Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘musings’

A new restaurant has opened not far from where I work. I paused in my journey this morning to peer at the menu from afar. Words rang out. “Hey, Nigger. This is where people walk.” Startled I turned toward the voice to see a young white man striding past. Now I’d seen him earlier in the morning. He was clearly strung out on something so there was no need to say anything in return. But as I returned to work I was startled that the words of a junkie, someone clearly in need of some help of some sort, could touch me so. Probably doesn’t help that I am currently immersed in historical research about the profiling and imprisonment of free Black seaman in the antebellum south.

Nor does it help that as Steve and I continue to make our way in this world that people continually, immediately, assume that I am either the paid home health aid or the overnight caregiver. And so then the onus is on me to calmly explain that I am his wife. The onus. I know of a lovely older Black woman in an interracial relationship and she shared that in the retirement community where they reside she always carries her resident card to prove she belongs there and is not “just” a visiting care giver.

We live in a time of unprecedented whitewashing where people in power are trying to normalize outright racism and bigotry and even more so foment deep and abiding ignorance about this nation’s past let alone its present. People are not questioning their assumptions. Race does matter regardless of what a super rich and powerful white minority are trying to assert.

Just some Sunday musings … best get back to my research so that that forgotten story can be shared soon.

Read Full Post »

There is a blue jay that likes to sit upon the porch and pound peanuts into any bare earth it can find in one of my pots, most often the pot of marigolds. A dove will occasionally land and then fly away, a fleeting guest, not like the mating pair that tried to nest on the porch during the pandemic. Now that I’ve added some pots of long willowy grass, lemongrass and zebra, sparrows will do a curiosity flyby but have not yet landed that I’ve seen.

I’m tempted to put out a water feature but that might attract more than birds. I am quite pleased with the porch this year. It was garden therapy i thought for Steve but it has surely been for me as well. I tell people I think I have reached capacity in terms of adding more containers but even as I look out the door now I can imagine one or two more containers just ‘cause. It is primarily a culinary space with many pots of basil, mint, lavender, thyme, rosemary and oregano. I added the lemongrass for height and texture though I know it is used in cooking as well.

I keep telling Steve the violas are edible but that’s a lost argument. Most attractive to me at the moment is the lavender. I’m sure for Steve it is the basil which he just pinched yesterday and we made a small batch of pesto for dinner.

I think of it as a mini-healing garden. I learned of the concept on my journey with Steve these past few years, sitting with him or by myself, in the rooftop gardens of different hospitals. Due to recent mobility challenges Steve had not been able to sit out there though he helped plant many of the containers. I call those Saturday mornings at the kitchen table surrounded by dirt our indoor gardening time. He pots the plants and I position them on the porch. He could only look out but of late we’ve learned of these things called suitcase ramps and voila he is able to sit in our little garden.

He doesn’t crave it the way that I do. We’ve discussed the fact that, in Virginia, I grew up in a porch culture and he most certainly did not. When he does sit out there I hope there is some benefit to mind and body. It is mid-July and the violas are fading. New opportunities await for filling some containers.

Read Full Post »

When my father was reassigned to Vienna we had to say good-bye to all of our friends. We had a party with my school friends. I “planned” it but my Ayah did all the work. The Ayah took care of me and my sister and made sure we weren’t stolen. She tucked me in bed at night, and chased the animals out. She got me up each morning. She was dark of skin with long dark hair. She would get me out of trouble and keep me safe. If I broke something, like a nice glass or cup, she often took the blame for me. 

Hadi was the butler and oversaw the house and whole compound. He reported to my father. He was kind and gentle. One day I decided to cook a steak. I had to cook something. I was in the kitchen. I don’t remember why. He watched as I cooked the steak guiding me. When I thought it was done he said no but I didn’t listen. I insisted on eating it and it made me sick.

Let’s end with the Maharajah. My first impression of him was that he was fat. I mean he was a very big man to a small boy. My dad took me to work at the library that was located in Coorg. And that’s where I think I first saw him. He and my dad and I took a walk around his place. I wouldn’t call it a palace. Big compound is closer. The animals were loose in the compound. There was an elephant, gray, probably a male but I don’t know for sure. Probably a giraffe. He hunted. He shot a mother tiger and captured the cubs. There was a batch of those that I saw and played with. Four of them. They were very small. They would fit in my hands if I held them now. I think I told you they were white but they weren’t white solidly through. I don’t remember what year that was but I saw him more than once. I know he met with Queen Elizabeth in 1961 as she toured India. I remember seeing her driving in a convertible. I was looking down from the roof of the library. 

