Berlin (Day two)

Normally when I travel around the world I do something different for church on Sundays.  I believe that covetousness is a sin, but I have truly righteous envy of cathedrals and abbeys and all other religious places of worship that are old.  Mormon churches are beautiful and clean but so very practical.  When you’ve been in one, you’ve been in almost all of them.  Especially of late, the buildings all follow the same basic pattern.  There is comfort in predictability, but there’s also something about worship in an imposing space that changes the way I think about God.  I don’t know that I want to do it all the time, but when I’m in Europe, it’s my preferred way to worship. 

Today, though, is Father’s Day; my father served as a missionary here ages ago and was itching to go to the branch where he attended for nearly a quarter of his time in Germany.  I may (will probably) ditch the LDS services next week in favor of Salzburg Cathedral, but this week it seemed like the best choice was going with the family.  

I’m glad that we did.  This beautiful little building was full of people from varied walks of life.  There couldn’t have been more than a hundred or so people there, but we heard at least four languages out of the group (German, of course, but also French, Portuguese, and English.) One sacrament prayer was in English, the other in German.  One talk was in French then translated to German, another given in English and translated to German. A musical number was in English.  It seemed as though about half the branch were American, including six missionaries.  It was an excellent service, though, and I enjoyed it.  

The best part of our visit there was seeing some of our family friends from Iowa who were there as well (what are the odds?!), and meeting one of dad’s old friends from his mission who is serving as a counselor in the bishopric.  We also talked a bit with a man who told us the history of the building and reminded me so forcefully of my grandpa it was like he was there.  The more time I spend in Germany the more I feel I understand my grandfather.  He was not always an easy man to understand or to get along with - actually, most of the time he could be quite difficult to be patient with.  But he loved stories, and he loved to share his stories.  Don’t most people have a fundamental desire to share and to be understood?  We all do so in different ways.  Grandpa’s was through talking, and he especially loved doing so in German.  Long after he left his mission (even his second one), German was spoken in his home. He would video chat with German and Austrian friends regularly.  He had decorations around his home in honor of this country.  I wonder sometimes if he felt like he was better understood here than in America.  He was a true patriot, but I wonder if he felt more comfortable in the Alps than the Rockies in respect to his personality. 

If so, I know how he feels.  I love my country, but anyone who spends even an hour with me will probably realize quickly my deep and abiding love for England. 

Anyway.  Family musings aside, it was worth the effort to go to church this morning.  

Afterward we came back home to change and ventured out in search of some history.  It’s not hard to find in Berlin.  The city itself is soaked in what feels like four distinct eras: Pre World War II, During World War II, during the Wall and after the Wall.  Everywhere you turn are memorials and reminders of each of these periods.  

We started today primarily focussed on Berlin during the War by visiting the Topography of Terror museum.  Located where the SS used to keep their records, this building outlines how the politics of the Nazis functioned - what laws and cultures and traditions were carried out in order to achieve the goals of the party.  Most museums on the War are a bit more broad than this, but this museum focuses pretty tight on the Nazis themselves.  The open room of the main floor exhibit is full of hanging panels displaying information beginning with the official founding of the party in 1933 and ending more or less with the present day.  The panels themselves seem to sway since they are only anchored from the ceiling by wire, which means that reading the information makes you feel literally as well as symbolically sick.  

Given the state of world politics right now, it’s difficult not to see some parallels between what happened in Germany in the early 30s and what’s going on in society now, but there are also some significant differences that give me hope that we have grown as a society.  For example, the foundational principle of the Nazi party is that all men are not equal.  There was intense focus on getting rid of any danger to the “Volk community” to which everyone should belong.  Any non-conformity to the community was publicly shamed - there were pictures of women being shaved in town squares, for example.  Men standing on chairs with signs around their neck like Jane Eyre while she attends school.  Although we do see great societal pressure to conform, we also live in a time of reaction against conformity and celebration of minority groups over the majority.  The internet has helped give smaller factions of society unity and the government isn’t in the practice of casually humiliating the average citizen for being different.  That’s not to say that our laws are perfect and all government leaders free from bias, but there does seem to be a difference here. 

On the other hand, there was a common sentiment among the Nazi party that there was no room in the country for “useless eaters”.  It’s hard to ignore the debates going on all over the world right now of what to do for the poor, especially the refugees that are fleeing dangerous governments.  My heart breaks when I hear these individuals spoken of in such an attitude as this one.

There was a smaller and temporary exhibit on the way that the Nazis used Martin Luther as the example of the best German.  Luther was, admittedly, an anti-Semite.  There are records of his calling for the burning of Synagogues (something the Germans took to quite literally on Kristallnacht, held, incidentally, on Luther’s birthday), but Luther on the whole was a man who fought passionately for people to worship more freely within Germany.  I’d never heard of the new Nazi-Protestant/Catholic hybrid that was created once the Reich began - there were even crosses with the swastika emblazoned on them. Hitler once declared Jesus as the “greatest Aryan of all time” which is utterly mind boggling to me, given that he was not in any definition Aryan.  (The benefit of this information is that now I’ve seen this document, I can quite literally the alt right Christians who want to establish some kind of white power movement on the foundations of Christianity that it is quite literally something Hitler would say.)

Side note: Jared is still on a complete pun roll, but so many of them were said today in the Topography of Terror that were definitely not for the internet.  Don’t get me wrong - some of them were crazy funny - but in the off chance that he ever applies for a job or public office, he’d probably be happier if that information didn’t follow him around.  He did have one particular gem while we had lunch today, in which he declared his bratwurst the “brat best”.

After the Topography of Terror we wandered around the Brandenburg Gate and Reichstag areas.  The Brandenburg Gate is a huge tourist destination, of course, but I find it a rather sobering one.  The first time I went was with family members who talked of their time in East Germany when they would only be able to approach so close to the Gate and attempt to see the beautiful cars driving in West Berlin.  My dad was particularly taken by the Gate, given that he never thought he’d be able to walk so freely around it.  Now it’s a haven of embassies (including the US) and other activities. Today we saw an imitation Mickey Mouse begging for change and pictures (who would remove his head to get a water break every five or so minutes in the heat) and a circle of people meditating.  I don’t know how they manage to reach any benefits of meditation there - it’s so crowded that anyone who actually can meditate in such a place must be truly a master.

The Reichstag was damaged during the war and re-built with much more glass later on.  The glass surrounding the Parliamentary chambers and the dome above it are said to represent the transparency in this new German government, something that seems to be going well.  Keep in mind that it’s only been 28 years since the wall came down and Germany is already bailing out the rest of Europe again.  The Germans have never been content to sit back and watch the world develop. They’ve always been so active on the world scene. 

Our last major stop for the day was back to the Kudamm where we briefly visited the Gedachtniskirche (another war casualty church that’s been rebuilt) and the Kathe Wolfhart Christmas shop.  I went to the one in Rottenburg ob de Tauber ages ago and have been jealous of one of the ornaments my friend Nicole got ever since.  They didn't have that ornament (grr), but I did pick up a few others that I’m happy about.  Christmas ornaments are some of my favorite souvenirs because they are inexpensive and bring back memories of a good trip each year.  This trip is shaping up to be a particularly memorable one. 

Tomorrow we head off to Spitzkunnersdorf where we may be off the grid for a while until we head into Austria.  Spitzkunnersdorf is quite rural and the last time I stayed there my internet access was severely limited.  If you are actually reading these (hey, thanks!), you may not hear from me again until Thursday night or Friday.  For now, I’m ready to collapse into bed.  It may only be 9:00 here, but we’ve got an early train to catch into Dresden. 

Europe Trip Day Two: Berlin

Today is a testament to the amount of crazy you can fit into one day.  It started with the realization at the Stanstead Airport that although we had checked into our Ryanair flight already, the app doesn’t pull up your boarding passes for you (like every other airline app. . . ) For that we’d need the internet.  So we connected to wifi and found that the link didn’t work to pull up boarding passes.  So we got in the line for people who didn’t have boarding passes printed.  Then a man called everyone going to Berlin to queue in another line that was supposed to be faster since our flight was leaving within the next hour and a half.  The line wasn’t faster, and because we didn’t have our boarding passes, we had to queue in yet another line for customer service to get our passes printed at 15 GBP a person. (Special shout out to the friendly gent who let us connect to his mobile hotspot to attempt to pull up the passes.  Surprise surprise, the link still didn’t work on the Ryanair website.)

