New Bedford Whaling Museum

Winter seems to be intent on lasting a record time this year. All the New England-y summer tourist things are waiting for us, but everyone's still inside waiting to see sunlight and temperatures above 45. 

However if we all waiting for the weather to cooperate, New England would still be huddled in the first huts the early colonialists built. So onward and upward or perhaps, seaward for fun.

New Bedford Massachusetts has a long (read: as long as America's been a country) history of shipbuilding, sailing, fishing, and whaling. Whaling as since been replaced by whale conservation, but the history if this integral part of early New England industry and livelihood is a tale of riches, dangers, and of course, the world's largest creatures.

To try and imagine the true size of a whale is daunting for me; I can look a at  school bus and know there are animals that size in the ocean, but it's still a bit fuzzy. Conveniently the New Bedford Whaling Museum has solved my spatial thinking problems with a real life blue whale skeleton. It's almost 14 years old, but it is still dripping oil, as seen by the Plexiglas plate in it's jaw.

The Whaling Museum explores what whaling was like for the men who did it and what it meant to their home communities. Far flung sea journeys expanded the ideas humans had of the size and scope of the world.

As dangerous as whaling and arctic exploration was, there were always those who could see the beauty in unforgiving ice and cold.

Explorers and whalers met people living in isolated, brutal locations like Greenland only to discover they thrived, created, and dreamed like they themselves.

A solitary snowflake revealed an intricate design of nature's own plan.

But back to whales, I required my fellow museum goers to play along. A sperm whale jaw bone comparison:

Then I had to join the congressional delegation:

Moving on to the arts side of things, we took in an extraordinary collection of crafts made from whale bone and baleen.

Other sailor crafts like carved abalone shells,

And shaped, decorated thin strips of whale bones made into corset inserts, or busks.

Sailors made these whilst on long journeys for sweethearts back at home. An intimate accessory as they were tucked inside a lady's undergarments, a man had better been set on marriage bringing home such a token.

The amount of time and careful work these busks  required seems unbelievable but with an average whaling tour lasting upwards of two years, I guess you needed a project.

Lastly, we checked out the 50 percent scale whaler from the ground...

and the viewing gallery.

And took in the view of old New Bedford from the roof.

And of course stopped to chat with our new friends.

Mr. Emperor of the Antarctic...

and Sir Walrus de LongTooth.

The New Bedford Whaling Museum is located at 18 Johnny Cake Hill, New Bedford, MA 02740. 

A Walk through Mount Auburn

The U.S.' first landscaped cemetery Mount Auburn lies in Cambridge, MA and is a beautiful place filled with history, art, and testimonies to memory.  It's about a mile and half walk from Harvard Square and open to the public year around, with guided and audio tours available. Birds, frogs, turtles, amongst other small creatures fill the ponds and groves with the gentle sounds of life's constancy. 

The First Line Winter Challenge: Ships and Heartbreak

Many of my new year's goals of 2012 carried over into 2013, including my intent to write more. To keep myself motivated I try to write and submit entries to literary journals. This was my - albeit unsuccessful - submission to the winter edition of The First Line. I'm just proud I completed and submitted it!

~

On a perfect spring morning with flat seas and clear blue skies, Captain Eli P. Cooke made a terrible mistake.  The captain could not believe his own misjudgment.  He stood at the bow of his ship “Constance” named after his wife and glared in the early morning sun.  The horizon sat unwaveringly in front of him as calm as glass.  Closing his eyes Eli took a deep breath, feeling it catch under his ribs.  He forced his eyes open and gripped the rough railing tightly, steeling himself for the day ahead.  As he turned and strode back to the captain’s quarters, he could not fathom how he would face it.

Constance Cooke stood at the kitchen sink looking out at the placid sea.  She hummed under her breath, thankful the weather would be pleasant for her husband’s sea voyage.  He was not going very far, just a several ports north, but she was a true sailor’s wife and she knew how inconvenient even the slightest change in weather could be.  Captain’s wife, she corrected herself smiling.  Eli had been sailing North at least every month, sometimes every fortnight but Constance did not worry.  He had been born a sailor and on the ocean was where he belonged.  She had her responsibilities to the home and hearth and the time apart would seem like an instant when he had returned to her.

James O’Connor awoke with a start and sprang out of bed.  Today was the day and he had many things to do in preparation. He shaved and dressed carefully, stopping only for a moment to glance admiringly at the clear sky outside his window.  He soon rushed into the gentle spring morning and headed toward the harbor.  

Captain Cooke did the rounds and insured all was running well on board the Constance before he settled himself behind the large oak desk in the Captain’s quarters. Maps and charts lay scattered across the aged boards, depicting the best paths through dangerous waters and the phases of the moon.  The Captain did not need to reference these charts; he knew it by heart.  He had grown up on the merchant ships of his father and uncles, and he had demonstrated a knack for all things sailing at a precocious age.  He had joined a company as soon as he turned 16.  He loved the boats, the ocean breeze, the comradery amongst the sailors.  He had made lifelong friends, many of whom now worked the rigging or cooked the meals on his own ship today.  He had also met Constance’s brother while on trading business down south eight years ago and not longer after had the chance to meet Constance.  They had married a few months later.

