdown. And all around me, the city shut down.
For a while there, my major (only) social event of the week was grocery shopping with the seniors at 7 in the morning. But having nothing else to do besides buying food is just what I’ve needed. It’s meant a lot more uninterrupted time to write my book. And that’s what I’ve been doing the past nine months, sitting at my laptop, writing away. I suspect that’s where I’ll be throughout 2021, and 2022, and 20…
Remember when YouTube first showed up and it was the best thing ever? Well, these days, best thing ever is FaceTime and Zoom, for all the quality time I get to spend with family and friends, not to mention violin recitals and weddings (yes, Bridget and Justin had their Zoom wedding in May!). There is so much to be grateful for this year, but like most people, I am definitely looking forward to what next year has in store.
All my best wishes to y’all for the new year!
Shannon
P.S. If you want to receive my very irregular posts, go ahead and add your email under the Follow Me button up there on the right. I don’t anticipate an onslaught of posts happening, but one never knows.
You know, I am generally pretty good about keeping my promises. But apparently not perfect. Just moments ago I read my previous blog post, which dates all the way back to the end of 2016. I made a few promises in there about all these blog posts I’d be writing momentarily, and wouldn’t that be fun!
As we can see, that never happened. What happened instead is I began writing my book. In Earnest. Actually, in New Orleans, Louisiana. Making this story short, on your behalf, at some point very early on, I realized how much work it is to write a book, in this case, a historical novel of saga proportions. I knew that was going to be true going in — I’d learned that lesson when I wrote the Astral Weeks book. But just let’s say I was reminded of that lesson. Only this time, 10 times worse, because this book is big, at least in terms of words. And the very short of it is I adopted my favorite Edna Ferber anecdote, which was, and I paraphrase, she is sitting at her upstairs window, type type typing away at her current script and looks out the window to see these lovely brawny young men working on her landscaping. She thinks she maybe should go down and help them out, being cordial and all. Then Edna, the wise one, says to herself, “If you’re going to be a writer, write. If you want to be a gardener, garden. You can’t do both.” So for every time I came up with a splendid idea to blog about, I’d chastise myself with a “No dilly dallying, sistah, you’ve got a book to write, and no one else is going to do it for you.” At this point, I figure the book is going to take me 10 years to write. I hope it’s less, but I’m inclined to think I might be underestimating. So that’s my excuse for not blogging this time. I’ve had years of experience making excuses, but this one, I gotta say, is my best excuse yet.
Que pasa? Escribiemo un libro. And that’s how I’ve spent the Trump years. I tuned him out the minute he showed up. I had already done the same for Hillary long before, so whoever won was going to go ahead and do whatever big government thing they wanted to do, and they weren’t asking me for my input. So politics doesn’t really interest me anymore. I’ve kind of opted out of all that. Perfect time to write a book!
Based on what I said earlier — the no blogging while writing the book – you’d easily come to the conclusion that if I am blogging now, I must have finished the book, right? You’d be wrong on that.
My book is intended to be in four parts. Last week, I finished writing Part 1. That’s meant a shift in gears … Part 1 is now out with my three readers, who have a gargantuan task ahead of them (but I’ll save that for another day – but remind me, OK, in case I forget?). The main thing for blogging purposes is that I am not writing the book this week, maybe I’ll take a couple of weeks off. So I can blog to my heart’s content. Ensconced in New Orleans during the Trump years – there was nowhere else I’d rather have been, and I’ve got lots to tell you about it. Stay tuned.
Bridget and I have been on the road for almost 10 months, and every day now, we are constantly aware of one thing – how free we feel. We can count up any number of ways we feel free, but at the bottom of it is that being on the road is what has set us free. I don’t think it’s the miles that we slice off, it’s really the idea of being wherever you want to be. Continue reading →
Hard to believe – 20 years Masscann has been hosting this rally on Boston Common. I’ve been to a couple of them over the years, but it’s been a long few since the last time. This was a good year to get down to the Common, for a number of reasons, among them that this was a milestone year for pro-potters — the Massachusetts legislature, for all its warts, did good on January 2, when it changed the possession laws in the state. It’s no longer a crime to be in possession of less than an ounce of marijuana. It’s a civil offense, mind you, but decriminalization is a good thing. Continue reading →