Fearing that we’d miss our flight, we found the man who’d called us over to the “shorter” queue to explain our plight.  He pulled us to the front of the queue, examined the phone, then asked the customer service desk to print our passes free of charge (YES.) and sent us off to security.  I don’t believe in three Nephite conspiracy stories, but I do believe in two Nephite conspiracies and if you were wondering, one of them is a 20 something metrosexual and the other an older bald man.

The fun continued with both of our bags being pulled to be searched (because iPads count as laptops now?) and then us having to haul ourselves through what felt like two miles of stores before we arrived at anything remotely resembling an airport.  We had to swim through clouds of Chanel No. 5 and piles of Toblerone just in time to make it to our gate (after a brief pit stop to the WC where dad realized that he’d put his trousers on over his basketball shorts that morning. Oops.)

The rest of the day has gone off more or less without a hitch.  Dad and I arrived about an hour before Jared, so we explored our street for a bit before meeting up with him.  After that we ran for a quick lunch and off to explore the town.  

Berlin as a city is so fascinating.  Few cities I’ve been to have quite such a dynamic history as Berlin, given that something like 80% of the city was destroyed in the war and had to be rebuilt (half of which under the influence of crippling communism).  As a city, Berlin is a study of great contrasts.  The city seems to examine itself from a slight distance, attempting as best it can to be objective and critical. 

One of the best examples of this openness to me is in the Jewish History Museum.  I came for a brief visit the last time I was here in 2013 and was so impressed that I suggested a second visit.  It doesn’t disappoint.  The museum itself doesn’t focus on a narrow Jewish experience but focuses on the history of Jews in Germany and religious cultural expression as a whole.  The museum itself is designed to tell a story, beginning with several arms of experience.  One for the Holocaust, one for exile, and a larger one for continuity that showcases the history of Judaism. 

As a Mormon, I feel a real kinship with the Jewish experience.  There are so many things about Jewish culture that I admire and respect and sometimes even envy.  One of my favorite exhibits this time around was a room discussing the reasons for and controversy behind religious clothing for women.  I have conflicted feelings about this within my own church - discussions on modesty are almost universally directed toward women, no matter what religion you are.  The restrictions of leadership and priesthood within the church are something I struggle with.  That struggle is something that is not just a Mormon struggle - women of many faiths are trying to find a way to balance their belief with potential patriarchal system struggles.  I related very much to this exhibit.  I too am a woman of faith.  I believe that I have found a religion that works for me, that brings me joy, that gives me fulfillment.  I also believe that we have a long way to go in our understanding of the role women play within the church and I hope to see a better dialogue about those roles in the future.

The rest of our evening involved primarily an enormous amount of walking.  We wandered down the Kudamm in search of dad’s old apartment from when he served here as a missionary.  We ended up walking from there back to our hotel (much longer than anticipated), and my step count for the day was over 20,000 steps, so I felt no guilt whatsoever in eating an ice cream.  I am exhausted.

Jared’s Pun Glossary for 17 June: 

“I Kantstrasse enough how happy I am to be here with you two.  Glossary that shiz.”

Dad: “It was the Hitler show.”  Jared: “Was it a big hit?”

“I fell in Loooouvre with Paris.”

(Re: the Jewish History Museum) “It doesn’t Holocaust that much. (Pause) Too soon?”

(At the Jewish History Museum) “They sell Kosher gummy bears here.  Is that kosher?” Me: “Weak.” Jared: “Well, what did Jew expect?!”

At the picture of the pissour: “We don’t need another picture. That picture was definitely a number one

Europe Trip Day 1: A train, a plane, and some automobiles

Some of my first memories involve watching The Sound of Music.  I remember a light green pleated knit skirt I had that could pass for a sailor skirt and marching down the stairs in my house to the sounds of an imaginary whistle.  I remember having a great (if imaginary) fondness for schnitzel with noodles (something I wouldn’t actually eat until I was in my 20s.) I remember wanting nothing more in the world than to be Gretl.  (For some reason it was rarely Maria, it was Gretl.)

I think some of this love came naturally as a result of the general charms of the film and its easily singable score, but a good portion of this love was passed down to me because of my father.  

Dad served a mission for the LDS church in northern Germany in the early 1980s.  (“But The Sound of Music is set in Austria!” you say.  “I know,” I sigh. “But I was so young and they’re practically the same, right?”)

(If you just felt the earth shake, it was probably my grandfather’s ashes turning over in his urn.)

Regardless, my dad’s association with Germany and all German speaking countries along with the beauty of that movie made me really want to visit Europe from a young age.  And a few years ago, I was lucky enough to do just that.  With a few of my best friends, we took a boat down the Rhine, wandered around the Alps, drank the waters of heaven in Hallstatt, and explored Berlin.  It was a dreamy trip, but in the back of my mind I’d always imagined that the perfect trip to Germany (or any other German speaking place) would have to be with my dad, the one who introduced me to it all in the first place. 

Fast forward to November of 2016.  Fresh off a dream trip to England and a second dream trip to Boston, I wasn’t anticipating any major trips in my future - or at least not the very near future.  My love of travel is accompanied by a love for a healthy savings account and even with a decent stipend for taking on extra classes this last year, my plans for another European adventure were distant - maybe two or three summers away.  

Then my brother got accepted to a study abroad in Portugal and asked if I’d tour around Europe with him afterward.  And, well, it would be irresponsible not to, right? He couldn’t be left to wander amongst the jungfrauen all on his own! 

To be clear, that’s not to say that Jared isn’t totally capable.  He’s notorious in our family for wandering off somewhere only to have us find him in a panic while he asserts that he knew exactly where he was.  This has happened in Arlington National Cemetery (we had the police hunting for him), Xel Ha (an outdoor water “park” in Mexico that’s really just a semi-lifeguarded jungle to swim in), and the first time I went to the temple with him (where I waited outside the dressing room for half an hour thinking he’d want help finding where he was going only to have him come down the stairs and ask if I needed help.)

No, no - Jared could totally manage Europe on his own.  But SHOULD he? No way.  When your sibling asks you to go to Europe, YOU GO TO EUROPE. 

We started planning.  Initial plans were varied and grand with him wanting to see pretty much anything and me wanting to see places I hadn’t seen yet, we tentatively settled on a bit of time in England but with time concentrated on the Benelux and Germany. 

Germany.  

That’s when dad’s ears perked up.  While we were planning over Christmas, pouring over guidebooks and websites and making lists of possibilities, dad’s creative wheels started to turn too, and by the end of the week, he decided that he wanted to come too.  Once that piece of the puzzles was settled, the rest of the trip fell easily into place. Dad hasn’t been back to Berlin since his mission in the early 80s, when Western and Eastern Berlin were still a thing.  We had to go back.

I think he felt a little guilty at first.  I could be wrong (and since I’m guessing he’ll read this at some point, I’m sorry if I totally misrepresent you here!) but it seemed like he was worried about crashing the party or completely disrupting plans (with dad on board the Benelux became Germany/Austria/Switzerland), but truthfully, I was thrilled from the beginning.  You see, I think I got my cultural fascination from my dad.  That’s not to say mom didn’t contribute - sick days when I was a kid were cultural education days where mom introduced me to things like Sense and Sensibility and While You Were Sleeping and The Importance of Being Earnest, but it was my father who first took me to see a big Broadway show (Phantom of the Opera) and who spent so much time traveling for work when I was young.  I love my mother and I would love to go to Europe with her, but for some reason, I always thought of Germany as something I really wanted to do with my dad.  

I just never thought the stars would align like this, and certainly not this fast after another trip only last year. 

Even sitting in the airport yesterday I felt a bit like I do in theater when we haven’t done full hair and makeup yet and are only just getting fit for costumes.  It still feels like pretend.  I’d gone through all the motions of preparing for a trip but it felt so utterly bizarre to actually be going.  Plus, 90% of the travel I’ve done in the last decade of my life has been with friends, not family.  It didn’t fit the picture.  I still don’t think it’s hit me.  I see cars with drivers on the right side and do a double take.  