Eli thought of his wife.  He imagined what she would be doing in their seaside home this beautiful spring morning.  The house would be spotless already, and all the meals for the day in preparation.  Constance was an excellent homemaker and more importantly, a kind-hearted companion.  She understood the life of a sailor, a Captain, and uncomplainingly kept house and dedicated her abundant free time while Eli was at sea to a variety of good causes.  She had never once questioned his lifestyle.  She knew how much he loved the sea.

Constance walked toward town for her afternoon work at one of her organizations.  The other ladies teased her, somewhat enviously at her peace of mind and constant dedication to her sailor husband.  Many women were married to sailors in this town but most lived much more tumultuous lives because of it.  They complained over iced tea of the womanizing, gambling, and drunkenness their husbands insisted on partaking in, at home and even more troubling, in other ports.  It often seemed that all the men had picked up at least one less than savory habit while on ships, no doubt due to the need to pass the time at sea.  The women loved their men, but they struggled to achieve marital harmony like that of Constance and Eli.  Constance amusedly thought of this as she strolled in the sunshine.  She had been lucky and she knew it everyday.  As she passed the church she crossed herself, thanking the universe for her husband, her life, and the calm sea.

James O’Connor stood at the end of the old rock jetty his hand shielding his eyes in the growing sun of late morning.  He could not believe his luck; the weather, the day, the events that lay ahead.  He scoured the horizon once more for incoming ships before turning to climb back up the jetty and head into town.  It would be several more hours until the ship came in and in the meantime, James’ stomach demanded breakfast.

Captain Cooke masterfully directed the navigation toward the port, pleased to be ahead of scheduled despite the gnawing feeling in the pit of his gut.  He had travelled many seas in all types of weather, seen comrades drowned, nearby ships capsize, and still felt relief at guiding his ship and men to promised safety.  This time, it felt even more momentous.  Eli pushed his unbidden feelings aside and began the final docking preparations.    

Upon dry land again, Eli climbed the hill toward the small main street of the sea-side village.  He had been here many times before, and each time he was happy.  He looked around him nodding acknowledgement to other seaman as he moved down the street.  “Captain Cooke!” a man’s voice called suddenly and Eli turned.  James O’Connor stood six feet away, a wide smile on his face.  “Welcome home!” he jested as he shook Eli’s hand, and together they turned down a side street.

Constance walked home in the fading light of the early evening.  Her husband always sent word to her that he had safely made it to his destination and she expected to find a note when she returned home.  She had no reason to worry, but she appreciated his thoughtfulness.  He had not mentioned when he would return, but she knew he would let her know that too.  

James and Eli sat across from each other, each taking in the changes in the other.  It had been a few months since they had last seen each other, but the men had known each other for over three years.  They had met in this port, when James had worked on repairs on the Constance.  Eli had instantly liked the young man, and often stopped to have a beer with him when in port.  They chatted and drank for a few hours before emerging into the dusk.  

The sea lay at their feet as the two men sat on the jetty.  James put his hand over Eli’s.  “Will this be the time you stay?” He asked quietly.  Eli did not respond but when James leaned over to kiss him he did not resist, as he had tried to in the past.  “We have always been happy together” James choked out “and I only want to be happy all the time.”  Eli stared transfixed at the waves crashing against the rocks, ever constant of James’ hand in his.  He had spent three years torn between here and home and he had finally set his mind in one direction.  He had agonised for years and as he had looked over the ocean that morning, he knew he could only control the damage as best as he knew how, but he could not prevent it altogether.  James leaned toward him, awaiting a response, but Eli could only stare at his ship Constance bobbing gently in the harbor.

“Mrs. Eli P. Cooke” the envelope on the doorstep read in clear black ink.  Constance stooped to pick up and turning, cast one more look over the peaceful ocean.  She busied herself in the kitchen with the evening meal, and only after that was well on its way did she open her husband’s post.  The sun sunk beneath the horizon as she read:

“Constance,

You have been a good and faithful wife, but I have let you down.  I will not return from the north port presently and I cannot say if I will ever return.  Please know I am safe and I have always loved you, as as well as my heart knew how.  Forgive me.

With love,

Captain Eli P. Cooke”

14 Hours in New York City

There’s no place like New York City. A mere four hour megabus trek away from Boston, NYC is easily accessible so whenever we’re feeling big city, we score some cheap seats and nap our way to Manhattan.

Last December we discovered the best worst idea ever. Traffic between NYC and Boston is practically constant, the path populated by the infamous “Chinatown” buses and a variety of double deckers rolling back and forth between the two spots almost continuously (and they say we don’t like each other). Last winter we discovered an overnight megabus that dumped you in NYC at 4:15am, giving you an entire day to explore the city sufficiently without feeling like you missed out by not staying overnight. That is, Friday night 12:30am we board the bus and arrive mid-town four hours later for a 14 hour (or longer) day trip in the Big Apple powered by sleep deprivation, caffeine overload, and excitement.

Arriving anywhere at four in the morning seems ridiculous but it is a surreal experience to be the only person in Times Square or Rockefeller Center, to be able to gawk at the Christmas tree or the neons without being constantly jostled by several thousand people. The city that never sleeps takes a short pause before dawn; the clubs close and their patrons burst forth to the fast food joints and the taxi stands, the street sweepers and night crews take advantage of a lull in traffic to work uninterrupted, the lights dim. New York City never stops: the buzz, the rush, the noise follow you through the night and accompany the sunrise but the lull before dawn let’s one take up a little more space than usual in the city.

Time Square - with room to spare!

We tend to stay near the more populous places until it gets light out, but then we set off walking and pick a neighborhood. Each trip is dedicated to a different region of Manhattan. Even with all the time and money in the world, you can’t see all New York has to offer so I don’t stress out. I can always come back.

NY Public Library Mural

This past weekend we focused on the Village, exploring the streets and shops, having breakfast in a little British-style tea shop where the owner seemed to know everyone that came in. We did a lap around the universities campuses and checked  out the Fashion Institute’s museum. I wasn't feeling very well, so we took our time this trip but we still had a great time and spent next to nothing, in New York dollars.

One of the many 9/11 tributes

We took our time with my being sick and not eating all that much to support the 16 (!) miles we walked, but each time I'm in the city I find a dozen undiscovered treasures to come back for. 

If you’re in the Northeast / Boston area and going to give the NYC marathon day trip a shot, some helpful things to remember:

• Grand Central Station opens at 5:30am. Before that, you’ll be stuck in the vestibule with the Jersey kids going home from the clubs and the local color. But after GCS opens it is warm, large, and has free bathrooms. It is also a beautiful building and landmark worth seeing with a lovely dining hall and sitting area downstairs.

• Starbucks are plentiful and whether you like them or detest them, they are some of the first places open in the early morning. If you don’t see one from where you are standing, walk a block in any direction and take a look around. There you go.

• The New York Public Library is another gorgeous building which also features rotating exhibits on a variety of topics. It is also free!

• Bring a snack for the bus (and for the hours before everything else opens)!

• Dress warm, regardless of season. NY’s skyscapers create wind tunnels that make it feel much cooler than Boston and other coastal cities. It is also much less sunny because of said buildings.

About how I feel right now...

Friday Afternoon free time? Watch this:

All you need is Love

Sometimes...

Writing Prompt # 974

I have been working on writing more often and was happy to discover a whole site of writing prompts (that were not of the high school standardized test variety...)

Using Prompt 974  from Easy Street Prompts, , I had these nine word / phrases to work with:

overthrown - crustaceous swimmer - marinated

trivialized -  inconvenient pedant  - convict

outlaw - immaculate crumbs - schoolmarm

This is the type of writing exercise I need since it gives me structure and a concrete goal.  I will surely be doing more of these and probably will post a few along the way.

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The schoolmarm stood on the creaky front porch, hand to her forehead as she peered out over the sea.  The wind whipped her faded dress around her thin legs.  The stone gray sea that lay beyond the cottage’s walls looked cold and impersonal.  A single crustaceous swimmer scuttled from rock to rock, slipping and clinging to the earth like a frantic crab. 

The schoolmarm surveyed the endless waters once more, acutely disapproving of the lone swimmer’s poor choice of behavior before she turns and disappeared back inside. 

People like that trivialized life, she thought sourly.  She believed nothing was trivial and everything profound, from the smallest creature to the largest gesture.  The only time she felt otherwise was in church on Sundays, when she had to admit that everything other than GOD was a bit trivial.  She always felt like an outlaw, realizing she had forgotten about God in the days between Sunday and Sunday.  But she asked for forgiveness and received it in the host; those immaculate crumbs brought relief that smoothed out the guilt.

The pastor watched the schoolmarm enter the worn pews of his church and leave them every Sunday morning service.  She was a faithful devotee in his eyes and he wished he knew of her faith more personally.  He longed to reach out and lay his gentle hand on the faded sleeve of her dress, slowing her departure.  He would have liked to talk to her about God and faith and life and death, but a tiny voice inside his head balked and he knew in any moment alone with her, he would prove to be an inconvenient pedant and his attentions overthrown.

He watched her come into church and he watched her go out.  He often gazed out his study window as he sat at his desk and hoped that God would lead her past his door.  He wrote each sermon for her, at least one line or verse wholly dedicated to her.  He marinated his mind and soul in the words of the bible but ultimately he was soaked through with thoughts of her. 

He exhaled as she slipped out the chapel door and turned left.  He knew her rituals as he knew his own, and they would both take tea now in solitude to contemplate the word of the Lord they had both just heard.  He would think of her and the Lord; he was her convict.

The schoolmarm tightened her shawl around her thin shoulders and turned into the wind toward home.  She would soon sit down to tea.  She anticipated its warmth and thanked God for that and nothing else.