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MissMelisshttp://www.missmeliss.com

Islands and History

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Farallon Light

When all was ready and the land duly claimed in the name of Queen Elizabeth I, Drake set sail on July 23. The next day he hove off to the southern Farallones, which he named, for reasons that are not documented, the Islands of Saint James. While Drake gives July 24, 1579, as the day spent at the Farallones, according to our present-day Gregorian calendar, the date is August 3.

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When Drake or one of his crew stepped ashore onto the islands, a full 41 years before the pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock, he became the first European to set foot in what is now the city of San Francisco (the islands are within the city’s limits).
~Peter White, The Farallon Islands: Sentinels of the Golden Gate

The Farallones captured my attention years ago, when I still lived in California, and saw an ad for a day-trip to go take pictures of white sharks, or even cage dive near the islands (with a hookah – not with scuba gear).

Their hold on me grew several years ago, when I read Susan Casey’s book about them: The Devil’s Teeth: A True Story of Obsession and Survival Among America’s Great White Sharks. In it, she mentioned a much more scientific book, the one quoted above, which is really a comprehensive history of the islands.

It only made me more intrigued. In my mind’s ear I hear the roaring waves, and the cries of birds, and in the dimmest corner of my imagination, a ghost story about the little girl who used to live on the island starts to form, because anyone will tell you that if there’s anyplace on earth spookier than these islands and the water that surrounds them, it would be difficult to name them.

America…

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In all honesty, I’ve been avoiding the net today, partly because I’ve been focused on other things, and partly because I wanted to avoid all the 9/11 anniversary stuff, because eleven years later, it feels more maudlin than anything else. Am I sorry people died? Of course. But I’m sorry for every life lost in every conflict around the world, and frankly, we’re still pretty lucky as far as terrorism goes, unless you count our own legislature spending all their time passing laws that tell women what they can do with their bodies instead of creating jobs.

So, here’s my favorite Roy Zimmerman song, because his manages to blend jaded irony and idealistic hope into one really catchy tune.

NOT another Manic Monday

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drink coffee

I did not wake up at 6:00 this morning, but stayed in bed til 9:30 waiting for the pool guy to come and go, because if I stay in bed the dogs do, too.

Not that I ever wake up at six in the morning, unless there’s a compelling reason.

However, even though I really didn’t start my day til after eleven (there were distractions), I managed to write one press release, seven articles for various work blogs, three letters (which actually made it INTO THE MAIL) took a swim, cleaned the kitchen, made dinner, ate dinner with Fuzzy (while watching Warehouse 13, I do so love Brent Spiner as the big bad), and had a great conversation with a friend.

As days go, it was pretty good.

I’m sure the double espresso I had with breakfast made all the difference.

Saturdaily

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A sleepy morning followed by lunch at Panera and a brief, though unfruitful, trip to Half Price Books was the highlight of our Saturday.

However brief our time out of the house might have been we still managed to enjoy the cooler day.

The heat of the day may be ten to fifteen degrees cooler this weekend, but anywhere else in the country it would still count as summer. I enjoy the warm days, but am looking forward to crisp evenings.

Fuzzy suggested a visit to Trinity Hall yesterday, and I had to explain to him that I only like Irish pubs when it’s rainy or cold…preferably both.

And Fall Blows In…

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I’ve been mostly loopy all day, from a low-grade infection, leftover jangled nerves after a dental visit yesterday, and a migraine triggered by both of those things and a shift in the weather. I’m still feeling a little spinny, and even though it’s not quite midnight, and I’ve been groggy and half-sleeping all day, I’m probably going back to bed as soon as I get this posted.

For the last week or so the weather reports and the Texas Stormchasers have been talking about the cold front that has been creeping toward us all day. Not that it’s actually going to be cold – tomorrow’s high is supposed to be just below 90 – but the overnight lows for the next few days are supposed to drop into the sixties, and the ten-day forecast doesn’t have a single day predicted to be over 94. If that seems like the height of summer, still, consider that this afternoon’s high was 106.

Earlier this evening, Fuzzy and I sat on the deck, watching clouds blow across the night sky as the dogs raced around the yard. It was dark, and still pretty steamy, but the wind had a bite underneath the warmth.

We sat under the rustling trees, and held hands in the dark, as fall blew into town.

Thursday 13: Things my Mother Taught Me

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I have to confess: I was working on a completely different Thursday 13 list for today, but it’s still in draft form, and not quite ready, and this morning at the dentist, while reading political posts on Facebook and HuffPo and Jezebel, I was thinking about my mother.

momx400

Last month, she wrote a birthday letter to me in her blog, and it made me cry, but over the years she’s also been a source of sage advice, and I thought I’d share some.

  1. Stand up for yourself, and for the things you believe in. If you don’t, who will?
  2. It’s okay – and even healthy – to think of yourself first from time to time.
  3. Never underestimate the simple pleasure of a bubble bath.
  4. Thank-you notes and good hygiene never go out of style.
  5. Happy feet = a happy heart.
  6. Trust your body, and trust your instincts about your body.
  7. Every woman – indeed, every person – should live on their own for at least a year before getting married.
  8. They should also travel.
  9. And have at least one truly-tragic love affair.
  10. You do not have to marry the first person you sleep with.
  11. Pretty underwear can lift your mood. If it matches your outfit, even better.
  12. When moving house, unpack the kitchen first, and get it set up completely.
  13. Coffee, chocolate, and a good book can save your sanity.

Kitchen Tables

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Some of the best moments of my life have taken place with a mug of coffee or tea in my hand and my elbows propped on a kitchen table. The table I remember most vividly from childhood is my grandmother’s. I think I was twenty-one before I ever saw it without some kind of table cloth on it, but I remember that it seemed huge, even when the expansion leaves weren’t in place, and that no matter the number of people who showed up, there was never “not enough room.”

DrinkingCoffee400 from iStockPhoto.com

Summers of my childhood included so many gatherings around that table – breakfast served by my grandfather, who made the perfect poached eggs, the best cream of wheat, and used to sing “Sweet Adeline” while he cooked. Afternoons were punctuated by my grandmother’s need for “a little something,” often an Entenmann’s coffee cake, but sometimes just a Stella D’oro anisette toast cookie (like a sponge biscotti, laced with anise). That’s when cousins would drop by – my grandmother’s niece Ginny, born 31 years before me on the same day (she called me her birthday girl til the day she died), or her daughter, my cousin Cathy, who is the closest thing I ever had to an older sister.

Evenings would involve grilled burgers, slices of Jersey tomatoes, corn on the cob, and baked potatoes wrapped in foil. Sometimes there would be cousins, sometimes the friends who are really non-biological family – they know who they are. Conversation would rise and fall, kids would share the bench from the foyer, jammed into the far corner of the room, at the curve of the table, or sit on the piano stool (and be forbidden to spin it, though we all wanted to).

But that was years ago.

This morning, the kitchen table around which people gathered was mine, and instead of cousins and friends who’ve known me since before I was born, it was newer friends – two women who are part of my chosen family here in Texas, and one of their mothers. I served strong Caribou Obsidian blend coffee, and homemade banana nut bread and we spent a pleasant morning talking and laughing.

At one point, early in the visit, one of my friends said, “Sitting here at this table with a cup of coffee is like coming home.”

It’s the greatest compliment I’ve ever been paid.

Sweet and Spicy

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Starbucks Pumpkin Spice Latte

For many people, the fall season begins on the day after Labor Day. Growing up, it was when fall began for me, because it’s when school resumed after summer vacation. For the last eight years, however, Fuzzy and I have lived in Texas, where temperatures are still summer-hot at least mid-way through the month.

Nevertheless, today is when the Pumpkin Spice Latte returned to Starbucks, and so, even though the high temperature in my city was 104 today, we went to Starbucks after a lovely dinner at our favorite Asian bistro and a quick jaunt to the grocery store. (We were out of cheese and toothpaste. It was dire.)

My local Starbucks has gained a new barista this summer, not an unusual occurrence at a coffee shop, but this one is particularly awesome. Her name is Katherine (or some variant spelling of that name, but, to quote Anne Shirley, and with no disrespect meant to certain friends or relatives, “Katherine spelt with a K is so much more alluring than Catherine with a C”). She wears rainbow spikes in her ear lobes, which should be weird but somehow hers are both cool and tasteful. She has a lovely speaking voice (no Texas accent so I’m guessing she’s a student at one of the local colleges) and a great personality.

And tonight, she introduced me to a new drink customization.

Our conversation went like this:

“Hi, it’s good to see you!” Katherine greeted me.

“Thanks! I saw the sign that Pumpkin Spice Lattes were back when I was at Tom Thumb, but the kiosk closes at seven, and while they’re lovely people, they’re excruciatingly slow.” I said.

“The salted caramel mocha is back too, you know,” she said with a seductive tone in her voice.

“I know,” I said conspiratorially, “but it’s too hot for the salted caramel mocha. It is not, however, too hot for a grande Pumpkin Spice Latte.”

“Good point,” she agreed, beginning to mark my drink request onto the appropriately sized cardboard cup. Then she paused. “You know what I’ve been doing?” she asked.

“No,” I said, leaning over the counter. “Tell me!”

“I’ve been mixing chai with the Pumpkin Spice Latte. You’re a fan of chai, aren’t you.”

I confirmed that I was, in fact, a chai fan, and that I’d love to try her concoction, and so instead of a standard PSL, I walked out with a grande PSL enhanced by two pumps of chai.

It was sweet and spicy, and had a hint of tea underneath the coffee, and was a bit darker in tone than a standard PSL.

Katherine says the only thing better, in her opinion, is mixing chai with the Gingerbread Lattes when they come out in winter.

I can’t wait to find out.

Honor Labor

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It’s Labor Day, and while for many of us all that means is an extended weekend, there are some people who still have to go to work today. Even though there are things Fuzzy and I need from the grocery store, I have a personal issue with frequenting any retail establishment on Labor Day (or really, on any national holiday) because I believe doing so merely encourages companies to extend work hours. Yes, our society has essentially become a 24/7 one, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any of us to take a break from time to time.

In any case, Labor Day wouldn’t exist without labor unions, and while it’s debatable whether or not they still serve a purpose in our era, the fact remains that they’ve done a lot of good, and not just for workers. Here are five things you should remember about Labor Day, taken from the Progressive Change Campaign Committee blog:

The Weekend: The ultra-right Mises Institute notes that in the relatively labor union-free year of 1870, the average workweek for most Americans was 61 hours — almost double what most Americans work now. In response to this, in the late nineteenth century and the twentieth century, labor unions engaged in massive strikes in order to demand shorter workweeks so that Americans could be home with their loved ones instead of constantly toiling for their employers with no leisure time. By 1937, these labor actions created enough political momentum to pass the Fair Labor Standards Act, which helped create a federal framework for a shorter workweek that included room for workers to spend time with their families and engage in other leisurely activities.

Widespread Employer-Based Health Coverage: As unions grew in numbers in the 1930s and 40s, there was a rapid expansion of employers offering their employees health care. As Health Affairs notes, “In industries dominated by a few giant firms, unions used their “countervailing power” to make the firms share some of their potential profits with workers in the form of high wages and generous health insurance benefits.”

Ending Child Labor: The first American Federation of Labor (AFL) national convention passed “a resolution calling on states to ban children under 14 from all gainful employment” in 1881, and soon after states across the country adopted similar recommendations, leading up to the 1938 Fair Labor Standards Act which regulated child labor on the federal level for the first time.

The Family and Medical Leave Act: Labor unions as part of the AFL-CIO federation led the fight for this 1993 law, which “requires state agencies and private employers with more than 50 employees to provide up to 12 weeks of job-protected unpaid leave annually for workers to care for a newborn, newly adopted child, seriously ill family member or for the worker’s own illness.”

Keeping Income Inequality In Check: As research from the Center for American Progress has shown, the middle class had its largest share of national income at exactly the same time that union membership was highest in the United States. In 1967, the middle class had approximately 53 percent of the national income, while 27 percent of workers belong to a union. By 2007, the middle class’s share of national income dropped to around 46 percent with a union membership rate of around 11 percent.