Even if it hasn’t “hit me” that I’m here and this trip is a reality and will be a reality for the next few weeks, I can’t think of a better place to be to figure it out.  One of the great side benefits of being a gainfully employed single woman is the chance to travel and I take as much advantage of that as I can.

I wish I had a camera on the two of us last night, though.  The seats on the plane were way more cramped than I remember and when I think something is cramped, it must be horrible for my dad.  We each took an Ambien to try to sleep but I’m not wholly convinced they weren’t total placebos, or at least that they didn’t cause some sort of restless leg syndrome, because the two of us (ok, I’ll take most of the blame here) were kind of a tossing and turning mess all night.  I vaguely remember dad pinning me down with my head on his lap in an attempt to calm me, and also vaguely remember him practically falling on top of me in that “nodding off” sleep way people have.  If you, whomever you are, die before I do - ask to see the tape.  I’m sure it’s a pretty fantastic dance.  Maybe if we’re lucky someone taped it and we’ll go viral online.

The rest of the day was mostly travel as well - jet lagged wandering through Heathrow, a long coach to the Stanstead airport, then a shuttle bus to our hotel.  We’re only here for a bit since we’re headed off to Berlin tomorrow morning at what I will affectionately call the “butt crack of dawn”.  As such, we got in, dropped our bags and went to get dinner (dad at McDonalds, which I thought was pretty funny after he watched The Founder on the plane. “That man is a schiester,” he said while eating his burger.) I went to a Marc's and Spenser fuel stop to grab a pre-made salad and some fruit (both of which were delicious.)

Now it’s off to bed for this night owl.  Dad is already asleep (he took an Ambien about five minutes ago and it seems to have worked better on him tonight than it did yesterday as he’s already snoring. Err. . . Definitely sleeping.  May the Ambien Gods smile so kindly upon me. 

Tomorrow: Berlin.

I Believe

My mom commented to me tonight that I'm a different person in conversation than I am online.  "I get why", she said.  "You're commenting on things you want to change in the culture around you, but you're more moderate than your liberal online persona."

I suppose that is probably accurate in many respects.  There are topics that I feel very passionate about and Facebook is a convenient way to comment on those topics.  Things like the rights of women, the challenges in the world of education, and the wish for more tolerance and love for those on the fringes of my culture are things that, at least in the Mormon world, make me fairly liberal. 

But I do also want to make something pretty clear (in case it isn't): 

I love the gospel of Jesus Christ.  I am grateful to belong to a church that draws me closer to God and gives me so much hope for the future.  I don't believe my church is perfect.  Its processes are carried out by imperfect people with imperfect perspectives in an imperfect world.  As a result, I have great sympathy for those who "wrestle with the angel" so to speak when it comes to the LDS faith.  I find myself wrestling with that angel over doctrines and cultural traditions that I don't understand too.  There are so many places where I long for greater knowledge or perspective or all out cultural shifting.  

For example: I wish that more women had spoken this weekend.  I wish that members of the general boards of the Relief Society/Young Women/Primary had been on the stand during the Women's Session.  I wish we had more knowledge and understanding of our Heavenly Mother and that she was spoken of more freely.  I wish we would stop that blasted "chewed up gum" metaphor lesson, or the "cockroach in the ice cream" metaphor.  I'd love to throw in more variety to our hymn book (can we please sing a nice spiritual sometime?)  I still wonder why men don't serve in the Primary Presidencies, women don't serve in Sunday School Presidencies, Young Women don't do Visiting Teaching and don't serve as ward greeters.  I wish we spoke more about how women use the power of the priesthood (since Elder Oaks clarified that we do, in fact, have that authority at least within the realm of our callings.)  I'd love to see a cultural shift when it comes to gender roles in the home. 

Etc. etc. 

The thing is, though, that even with this imperfection, I still believe that I am where I need to be, in a church that is right for me, and with a core doctrine that is beautiful.  At its best, Mormonism is stunning to me.  It is a message of love and service and forgiveness and purpose through and beyond this life that motivates me and fuels my desire to change the world.  I accept that the church as it stands is imperfect, but I also believe that the atonement of Christ will cover even those imperfections and that things that hurt or cause pain now will be healed in the future.  

For example: I believe that we will receive greater understanding about the roles of women in the eternal plan, and that those roles will be invigorating and powerful and beautiful.  I believe that the challenges facing LGBTQ members of the church will be addressed and that wounds will be healed more perfectly in the future.  I believe that there is a place for all of God's children at the eternal dinner table (so to speak).  I believe that people who say unkind things or exercise unrighteous dominion will grow and learn and that the atonement will heal those wounds too.  I believe that someday, I will get answers to all my questions.  I believe that the covenants I have made are sacred, that they help make me a better person.  I believe that God has led me to a place where I make a difference in the world, where I am doing good.  I believe that I have been protected, blessed, watched over through no accident or stroke of luck, but by the grace of loving Heavenly Parents.

In the mean time, I have been given too many witnesses of the beauty that does exist in this imperfect institution to turn my back on it when storms of doubt or frustration or all out bitterness toward policy or people come my way.  I believe what Elder Holland said this weekend - the church has need of every voice in the choir.  Even when I struggle or battle with things I don't understand, I am determined to hold on to what I know, what I have felt, what I believe, and wait patiently on the answers that are still dark.  

Finally, I know I have many friends here that are not Mormon, or are former members of the church, and in many ways antagonistic toward it.  Please know that I love and respect your decisions.  I need you and want you in my life.  Your perspectives and friendships have shaped my life and made it so much more beautiful.  Diversity of thought is a treasure to me, and the respectful discourse I have with so many of you is an enormous blessing.  I love you.

For those of you that are members of the church, I hope you were as inspired by conference this weekend as I was.  Let's keep pushing that stone of friendship and love and tolerance as far and as wide as we can.  Heaven knows this world we live in (both in and out of the church) could use an enormous dose of kindness just now.

I am a Woman

It's hard to distinguish between what is morally right and what is cultural tradition sometimes.  I find this particularly true just now as I contemplate what it is to be a woman - both personally and collectively.  Mostly I look around me in this world of marching and pussy hats and Facebook posts about the sanctity of motherhood and see so many sides that feel in conflict with one another about what a woman is, or what a woman should be.  What I find so bizarre about all this is that I don't see the need for this conflict.  It feels like both sides are pulling on false opposites.

All the same, it has me thinking - what does being a woman actually look like and feel like for me?  This is in no way an attempt to universalize the female experience, but for me - being a woman looks and feels a bit like this:

1. It feels like pencil skirts and hot red lipstick.  I have a mad obsession with fashion from the 30s-60s.  I hate wearing heels most of the time (I teach.) but when I get the excuse, man I love the way I look.  I'm a short, not terribly curvy girl, so the chance to show off my calves (that I am oddly proud of) is awesome.  What the rest of my body lacks in curves my lips make up for in spades.  I love the way I look in red lipstick.  A lot.  (I have a Lady Mary streak, ok?!)

2. It feels like a battleground.  Against people who dismiss contrary emotion as PMS.  Against those who seek to define how I define myself.  Who, for example, assume I will quit my job to raise my family (that I don't currently and may never have.)  Who assume that when I get married, I will move wherever my husband's job takes him and take his last name (because the possibility choosing not to marry/choosing to marry but not take a new last name is unfathomable.)  Against those who take to the internet in vicious "mommy wars" and seek to define the "right" kind of mothering.  Against media attention on the right kind of woman and wrong kind of woman.  Against religious culture on the right kind of woman and wrong kind of woman.  Against governments made up primarily of men who want to make laws dictating how women can or can't control their choices, especially when it comes to their own body.  Against myself and my own doubts on where the line between feeling inspired about something and being an all out rebellious sinner begins and ends.

3. It feels like an adventure. I grew up surrounded by a myriad of amazing female role models.  I had wonderful real women (my mom, my grandmothers, my aunts, a host of amazing teachers).  I had fictional women and girls (Anne Shirley, the March sisters, Hermione Granger, Winnie Foster, Fern Arable, Heidi, Sara Crewe, Mary Lennox, Wendy Darling, Harriet Welsch) who were strong and creative and determined in a huge variety of ways.  For my creative mind growing up, everything felt possible if I had enough nerve.  I still feel that way.  I've never felt limited in possibility by virtue of my gender.