I can’t think of these times as unusual. It was simply my childhood. We moved on to Vienna for a few years. I joined the Boy Scouts, an international troop, and received an award for knot tying. I had weak ankles and a doctor their prescribed ice skating. My mother taught me some fancy ballroom dances and my father tried to teach me guitar. There I was introduced to sachertorte. It is still one of my favorite desserts. Like I said, simply my childhood.


Photo Sources:

Horne Family Album

https://archive.org/details/propix.275036712

Read Full Post »

In Steve’s own words …

In Bangalore, I used to walk to the local Indian school, St. Anthony’s Boy’s School. Sometimes I took a rickshaw. The driver would be peddling on the street and I would wave him down. It was cheap and I had enough pocket money. I thought school was thorough and complete meaning subjects were covered thoroughly and completely without any gaps or holes. But when I went on to a British school in Bangalore I discovered there were holes in what I had been taught. It didn’t matter. I just loved learning and reading. Given that my father ran a library there were plenty of books at my disposal. My parents were open to me reading anything. There were no PTA (parent teacher association) meetings. No judgements. My father probably gave me the most books on all sorts of subjects. 

The dachshund would meet me when I walked home from school. My general routine after returning home was to put on outdoor clothes and go climb a tree. There were not so many other kids around. Sometimes a few. We lived on Richmond Road, a street with lots of bungalows. White people generally lived in these bungalows, mostly Brits. They worked for the state I guess maybe civil servants.

after first communion

My dad had a jeep as part of his job. On Sundays we would drive to mass at the Catholic church. I remember the building as spacious. Sometimes he would drive me to the library where he worked. That seemed spacious to me too. Everything seemed spacious to me back then. Even our bungalow.

I remember the bungalow had a veranda. I remember lots of plants on ours planted by the gardener and by my dad as well. My father liked to garden growing all kinds of plants edible and not. I remember everything from African violets to basil. 

In addition to the dachshund and siamese cat, he owned parakeets. About four or five blue parakeets in a green cage. He also kept fish in a standard fish bowl. They were just plain old fish not very interesting to me. He also kept two horses. He loved animals. He’d grown up on a farm in Nebraska. 

I fell from a mango tree and my dad looked at my arm and decided it was broken and took me to the doctor. I also fell while climbing a wall. A piece of the wall broke off in my hand and that’s how I fell. A stranger, an Indian man,  picked me up and took me up to the house. Broke my arm that time too catching myself with my hand and elbow beneath me. But aside from events like this I felt safe and happy in Bangalore.

I enjoyed the food. My first glass of water there I drank not realizing there were peppercorns in the glass. Overall the food was not spicy. We had a cook. He would make me fried chicken. When my father was entertaining he would take over the kitchen. He greatly enjoyed cooking. From him I learned how to make pesto. He was a good cook. 

My younger sister had been born in Italy. My mother had her hands full with me, a baby and my father and all our animals. She was very beautiful and always smelled nice. Like flowers.

Read Full Post »

I must say it does make me thoughtful that posts written a decade ago might have some relevance today but so it goes ….

Read Full Post »

Just imagine, indeed.

Read Full Post »

There is no description of Winter but somehow I assume Winter is female. She was likely from Angola or possibly Gambia. Many of the enslaved to South Carolina at this time were from those regions. The same is likely true for King, Dido, Bell, Judge, Coaster, York and the nine other individuals along with Winter who were bequeathed to Mary Cochran Smith by her husband James Smith of Charleston, South Carolina. If they were bought from a single “parcel” that is unclear. If they were named by the Smiths or by the captors who first enslaved them is unclear.

There is only so much one can glean from the newspaper advertisements.

Carpenter, Ajax, Hercules, Thunder, Drummer, Soldier and Sailor who together ran away from Royal Governor Boone were new to the Carolina colony, unable to speak English, but based on their names had some inherent skills.

Uriah Edwards placed ads for two months in The South Carolina Gazette seeking the return of his “new Negro girl named Juno about 14 or 15 years of age.” Did he reclaim his property after that time or did he simply stop placing advertisements?

Phebe was a thin spare woman when she ran away from Joseph Wragg. She’d lived in Charles Town aka Charleston since she was sixteen years old because the advertisement stated that she was 36 years old and was well known around town as a washer woman for the past twenty years.

Virtue ran away from Titus Bateman along with a two-year old child. I wonder the name the of the child.

Edward Morris threatened prosecution of anyone harboring his Negro boy Shadwell.