4. It feels a little lost.  Looking at government representation, church representation, Biblical representation and seeing so few examples of women in leadership.  "But!" I hear.  "The woman is most powerful in the home!  That is where she belongs!"  "But!" The other side screams.  "What if that home is like mine?  What if it has no children?  No spouse?  What if it has those things and the woman has great talents and gifts to share?"  It feels tugged in frustrating directions and obligations.  It feels confused about what is culture and what is doctrine.  (Is a woman's place in the home because Puritan tradition has always said that to be so, or because that is what God wants?  Because if that's what God wants, I'm definitely not interested in spending eternity in a maternity ward, any more than I'm interested in sitting around playing the harp forever.  And if I'm not happy with that vision of eternity, is that because I'm sinful and can't see the truth and beauty of that existence, or because the vision and culture that suggest it are flawed?)  It is full of questions about what I want and what God wants for me and how to somehow combine those forces for good.  Somewhere in of all this mess of confusion is an example of womanhood I can strive to reach for.  Somewhere there is a vision of the divine that is pure and can encompass the wide variety of desires, interests, and abilities that are inherent in our individual worth.  God help me find it.

5. It feels like compassion.  It feels like sleeping with my kitty purring while she sprawls over my legs and being so grateful that she's warm and fed and cared for, not trying to find food and shelter outside.  It feels like smelling the top of a baby's head.  It feels like seeing women, men, children who have felt limited by their gender or race or social status or sexual orientation and reaching to help them as best I can.  Tradition has not always been kind to women, and to those who have fought and are fighting to extend basic human rights to women - my heart is full of gratitude and admiration.  Tradition has not always been kind to minorities of so many varieties, but the internet makes it easier, so much easier, for people to have a voice.  Being a woman to me means a duty to listen, to feel, to ask that question "what would this be like" before I clam up with "I've never felt like that."

6. It feels like hard work.  Because while I have not felt harmfully limited by my gender, so many around the world have.  Women who are told what to wear and when to wear and how to wear their clothing (or face not just social pressures but political retaliation.)  Women who face genital mutilation, rape, inadequate access to feminine hygiene products.  Women forced into marriages they don't want and sex they don't want and children they don't want.  It feels like a long way to go to help my sisters feel not just safe, but wanted.

7. It is an honor.  There are many elements of being a woman that are hard, are uncomfortable, are painful, are frustrating.  But there are many, so many, that I find beautiful and inspiring and full of opportunity.  I find this time in which I live so empowering.  Unlike so many of the women who have come before me, who have fought so hard for rights that I now enjoy, I live in a time where I can make a difference.  I am allowed to live on my own, to buy a house and car and vote without permission from a spouse.  I am allowed to attend universities and have received a great education at one of the best universities in the country.  I can travel the world unchaperoned.  If I marry, I will not have to quit my job by virtue of being married.  I can obtain safe and affordable medical care by good doctors.  I can use my voice and my influence to encourage change and better representation.  And because of these amazing luxuries, It is my honor, my great privilege, to speak up and act on behalf of those who do not yet enjoy these rights either in whole or in part.

Coastal Tour

I have never lived close to water.  For most of my life I've been in a desert where closest bodies of water are small, often man-made reservoirs.  Growing up I lived near some lakes and rivers, but none worth swimming in and none close enough to enjoy on a regular basis.  Driving along the New England coastline today put another dent in my "thou shalt not covet" armor - how glorious to live by the sea!  I don't enjoy crowded beaches and surf culture, but I do enjoy the steady roll of the waves and quiet walks along the coast.  There is a kind of soul centering that happens with such a vast landscape.  I would love to live in Maine.  The exchange for bitter cold winters would be worth it.  I can handle cold.

I don't know what it is exactly about Maine that has always attracted me but I've wanted to visit for as long as I can remember and it did not disappoint.  It was every bit as charming and beautiful as you would want it to be.  Next time I come to New England, I'll need to plan much more time there.  Our original plan was to visit a city called Wiscasset, but we ended up going to Ogunquit at the recommendation of our Uber driver (Ali) from earlier in the week.  Ogunquit means "beautiful place by the sea" and it is that.  It has long been frequented by artists because of its stunning topography - I feel like we only scratched the surface of what the town had to offer.  The town was voted as the best small coastal town in America in USA Today this year - it's easy to see why.  The town has an active arts scene with an art museum and active repertory theater.  They also have the "Marginal Way", a twelve mile coastal walk along the length of the town.  We only went a fraction of the way the path offered since we still wanted to visit Salem, but walking the whole thing is on my bucket list now.  What we did see was beautiful.

One thing I love to find when I travel is local art to take home. I have a wall in my upstairs hallway where I feature art from everywhere I travel.  Today I found the addition for this trip (in the nick of time!).  It's a watercolor of the area in a repurposed barn wood frame by a local artist and I am thrilled.  I'm also glad I found no more books.  Six.  How did I find six books to take home?!  What is wrong with me?!!!  My poor suitcase.

Before going to Salem, we made a brief stop at the Nubble Lighthouse in York, Maine.  There's another thing I'd love to do - a lighthouse hunt along the coast.  This lighthouse is, mercifully, wading distance to the mainland, so the keeper wouldn't have had to live too far from civilization, and in exchange, he'd have the best view in town.  Sounds like a pretty good deal, even if the exchange involved a lot of work.  Given the number of houses we drove by en route to said lighthouse that were, I'm sure, well over six figures to purchase, the work to keep the lighthouse up sounds like a fantastic trade off.

Salem hasn't ever been terribly high on my list of places to see but, given that we are here in October, it seemed like a foolish thing to miss.  For anyone who really loves Halloween, Salem would be an absolute must.  Halloween is a month long celebration here.  A massive carnival down town, costumes everywhere, even a black cat graced us with its presence while driving around.  It was an absolute circus of cars.  Salem looks like a nice enough city to live in but it would be miserable in October.  Those small New England streets just aren't meant to host that kind of insane traffic.

We managed to escape the heavy crowds by staying away from all things witch related and heading instead to the historic "House of Seven Gables" which, despite my lack of love for Nathaniel Hawthorne, turned out to be a rather interesting tour.  The Turner family who owned the house made their extreme wealth in shipping.  Although the wealth of the home didn't seem like much compared to the homes we saw yesterday in Newport, given a few hundred years of time, the Turners would have been able to compete financially with the Vanderbilts; they just didn't have the technological capability to do so.  All the same, the house was impressive and beautiful.  It was a unique tour since it told essentially three stories: the Turners, the Ingersolls, and the fictional one featured in Hawthorne's novel.  Actually, much of the house was re-purposed once a woman named Caroline Emmerton owned the house in the early 1900s so that  tourists visiting the home would see places referenced in the book (including a claustrophobia inducing secret passageway that was really up a chimney).  The tour didn't make me want to read Hawthorne, but it was still interesting and worth the time.

There is something really magical about New England.  So much of what has shaped our entire country has come from this little hive of history and philosophy and art.  You can see the weight of that feeling still permeating through the streets.  There are political signs everywhere, more than I ever saw even in Iowa during election season.  The small book store scene is alive and well, and nearly every bookstore I went in (and I went into basically every one I saw) was busy.  We saw more antique stores than Starbucks'.  Even with the tourist draw, there is a definite charm that has not been lost or sacrificed among those that live here.  Even the drivers are polite - everyone gives way to pedestrians (it's the law, but still), and cars diligently take turns and wait for others to go first.  There may be a reputation of stubbornness but there is a reality of kindness that I am so impressed by.

I think what I have loved most about this trip is that it's given me new places to love.  The more I explore the world, the more of the world I get to love.  I've been able to love the museums of Paris and the mountains of Scotland.  The bustling streets of Dublin and the West End of London.  The childhood reminiscing in Disneyland, the sheep chasing in the Lake District.  The awe inspiring beauty of the Alps, Salem Harbor, and Prince Edward Island.  I've walked the busy city streets of Victoria and figured out public transportation in Boston and Berlin.  My passport has taken me to Mexico twice, Canada once, and Europe four times in the last decade.  What a gift it is to travel.  There are some things about being single that kind of suck, but the chance to travel the world is NOT one of them.

New England - you have been perfect.  I can't wait to come explore more of you.

Newport Mansions

The term "Gilded Age" was coined by Mark Twain, and it was not a compliment.  He used it to refer to what could essentially be called slapping lipstick on a pig - the tendency by the people in the era to want to be as elaborate as they possibly could.  And boy could they.

If you look at a list of the wealthiest people in history, most lists will include at least five men from the Gilded Age in the top ten.  The era lasted from roughly the end of the American Civil War and lasted through the turn of the century and refers to the incredible wealth of men like Ford, Carnegie, Rockefeller, and Vanderbilt who came into their money because of overwhelming business success.  Unlike men in Europe who were scrambling to hold onto wealth that was slipping through their fingertips as the Industrial Revolution took off, men in America were rolling in more money than they knew what to do with, and when you had more money than you knew what to do with, you built a home in Newport, Rhode Island.

Newport is full of mansions owned by the well-to-do of the day, and these little Versailles were especially interesting to visit after seeing the inherited wealth of England all summer.  Unlike the estate homes in England which were full of relics passed down through the centuries from family to family, these homes are full of extravagance that was the product of a few years of work.  These were homes designed to look old.  Sometimes they would have the old shipped in - one home we saw had a five hundred year old French fireplace shipped over from Europe - but for the most part, these homes are, like Versailles, designed to show off wealth.  They lived short familial home lives, though - few of them are lived in now - only two or three generations of these families have been able to really experience the grandeur of such living.  (Again, unlike the British counterparts, where many of these grand homes are still, at least in part, family homes.)

We started the day in Marble House, so named because it's got an insane amount of marble on all the walls and floors.  There was marble in colors I didn't know marble even came in.  Not all the marble was real - upstairs some of the walls are painted to look like marble, but that was really only because the family wanted the house open in time for "the season" (the summer) and the house wasn't done being constructed yet - it was just faster to get the painting done rather than wait for more stone.

As far as history goes, this house is best known as being home to Consuelo Vanderbilt, who would go on to marry the Duke of Marlborough (best known to Americans as the uncle of Winston Churchill and ancestor of Lady Diana).  It was not a happy marriage for either party - both Consuelo and the Duke had other people in mind that they would rather have been with, but both had familial obligations to fulfill: the Duke needed to marry someone who could afford to pay for the upkeep of Blenheim Palace (she could, and famously added indoor plumbing to the place), and she needed to marry someone with a title (the fashionable thing for a socialite to do). Consuelo was extremely beautiful (J.M. Barrie is said to have waited for hours just to see her get into her carriage) and talented, her artistic taste is all over Blenheim Palace and much of her story (and stories of other women like her) inspired the stories of Downton Abbey.

Marble House is an homage to the last Kings of France.  All through the house are tributes to Louis XIV and his grandson, Louis XVI (he of "married to Marie Antoinette" fame).  As in Versailles, Louis XIV is everywhere in the house - his bust greets you when you come up the main staircase, his figure features above the main mirror in the gold room off the main hall (and on the ceiling, where he vomits up light fixtures).

Marble House may have been one level of ornate, but The Breakers were insane.  There's a reason houses like that one are often used to represent Jay Gatsby.  The Breakers (so named for its proximity to the ocean) is really the second house built on the property - the first mysteriously burned down.  As a result, the new home is built with no wooden structural pieces at all and the broiler is kept far away from the main structure of the house.  It was owned by Cornelius Vanderbilt - the center of the Newport social scene.  The mansion contains seventy rooms and many technological innovations that Europeans could only have dreamed of under similar living conditions - electricity for one, running water for another.  There were buttons on the walls that could be used to call specific places around the house (similar to an intercom system) and enough bathrooms for everyone to enjoy a hot bath whenever they wanted.

That kind of wealth is just unfathomable to me.  One Vanderbilt described such inherited wealth as being as dangerous as cocaine.  Another talked about how horrified she was when she found out about her status as an heiress; she was worried no one would love her for anything other than her money.  I think, when it comes down to it, I feel like Anne Shirley when she visits the city for the first time - that she'd like the chance to live in wealth for a while, but that ultimately she'd like the sound of the brook behind her house more than the sound of tinkling china. Having enough money to not have to worry about money - that's all I want.

We spent so much time wandering the houses that we completely forgot about lunch - plus we got off to a bit of a late start, partly because we slept in, partly because mom dropped her phone in the toilet, partly because mom also lost her ticket to the mansions somewhere on the walk from the car (her back pocket was cursed today), so we went straight to dinner after we were done with The Breakers.  We went to a restaurant on the waterfront as recommended by a travel website I found called "The Mooring" and it was utterly divine.  Rick Steves says that coming home with the most money is not the goal of travel - coming home with the most experience is, and sometimes the best way to get that experience is through freakishly awesome food.  I got fresh sole (fish) topped with a crab cake and arugula, along with some golden Yukon potatoes.  If I'm ever asked what I want my last meal to be. . . I think that's what I want.  It was divine.

In general, exploring Newport was utterly delightful.  Every time I travel I discover a city that I wish I could stay in for much longer - this time I've discovered two - Newport and Concord.  I haven't had nearly enough time in either place.  I think tomorrow will probably not make things better as we are off to Maine for our last full day before heading home.  It's been dreamy.

Transcendence

I love the Transcendentalists.  They may not have achieved everything they wanted to while they were living, but their ideals really were ahead of their time and I am grateful for them.  Even in high school I knew that they understood things that I needed to understand.  Their writing is often wordy and intense, but the payoff is nearly always worth it.

The center of Transcendentalist fervor is Concord, Massachusetts.  (Embarrassing personal disclosure: I only TODAY put together that the Concord of Louisa May Alcott and the Concord of Lexington and Concord fame are the same place.  For all my brainpower and love of trivia and history, sometimes stupid things still fly way above my head and come crashing down with a thud that sounds a lot like a "duh".)  In Concord, the Transcendentalists attempted to form communities where people lived simply and with unity.  Nearly one hundred years before suffrage they pushed for the vote.  More than one hundred and fifty years before schools would integrate in the south, Bronson Alcott was founding schools where not only boys and girls learned alongside each other, but children of all races were taught.  They were educated in art and music - they had recess.  Their ideas were so radical that they never came into fashion, but their writing lives on, and thank heaven for that.

It is fitting that on a day when we paid homage to these great thinkers that we began with no water.  The apartment below ours is being completely remodeled and they turned the water off this morning.  We realized this before we got the chance to eat breakfast, but it definitely helped us get out of the house faster than we have done in the last few days.  The construction workers downstairs are really friendly, though - asking us what we've been up to on our visit and recommending good restaurants.

Our first stop for the day (after picking up our rental car) was Orchard House.  Orchard House is the best known home of the Alcott family, though they moved at least twenty times prior to settling here.  Bronson Alcott, the patriarch, was quite the idealist.  He was constantly seen as a radical for his ideas about education (he promoted children asking questions in class!), women, slavery, and other things that are now way less radical and way more normal (like the vegan diet).  His wife, Abby May, was born to a relatively well-to-do family that looked down on her marriage to Bronson, but she said that her soul was lonely until she met him, so apparently she didn't see it as a step down in her life.  The two had four children - all daughters: Anna, Louisa, Elizabeth, and May.  Best known of these is, of course, Louisa - author of Little Women (as well as thirty other novels).

It's hard to separate the real life Alcotts from the fictional March family.  Louisa was encouraged to write from her life, and much of the book is the very definition of art imitating life. Like Jo, Louisa felt out of place in the world.  She loved to run.  She loved to write.  She was a thinker and a voracious reader tutored at the feet of Ralph Waldo Emerson, who loaned her books and thought nothing of the fact that she was a girl who had no business reading Faust when she should be focusing her attention on needlepoint.  The Transcendentalists may not have been able to change the entire city, but the principles were alive and well in the Alcott house - quite literally.  May, the youngest Alcott, became Amy in the book - like her fictional counterpart, May was a great artist, who drew over any surface in the house she could find (with or without permission).  She was an amazing artist, lucky enough to study in Europe several times (twice with the help of Louisa's financial support after the success of her writing).  The house is full of her work - nearly every piece on the walls came from her.  Framed or unframed (she had a tendency to draw directly on the walls), she was encouraged by her parents.  May would go on to tutor Daniel Chester French, the sculptor best known for his design of the Lincoln statue at the Lincoln Memorial in DC.  She even named her daughter Louisa in honor of her sister.

There is something so special about the Alcotts.  Their family unity and love is palpable in their home, in their writings, in their legacy.  There are signs everywhere of a family that cared for each other.  May painted flowers on the walls of Louisa's room when she came home ill after working in a Civil War hospital.  Bronson build Louisa a custom desk on which she wrote her books and through which he demonstrated his support of his unconventional daughter.  Anna was married in the parlor.  Elizabeth never lived in the house (she died as a result of scarlet fever before the family moved in), but there is a portrait of her above a piano in her honor.  One of the most special - dare I say sacred - experiences of my life was portraying Beth in the Little Women Musical several years ago.  There is an extremely special spirit about this family, and being allowed to step into their fictional shoes every night was an incredible experience.  I am so grateful for this story, and for this family, for the beauty they have given to the world.  I feel a great kinship to these amazing people.

After a stop at the Concord Museum, we went over to Walden Pond.  Walden was a beloved spot of all the Transcendentalists - Louisa features it in Little Women as the pond where Amy nearly drowns - but it is probably best known because of the writings of Henry David Thoreau.  Thoreau (pronounced less like "Thur-oh" and more like "Thor-oh" with emphasis on the first syllable - at least according to Thoreau himself and the local experts) once "went to the woods because (he) wanted to live deliberately".  He moved to Walden, built himself a modest home (that no longer stands, though the location is set off), and lived as simply as he could.  It's hard to imagine a more beautiful place to do so.  Walden itself is a peaceful, quiet location surrounded by trees.  Even with lots of visitors, it was peaceful and quiet.  I picked up a bunch of acorns to bring back home with me - one of the "houses" in my classes at school was named for Emerson - the symbols are an oak leaf and acorn in honor of the Transcendentalist belief that everyone has potential.

Our final stop was the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, the burying ground of the local authors of significance, including Nathaniel Hawthorne (I hate The Scarlet Letter. . . ), the Alcott family, Emerson and his family, and Thoreau's family.  It's not uncommon to see tributes on the headstones of people of significance.  Earlier this week we saw coins left on the monument to Robert Newman (who helped warn that "the British (were) coming!") Rocks are often left as a tribute as well.  Fittingly, there are pens left by the headstones of Thoreau and Alcott.  (I'm sure there would be for Hawthorne and Emerson as well, if they weren't roped off.) My heart is full.

There are so many people in history that I can't wait to see and to thank for the work they've done in the world or for me personally.  Lucy Maud Montgomery.  C.S. Lewis.  John Adams, George Washington, Abraham Lincoln - every single transcendentalist.  They reach my soul.  They give me hope in myself and my potential to do good beyond what I can see.  They may not have found wild success as a community in their lifetime, but they've made their mark.  Today I'm glad to have wandered through their footsteps.

Second Verse, Same as the First (aka: more pastry, more book, more chocolate.)

When I was in high school I had a shirt that I bought from Old Navy that said "Cambridge" on it.  I bought it because of England, but I had my history teacher come to me one day and say "want to go to Harvard, huh?"  I seem to remember laughing.  Yeah.  Right. I'm no moron, but I never would have gotten into Harvard.

After visiting Cambridge for real today, I don't necessarily regret that I didn't go to Harvard (the city is crazy expensive, the school is crazy expensive, everything is crowded, the school is constantly crowded with tourists. . . But man it's beautiful.  BYU has many virtues and I don't regret my education there at all, but man there are some ugly buildings on that campus.  Basically any building constructed while the school was expanding in the 70s is horrific.  More recent builds have a classic collegiate look that I like, but you really can't beat the atmosphere of Cambridge, even with all the tourists and the traffic.  I love being on college campuses just in general - I swear if college paid well then I'd never leave it.

We didn't take an official campus tour so I'm not sure that I have any great Harvard trivia to give that didn't come from what I'm sure is an inaccurate episode of Gilmore Girls, but I do know that there are 73 libraries on campus and that the Harvard collection of books is the third largest in the nation, behind the Library of Congress and the Boston Public Library.  The centerpiece of the collection is the Widener Library, which holds 3.5 million books and is named for a Harvard grad who died on the Titanic in 1907 and was a book collector.  Only students are allowed to go into the school, which is understandable but ticks me off because there is little I love more in this world than beautiful libraries.

Fortunately, Harvard has plenty of bookstores and although my suitcase has no room in it for more books I will find a way because I now have two more books to add to my collection - some short novellas by Alan Bennett and a memoir where a woman wrote about what was going on in her life on the same day every year for forty years - 1960 to 2000.  She lived behind the Iron Curtain for at least half the book and I think it's going to be fascinating.  My poor "to-read" shelves are screaming at me to pace myself but a house isn't really a home if it doesn't have a fantastic library, right?

We spent most of the morning just wandering the city but eventually made our way over to the Henry Wadsworth Longfellow house, which was. . .closed.  The exterior was really pretty, though?  We got to look at the gardens around the house and watch the squirrels for a bit.  Then we walked around for a bit and stopped for some more pastries (Mike's Pastry Shop has a branch near Harvard that has way less crowd issues than the one in Boston) and at a local chocolate shop.  Now that I think about it, today was basically a repeat of yesterday: book stores, chocolate, pastries, and wandering through historical sites for a while.  We're either predictable or easy to please, I guess.  Neither of us feel disappointed, so that's good.

Finding the Longfellow House closed we decided to leave Cambridge and go instead to the Gardner Museum in Boston, but that was closed as well (we found that out before we left, at least) so we went instead to visit the USS Constitution.  The USS Constitution was named by George Washington and is the oldest floating warship in the world.  She saw most of her action in the War of 1812 where it earned the nickname "Old Ironsides" against a ship that looks like it was named after cheese (seriously - the HMS Gueirrere).  Its performance in the war saved it from being scrapped dozens of times, and the Constitution went on to be a training ship during the Civil War and a museum exhibition that sailed to the Paris Exposition in 1878.  There's not all that much left of her to see at the moment (though I think that may be more because of the renovation work they were doing on her when we were there) but it was still worth the trip.  It's impressive that she's still afloat.

By this point we'd walked about seven miles, so we were hungry.  We went back to what our guidebook calls the "drenched in marinara" north end of Boston for some Italian.  The guidebook wasn't joking - the street we went to had nothing but Italian food options, all of which looked and smelled amazing.  We found one that looked good, and it was good, and all was well.

Some other random observations:

Traveling with my mom is awesome.  We're both relatively easy going travelers.  We have opinions on what we want to do, but are flexible enough to bend to what the other person wants.  It's been delightful.

Political campaigning is much more active here than it is in Utah.  I think some of this may be because we're not just seeing adds for Presidential campaigns or local propositions, but also adds for Congressmen from Massachusetts and surrounding states.  One of the local propositions is ticking me off because the locals are voting on charter school funding.  Public schools are losing money because of charter schools! The anti Prop 2 adds say.  NO THEY DON'T I yell at the TV.  Schools get money for the students they teach, so the funding they're "losing" is really only representative of students they aren't actually teaching.  Heaven FORBID we give people a choice in their education.  "But those schools might be horrible!" people argue.  "Yes," I respond.  "They could be. But a traditional public school doesn't automatically mean the school is good and. . .

I could go on about this forever, but now probably isn't the time or place given that I'm supposed to be writing about my trip, but it's my blog so what the hell: American education is still holding on with a vice grip to traditions established more than a hundred years ago that weren't founded on principles of what actually taught skills the best but what was the most efficient and logical.  The rest of the world is moving at lightning speed to adapt and change to the technologically obsessed and creative world we live in, but schools are still trying to fight against all of that like it will leave and pass like a fad.  For the love of all that is holy, LET PEOPLE INNOVATE.

I'm done.

Tomorrow I will center my chi by visiting the hallowed forests of transcendentalism.  I can't wait.

The Freedom Trail

For the record, I'm pretty sure there are chirping smoke alarms in hell.  All last night, one of the alarms in the hall outside our apartment beeped.  This morning, the other one started.  Whomever invented those blasted things is the worst.  We have phones we can unlock with our fingerprints or our eyeballs, certainly we can come up with a better way to alert someone that the batteries need to be changed.

Aside from chirping alarms, staying in this sleepy little neighborhood has been so fun.  My favorite part about staying with Airbnb is the chance you get to stay outside of tourist centers.  We may spend a good part of our days playing tourist, but we get the chance to escape the busy city and enjoy the relative normalcy of suburban life.  I love it.

Today we started on the north part of town and hit up a few features on the Freedom Trail.  If you haven't been to Boston (or studied the American Revolution), then you ought to review the story of Boston.  Without this intensely stubborn city, the Revolution would never have happened.  Boston was the center of industry and shipping for the English at the time - all the taxes, all the regulations, all the rules hit Boston harder than anywhere else.  It was a city founded on the backs of principled and educated men and women who eloquently and firmly fought for their ideals and managed to convince more reluctant colonies (I'm looking at you, South Carolina) that sticking with England was detrimental to the prosperity of the locals.  All my love of England aside - I do think that America becoming free from Britain was the right choice.  I am grateful for my forefathers and New England ancestry for the sacrifices they made to ensure the prosperity of this country.

The Freedom Trail, then, takes you to some of the more important Colonial locations.  We started by visiting the Copp's Hill Burial Ground, where some of the earliest Puritan settlers were buried.  Some of the highlights include Captain Robert Newman - one of the men who helped light the lanterns and hang them to warn the American Militia that the British were coming (by sea, as it turned out). The other grave that I found particularly interesting was an obelisk in honor of the first black Master Mason in the all-black Free Mason lodge in early Boston.

From there we went down the hill to the Old North Church, made famous because of is role in being the location from which Captain Newman (and his companion whose name I can't remember) lit the lanterns to signal the coming British attack, which led to what was essentially the first shots fired in the Revolutionary War.  The church itself is significant enough to have been visited and frequented by many important people throughout history.  The pew we sat in, for example, was once used by Teddy Roosevelt.

Just behind the Old North Church is a chocolate shop.  We had to stop.  The smell alone was divine.  We walked over the "Don't Tread on Me" rug (seriously?) and some salted caramels and a cashew turtle later (mom can never resist those), we went for some more dessert at the famous Mikes Pastries store.  We got there just before the rush (the store was full when we got there, the line was down the block when we left), and it was totally worth it.  We each got a croissant and have a cannoli and a macaroon waiting for us when we want more dessert.  Given that we walked about five miles today, I'm not feeling bad at all about that.  Even if I hadn't walked five miles today, I wouldn't feel bad.  I thank God every day for carbs.

Paul Revere's house was next.  I had no idea that Paul Revere ever did anything of significance in his life other than ride a horse, but he was a bit of a Renaissance Man.  I found out that his work in dentistry led to early forensic techniques.  He had sixteen children, eleven of which survived to adulthood.  It was fun to learn more about him today.

After Paul Revere's House we made our way to Faneuil Hall and the Quincey Market.  We ended up eating lunch in the "Cheers" restaurant, which meant little to either of us since mom and I have never seen the show, but the Clam Chowder was delicious, so that's good.

The Brattle Bookshop was a must.  Frankly, any bookshop is a must.  This one was particularly awesome, with a huge selection of books outside and a decent selection inside as well.  I probably could have stayed for hours, but I limited myself in respect of my company and my budget, and came out with three awesome books, two of which were printed prior to the first world war.  (Ironically, they were the cheapest books.) A collection of poetry by Tennyson, essays by Emerson, and Faust.  I love beautiful books.  I don't know how in the world I'm going to get them home in my tiny little suitcase, but I've been training my entire life for creative packing of books.

We wandered through the main parks in central Boston for a while after the bookshop.  The parks were smaller than I imagined them to be - the parks and gardens in London are so big that you can forget you're in the city - but they were well worth the trip, if only for the chance to do some squirrel watching.  There were so many of them.  Living in Utah you rarely see squirrels.  I forget about that until I see them again and realize how much I miss them.  These squirrels are so used to people feeding them that they come right over to you and look for the food in your hands if you crouch down.  Man I love those little rodents.

So far I haver really enjoyed the chance to wander this city.  Boston reminds me of so many other cities I've been to.  Seeing Pret restaurants reminds me of London.  The mix of history and modern structures reminds me of Berlin.  The squirrels and the smell of fallen leaves remind me of Iowa and being a kid again.  It's been lovely.

Rainy Day in the Windy City

Nothing today has really gone according to plan.  For example - about ten seconds ago, the post I'd spent the last two hours working on (while watching Bringing Up Baby, I wasn't totally focussed) disappeared completely.  No idea where it went.  The app I used to compose the thing is now in the garbage can of my iPad and I'm back to composing the old fashioned way.  This post will probably be shorter and more sarcastic (if such a thing is possible. . .)

As I mentioned yesterday, we started off today by going to church.  Or, rather, we attempted to.  The address I found on lds.org took us who knows where.  As it was, we did get a rather fascinating conversation with our Uber driver, a man named Ali who was born in Iraq but came to the US via a Saudi Arabian refugee camp.  His life story was amazing - his determination to make the best of situations, the way he has been able to build his life from $350 a month to a solid accounting job at Boston University (and into a car that's way nicer than mine).  He spoke about the way he believes that our spirits are drawn to different places and people, how he picked our trip because, while he wouldn't normally go this way, it felt like the right thing.  I'm glad he did.

The whole drive reminded me of what a charmed life I've led - to have lived forever in cities where I could have the run of the neighborhood on my bike.  I remember riding my bike a mile away to the grocery store to go pick up donuts - or walking a few miles to school back when I was in elementary school.  I've had opportunity and grown up in a relatively just world.  It's easy to take that for granted and to sit on your laurels when so much of the world is in great need.  I don't know what the solution to that problem is - the imperialist solution that came about in the early 1900s is less than ideal, but dropping off food and supplies and running away seems heartless.  For the time being, I'm going to use my vote to support those who want to help bring refugees into the country to make better lives for themselves.  The process of getting into our country as a refugee is so complicated and difficult that I don't think there is any need to latch onto the fear that so many want to spread about those coming into the United States.  And you know what?  If someone did come into our country that did want to do harm, then fine.  Given everything else that's going on right now, they'd have to get in line with everyone else who is already doing harm.  That shouldn't stop us from doing good, especially to those who are asking for it.

We ended up napping instead of going to church before heading back out into the rain to the Museum of Fine Art.  Mom spent most of the ride there talking religion with our Uber driver, which I found pretty impressive because small talk is not my strong suit, but my mom has a fantastic way of sharing her thoughts without coming off as either pushy or weak.  She's a marvel.

The MFA is fantastic.  We had a great time wandering the different exhibits, particularly the American and European exhibits.  The quality of light and color in the impressionist paintings was particularly impressive to me.  Something about seeing such exquisite creation reminds me of the great potential humans have.  I also enjoyed a hallway that paralleled the cultural, political, and religious development in London and a city in China.  Museums that are well organized remind me of how much we have in common, and the beauty of what makes us different.

The Contemporary exhibit was unique - I have to remind myself in contemporary exhibits that it's a bit like wandering into the new fiction section of a bookstore - no one has any idea, yet, what books that have been published will have any kind of staying power in the long run so the whole area is pretty hit and miss.  Today there was a podium with speeches on it that you could read from as a commentary on the effect that a speaker has on the power of words (no one took the artist up on the challenge while we were there but the idea was cool).  In the same room there was a video of what appeared to be a woman eating something from her breast with a spoon.  I didn't get close enough to that one to figure out what the heck it was supposed to mean.  Also, ew.

We stayed at the museum until just before it closed, then walked through the rain to the T to catch a train home.  After years and years of public transportation exploring all around the world, I think I can comfortably tell you that I have seen a more interesting variety of personalities on trains in Boston in the last day than I have in all the other places I've been, with the possible exception of that drunken train ride we took in Germany a few years ago (we weren't drunk, the football fans were.)

We decided to catch a cab back home instead of walking the rest of the way in the rain - the cab we caught may not have actually been a cab. . .but the driver got us where we needed to go so. . . No harm no foul? Yay for adventures!  Not everything went as planned, but the day has still been delightful.  Tomorrow we head into old Boston in search of pastries, books, and history.

Off to Massachusetts

When I was on my way home from England, I texted my mom (as you do) to let her know I was alright and back on US soil.  We talked about the trip and how amazing it had all been, how she'd enjoyed reading my blog updates, our own rudimentary plans to go back to Prince Edward Island, Canada later in the year (a trip inspired by my own desire to just go somewhere even if it meant going by myself, and dad encouraging mom to go with me - we've both had pretty insane years.)  I think, though, that my trip had struck a chord with my mom, and by the time the train pulled into the station in Provo, our trip to PEI (an amazing place, but one we've both been to) had morphed into a trip to Boston - a city that would allow us a great mix of high culture and easy access to small town charm.

Little did I know that this week would come at a rather inconvenient time. It's been an intensely difficult school year so far, and it's about to get crazier with the addition of about eighty more students on my roster the Monday after I get back.  I haven't had any time to really think about the trip at all or get excited about it.  Honestly, I've felt rather guilty leaving when there's so much to do.  Fortunately for me, I have a saint of a co-teacher at home who is earning some serious heaven points for covering for me while I'm gone.  I owe him big.

The last time I was in the North East wasn't really all that far north.  When I was in high school my family road-tripped to Washington DC.  It was an amazing trip and my first real taste of a big city.  I experienced a lot of firsts on that trip - my first time regularly "commuting" on public transport.  My first encounter with a drunken passenger on said public transportation. My first time actually visiting a place I'd studied in school.  Otherwise, although I've always been drawn to the North East (I grew up in the Gilmore Girls generation after all), I've never been there.  And what better time to go than in the fall?  When the North East is North Eastiest? And with my Marmee?

Day one was mostly travel for the both of us.  My plane took off from the gate just next to the one I left from for England this summer.  I could see the ghost of Joni past a few feet away and felt a little envious of her, because ENGLAND, but England will still be there next time I get there, and the shorter flight to Boston sounded way more appealing.  Who wouldn't want to go to Boston in the fall?

For all my love of England, I have a great feeling of kinship to John Adams.  Adams lived just outside of Boston in the city of Braintree.  There is so much of his story I relate to - his open and obvious flaws but eternal desire to make things better for the world around him.  He was passionate in the cause of justice.  Of particular note was his defense of the British officers in the Boston Massacre.  He was not particularly popular for this defense, but he was firm in his desire to establish America as a colony of civilization and equality.  I admire his unwearying desire to follow his heart.

Then, of course, there are the Transcendentalists.  My fascination began with, who else, but Louisa May Alcott.  I am probably best known for my Anne of Green Gables or Harry Potter love, but I was every bit the Little Women obsessor as a child. I had the movie memorized.  I related more to Anne - the tom-boyishness nature of Jo didn't appeal to me quite as much as a child - but I saw something of myself in Jo's somewhat bossy bookish and socially awkward nature.  The older I get, though, the farther away Anne feels from me.  She spent most of her (fictional) adulthood engaged or married to the dreamboat of Gilbert.  Jo, though - Jo struggles as an adult.  The life that had been so comfortable within the walls of her own home is more difficult when she leaves it.  Finding her place in the world is tricky in a world that prescribes only one really acceptable path for a woman to follow.  Her independent spirit and unconventional path are close to me.  One of the dearest summers in my life was spent walking in the shoes of the fictional March family and studying the very real Alcotts on stage.  The symbolism of visiting PEI when I was a wide-eyed almost college Freshman compared to visiting Concord as a perpetually boyfriendless nearly 30 something is not lost on me.  It's like a passing of the torch.

I also feel a great kinship to those who came here in the first place, some of whom were my ancestors.  William Bradford, the man credited for the thought behind the Mayflower Compact, is a direct ancestor of mine. Those early Puritans were far from perfect, but I admire their determination to create an environment where they could worship (even if I don't necessarily admire all the lengths to which they went to ensure that environment). In the same way that I've always been drawn to the UK, I've long wanted to come here.  So many of my ancestors lived in New England that it feels like part of my genetic makeup, even though the total amount of time I've spent here now equates to approximately. . .five and a half hours.

Flying into the airport was delightful.  I remember being in college and having my Arizonan roommates talk about how green Utah was and the midwestern roots that I have thinking they were crazy.  Now that my parents live in Arizona I understand why they thought Utah was green.  I still feel sad for them, though - anytime I fly into a city that's as green as this one I feel like the world gets a little better.  Utah has its beauties but I do miss the green.  When that green is coupled with flecks of bright red, yellow and orange?  Exquisite.

Mom and I met up in the airport and, using public transportation navigational skills I've been honing to perfection for the last decade, we ditched the Uber idea and took the bus and train to the southern part of the city where we walked through the streets of Dorchester to our home for the week.  Now, in addition to my coveting of the trees, I am coveting every house I can see.  Who the heck ever thought it was a good idea to make every house look so freakishly practical?  I want to buy all.the.houses.  I also want to take pictures of all of them.  Hope the locals don't mind!

After getting home we dropped off our bags and walked the quarter mile or so into Addam's Square to find dinner and a convenience store to pick up food for breakfast.  We ended up finding all that we needed in an Irish cafe that sold meat pies and a whole range of British necessities at killer prices.  What with the Caramel Digestives and Irish porridge and the Big Bang Theory/Have I Got News For You TV binge mom and I had tonight, I may as well be back in Europe.  Come to find out that the local convenience store also had a huge supply of my favorite England treats - a delightful surprise that, perhaps, shouldn't have been.  As my brother pointed out, it is New England.

Tomorrow is supposed to rain all day so we'll head to church then hole ourselves away into the southern part of town and the local art museums.  Given that church is at 9:00 and about a 20 minute drive (and two hours earlier than my body clock puts it at about 7:00), you should know how much I love my mother.  If I were traveling by myself I'd probably ditch the church idea, sleep in, and watch a devotional while I ate breakfast instead.  But my mother is an amazing woman.  The chance to travel alone with her is such a gift, that if mom says she wants to go to church in the morning, then we go to church in the morning.

The Fountain of Youth

I have been blessed with my mother's amazing genes in many ways.  I have the same laugh she does.  I have a similar peacemaking heart that would much rather sacrifice my own preference to someone else's if it means conflict going away (a blessing and a curse).  I've also been blessed with her skin (sans the freckles she has).

This is kind of awesome.

It means I can rock red lipstick and feel like Snow White.  It means that I'm not spending crazy amounts of money on creams or lotions or pills or whatever in a mad attempt to keep my skin looking young.  Cetaphil and drug store facewash are good enough for me.  It means I can play characters on stage that are much younger than myself (thereby allowing me to play loads of characters I have on my bucket list for longer than some.)  There are some definite perks.

There are also some severe annoyances.

For example:

1. My new co-workers think I'm a precocious upstart with no experience.  In reality, I've been teaching for almost a decade (sometimes longer and with more official qualifications than those many years my senior.)

2. Dating is a nightmare.  People are always trying to set me up with their 20 year old recently returned missionaries.  No.  Just. . . no.

3. If I had a nickel for every time someone said "Ah! I thought you were a student!" I could probably fund a trip to Europe.

4. My greatest desire in life has always been to be taken seriously and treated like an intelligent being.  Even from a very young age, I remember being seriously annoyed when adults didn't want to collaborate with me more or less as a peer.

There really isn't a point to this post.  I haven't written anything real since England (and I need to!  There's so much!) but starting at a new school has taken half my will to live and all my energy.  So many new systems to work through and understand.  Still can't print anything and no end in sight to that, so that's fun.  Air conditioning broken in my classroom today, which was made more fun by my 60+ class sizes and the manure factory (no joke) down the road that was wafting smells our way all day.  I had to move away from farmland to live by farms.  Circle of life.

Venting done.