Peter Roberts sought the return of his Eboe man named Primus. And further along the page of the same 1735 newspaper, Joseph Wragg and Company, the trading enterprise of Joseph Wragg and his brother Samuel, advertised “To be sold on Wednesday the 2nd day of July next … a choice parcel of slaves, imported in the ship Dove, Richard Fothergill Commander, directly from Angola.” And if you switch to the Slave Voyages Database you can see that the Dove commanded by Fothergill boarded 290 enslaved Africans of whom 248 survived for sale in Charleston.

When did these 248 people receive their new names?

The South-Carolina Gazette a few months later reported held in jail awaiting return to their enslavers two men both named Primus, a boy named Cesar and an Ebo girl who could not speak English and therefore had no known name. And in that same paper an ad reads “to be sold on the 24th of September a parcel of choice Negroes imported in the Happy Couple … Hill Master directly from the coast of Guiney by Jos. Wragg and Co.” The database shows that ship commanded by Captain Hill disembarked 141 souls.

London merchants Joseph and Samuel Wragg were the largest slave traders in Charleston during the early 1700s. They sat on various Royal councils. They did so well in promoting emigration to the new colony that they and later some of their descendants were granted tens of thousands of acres of land. During the 1730s 20,000 slaves were imported to Charleston, SC, most from Angola and more than a third brought in by Joseph Wragg and Company.

As recorded in transcribed Great Britain Colonial Records, in a report for the King of England about the numbers of enslaved Africans imported to the Carolina Colony at Charleston between May 30, 1721 to September 29, 1726, in July the ship Ruby docked with 112 people on board. Of that number Joseph Wragg received 24 men and women and 3 boys and girls. In September the ship Cape Coast disembarked 126 with Wragg receiving 112 men and women and 3 boys and girls. Other local trading houses received the rest. The South Carolina Gazette was started in 1732 I believe so I can find no newspaper advertisements about how these men, women and children were sold.

Or what names were thrust upon them.

Read Full Post »

… then bring the mountain or at least a portion of it to you. “Do what you love.” That is what the outpatient therapists reiterate to Steve as we continue on this journey of stroke recovery. One of the things he loves is woodworking, old school craftsmanship. Think The Woodwright Shop. His woodworking shop is in the basement. Hmmm. We’re not quite there yet because yes, it is another spiral stair, but his therapy team said if you love woodworking then do woodworking, figure out some simple projects and go to it. I asked Steve what would you like to do. He said, “Make cutting boards.” Now I’m not a woodworker but I’ve seen him make cutting boards and I responded after a deep breath, “Uhm, do you think there’s something even simpler to begin with? You know you have some cedar panels from a previous project. I can bring them up here. You were supposed to make me some moth repellant hangers for the closets …” He processed it and said, “Okay, we can do that. I need the Jorgenson clamp.” I blinked a few times and then said, “Well, of course,” as I slid my phone out of my pocket to google what that meant. But what I didn’t remember was “old school” and so in the end he had to sketch what he meant and if you google what he meant it falls under beautiful wooden vintage. And so on this journey I’m learning new language (fret saw?!) and new skills (how to make a straight cut). He’s got a goal. He’s making a bunch of very practical (and oh so wonderfully smelling) cedar hooks to give to family and friends for their closets. Life is so interesting. 🙂

Read Full Post »

Outside this window, down below, there is a yard chaotically divided into lots of pocket gardens. There is a trio of pots that still have remnants of basil though I think they will fade to black when the night time temps drop into the 30s this week. There are raised beds bright green with red clover growing and the bright gold flowers of tall stalks of mexican tarragon. I specifically placed pots of orange and burgundy mums in the furthest bed right next to a forest of rosemary. I wanted that burnt beauty to be part of his line of sight once he returned home. And now that Steve is home, practicing his steps deliberately, he can walk from the living room to the distant kitchen window and see the wider world, the gardens that he helped plant and dream of what we will plant in the spring.

Read Full Post »

I don’t remember writing the story in 2012 or so. What I do remember is that early on in our relationship I might say to Steve as we hiked, “Ah, we’ve come to a fork in the road. Which one do we take?” And his response was always something to the effect, “If there’s a fork in the road, pick it up.” Not so helpful a reply in the moment but more helpful creatively than I ever imagined. The seeds were planted so when one day a little girl asked me to make up a story about a stone in my rock collection … well, the following story somehow evolved. https://www.creativity-portal.com/articles/cynthia-staples/long-walk.html

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »