Disclaimer: Camera's battery is dead. Will be stealing pictures soon.
So Roberto and I went to the castle yesterday. Oh, hey, America, that's all you're really lacking. Castles! Barack should build castles. That would stimulate the economy, and offer us fortifications should the Canadians ever decide to invade. We could employ all sorts of masons and architects to build the castles, and if we went back to the huge guns -- like Mon Megs -- then we would employ carpenters to follow the troops around, building and repairing the wagons for said huge guns. Plus, just imagine -- we'd be able to say, "Check out our huge guns!" Caleb would love that, I think.
So I love Robert. He's hilarious. (He's such a cross between Wisconsin and DC and I don't even know what to do with him.) We took pictures of each other in front of the castle, including in front of the big guns that I mentioned. I took his picture with some swords and he took my picture with a man dressed for living history. The castle is cool, but the weather wasn't ideal. Not really drizzly, but threatening, and cold. We waited in line -- oh, about that.
Robert wanted to leave early so we wouldn't have to wait in long lines. Nine AM. Fine by me. I even went to bed early! And set my alarm! I woke up at ten, horrified. My alarm had not gone off, because my phone was still on silent. I was ready by 10:18 and went down to his flat and apologized. He was wrapped in a blanket and looked... well, I interpreted it as irritated, but apparently, it was "sleepy." He muttered "That's okay," and began shutting the door. I got really confused and didn't know if he meant "That's okay, too late now, though," or "That's okay; hold on a second." I waited for a minute before I felt like a creep and went back to my flat. I figured if he still wanted to go, he'd come up and knock. Well! I forgot that I can't hear the door from my room when my door is shut. So at quarter past eleven I got a text from him asking where I was.
And we finally headed out.
Good advice: there is a "one o'clock gun." If you want to see them fire it, be near the entrance at one o'clock. Wear argyle. You'll be so glad you did when you stumble upon Argyle Tower. Susannah knows what I'm talking about. Will would love Argyle Tower, I know, as would J. Crew. The crown jewels were a delight, and an unexpected delight. Moving through the exhibit felt a bit like moving through one of the Salem witch museums, with the figures frozen in a moment and piped-in audio dialogue. There is a nifty family tree, but if you're going to look at the family tree please understand that James V was the father of Mary, Queen of Scots. And her son was James VI, I -- aka the best king ever, besides Bonnie Prince Charlie. The crown jewels gift shop was awesome. They had plastic crowns and tiaras that would have made sixteen year old Ashley freak right out. Margaret's Chapel, built in the 12th century, was tiny and beautiful. The prisons were... unsettling. Though there was a bit of an American Pride moment, when we read about Washington and the most glorious war ever fought. (American Revolution, what?)
It was trippy being in the room where James VI, I was born. I had just done a presentation on him and everything, so it was overwhelming, historically speaking.
This castle is a bit more expensive than you might expect -- if all the museums, or "galleries," are free, the castles are not. It's about ten pounds (not bucks) to get in. If you want a self-guided audio tour, it's another 3.50, and for a guide book in addition to the audio guide, it's even more. They have an extensive gift shop, I'll give them that. The array of Scotch is impressive for a gift shop, as is the selection of whiskey armor they offer. Robert the Bruce not your type? Go for William Wallace. Oh, still too noble for you? Choose the piper! Coming from a place where alcohol is not sold within two feet of children's foam swords, it was, let's say, a revelation.
I went to mass today, at the University's Chaplaincy. Nine AM. I had imagined that it would be entirely older people, but also, that it might be three students and no one else. Well, it was a pretty full mass, for an early morning mass in a city whose official religion is "not Catholic." I guess that just means that all the Catholics go to the same couple of churches. It was such a small room, without pews or kneelers. You decide beforehand if you want to accept the host or not -- someone actually confronted me about this today.
"Excuse me," he said, meaning well. "You forgot your communion."
"Oh, I'm not taking communion," I replied. "I haven't been to confession."
I didn't add "in seven and a half years." Though, the idea of accepting communion without having gone to confession didn't seem to bother him too much. But the mass was quick, without singing. I missed Father Mark's booming "How are you, my children?" and his glorious "Through him, with him, in him." Does it occur to anyone else that he has the perfect voice for being a priest?
Anyway, no kneeling, no singing, no procession. It's the ritual of Catholicism stripped of its pretty. I think, for the most part, I loved it. Except for not understanding most of what they were saying during the prayers. Every time I thought I had figured out what part we were at, they tossed in something new or there was a collective mumble and I lost it. Alas.
The chapel is an old drawing room, and sparse. There was an iron crucifix over the altar, done in avant garde style, and no other decorations at all. Large windows, lots of light, sunny yellow walls. And aside from missing Father Mark (and Father Paul, for that matter...) it was a really lovely ceremony. It was a ceremony without the ritual, I guess. Without the fetishism a more well-funded Catholic church, like Saint Joe's, can afford. The pretty embossed wafers -- though they did have simple wafers, at least, and not pita bread -- and crystal chalices of my youth were nowhere to be found. It actually sort of felt like Catholicism wasn't a huge denomination throughout the world -- which, compared to its prevalence in eastern Massachusetts, especially the South Shore (or, the Irish Riviera), it's really not.
Here's a fun fact: my classes end MARCH 26TH. Yes, you read that correctly. My classes are over March 26th. And then I come home in the first week of June. Chyeah. Three finals spread out over that time, of course, but, really now. What on Earth will I do with myself? Having all that time to write, and to read, and to explore. If you want to come visit me in April or May, please do!
Showing posts with label America. Show all posts
Showing posts with label America. Show all posts
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
I'll show you mine if you show me yours
The Puritans, to American studies majors, seem to be an utterly American phenomenon. After all, the Puritans chartered a boat and escaped to the rocky coast of Plimoth, where they established the first "permanent" American colony. They were driven out of England, and eventually the Netherlands, to the big, wide-open continent of North America. Ours.
Funny thing about being in Scotland, then. On the first day of my "Literature and Politics in Early Modern Scottish History" my professor cited an American definition of Puritans (one I have heard since roughly second grade, every November like clockwork) with reverence and astonishment. As if she could hardly believe that an American scholar could provide a clever and succinct definition for what was surely a British phenomenon.
(The quote, by the way, is roughly paraphrased here: A Puritan is a person who is very afraid that somewhere in the world, someone is happy.)
I had forgotten that before being driven out of England by the King's religious restrictions, or severe lack thereof, and even after settling in Plimoth, that they considered themselves English, still. That it wasn't a burden for them to have to send lumber and goods to the King, because he was their king. So too had my elementary school teachers. (Sorry, Mrs. Dorsky, I don't mean to throw you under the bus for doing your job.) Which isn't fair, I suppose, since we all knew in the backs of our minds that these were British folks who wrote up the Mayflower Compact and ostracized my beloved Hester Prynne (the most empowered fallen woman in literature and I love her for it). Even the Puritans born in America didn't consider themselves "American" and legally, they were still subjects of the King. Which makes them, legally, and technically, British history.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever. Hey, remember Squanto? Lets make hand-turkeys and collect leaves. What is the definition of a "cornucopia"? (This, I believe, truly is fundamentally American, like baseball and Fenway Franks. But I'll keep surveying people.)
But it gives rise to some serious soul-searching. What is American history and when does it begin? When does America become "America," no longer under the domain of England? (The easy answer might be "1776, duh," but even that isn't really true. Because many of the colonists saw themselves as a free people before that, which is part of what led to the tension prior to the Greatest War Ever. Some people saw themselves as English right through the war. Our own history is never as unified as we'd like to think. But that's a different entry) Why is it that both British scholars and American scholars lay claim to the same group of people as falling into their exclusive historical domain, and to what degree is all history universal, in the sense that we are all people and history is communal property? ("We are all connected to each other, in a circle, in a hoop that never ends.")
But John Smith really is a part of this discussion. Just look at his portrayal in Pocahontas, yeah? He is blonde, blue-eyed, and voiced by Mel Gibson, who at the time seemed as golden and American as Tom Brady. That's like Brad Pitt playing Vasquez or Ponce De Leon with an American accent, or Tom Cruise playing a Nazi without a German accent...
John Smith wasn't an American. He didn't even settle in America; he went back to England. Is he a part of "our" history or a part of "their" history? And is this possessiveness of history really a good thing at all? Probably not. But it exists, this concept of "my history" and "your history." Isn't one of the great things about history that anyone can study it? That it belongs to the people who want it? When countries acknowledge their shared history, such as both World Wars and the Reformation, the study of that history becomes that much deeper and richer. When you accept that the nailing of the Ninety-five Theses to the door of the Wittenberg Cathedral marked a crucial turning point not just in German or Italian history but also in English and French and Spanish history, and not just in religious history but in political and social as well, then you can come to a much fuller and rounder understanding of what Martin Luther did. The Reformation is something everyone in Europe shares. From Henry VIII to Martin Luther to Pope Julius.
So Scotland, England, all of Britain, hell, let's throw the Netherlands in there for good measure. I want to know what you can tell me about the Puritans, about the Pilgrims. And I'll show you mine if you show me yours.
Note: It seems the British don't want John Smith. I asked my flatmate yesterday what she learned about John Smith, and her response was, "John who?"
Funny thing about being in Scotland, then. On the first day of my "Literature and Politics in Early Modern Scottish History" my professor cited an American definition of Puritans (one I have heard since roughly second grade, every November like clockwork) with reverence and astonishment. As if she could hardly believe that an American scholar could provide a clever and succinct definition for what was surely a British phenomenon.
(The quote, by the way, is roughly paraphrased here: A Puritan is a person who is very afraid that somewhere in the world, someone is happy.)
I had forgotten that before being driven out of England by the King's religious restrictions, or severe lack thereof, and even after settling in Plimoth, that they considered themselves English, still. That it wasn't a burden for them to have to send lumber and goods to the King, because he was their king. So too had my elementary school teachers. (Sorry, Mrs. Dorsky, I don't mean to throw you under the bus for doing your job.) Which isn't fair, I suppose, since we all knew in the backs of our minds that these were British folks who wrote up the Mayflower Compact and ostracized my beloved Hester Prynne (the most empowered fallen woman in literature and I love her for it). Even the Puritans born in America didn't consider themselves "American" and legally, they were still subjects of the King. Which makes them, legally, and technically, British history.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever. Hey, remember Squanto? Lets make hand-turkeys and collect leaves. What is the definition of a "cornucopia"? (This, I believe, truly is fundamentally American, like baseball and Fenway Franks. But I'll keep surveying people.)
But it gives rise to some serious soul-searching. What is American history and when does it begin? When does America become "America," no longer under the domain of England? (The easy answer might be "1776, duh," but even that isn't really true. Because many of the colonists saw themselves as a free people before that, which is part of what led to the tension prior to the Greatest War Ever. Some people saw themselves as English right through the war. Our own history is never as unified as we'd like to think. But that's a different entry) Why is it that both British scholars and American scholars lay claim to the same group of people as falling into their exclusive historical domain, and to what degree is all history universal, in the sense that we are all people and history is communal property? ("We are all connected to each other, in a circle, in a hoop that never ends.")
But John Smith really is a part of this discussion. Just look at his portrayal in Pocahontas, yeah? He is blonde, blue-eyed, and voiced by Mel Gibson, who at the time seemed as golden and American as Tom Brady. That's like Brad Pitt playing Vasquez or Ponce De Leon with an American accent, or Tom Cruise playing a Nazi without a German accent...
John Smith wasn't an American. He didn't even settle in America; he went back to England. Is he a part of "our" history or a part of "their" history? And is this possessiveness of history really a good thing at all? Probably not. But it exists, this concept of "my history" and "your history." Isn't one of the great things about history that anyone can study it? That it belongs to the people who want it? When countries acknowledge their shared history, such as both World Wars and the Reformation, the study of that history becomes that much deeper and richer. When you accept that the nailing of the Ninety-five Theses to the door of the Wittenberg Cathedral marked a crucial turning point not just in German or Italian history but also in English and French and Spanish history, and not just in religious history but in political and social as well, then you can come to a much fuller and rounder understanding of what Martin Luther did. The Reformation is something everyone in Europe shares. From Henry VIII to Martin Luther to Pope Julius.
So Scotland, England, all of Britain, hell, let's throw the Netherlands in there for good measure. I want to know what you can tell me about the Puritans, about the Pilgrims. And I'll show you mine if you show me yours.
Note: It seems the British don't want John Smith. I asked my flatmate yesterday what she learned about John Smith, and her response was, "John who?"
Monday, January 19, 2009
"It's here they got the range and the machinery for change"
It seems that we have reached a point where we are all tired of being divided. Because, in America, unity is what it's all about. Right?
Yeah, and there really is a fountain of youth in Florida, of all places. Cities made of gold (my Boston comes close to that, actually) and whiskey streams, all that jazz.
What happened post-9/11, the "re-unification" of America, was a fluke. Our natural state as Americans is combative and argumentative. It's one of those things I like so much about our country. And Barack, I love him, but he talks about there only being one America -- which is sort of true. But that one America is one great big family, full of the same constant squabbling and petty disagreements that all families are prone to. (Raise your hand if you thought going on the silver standard was the answer to all of our problems? William Jennings Bryan? Anyone? Anyone?) We're all constantly taking sides; it's what we do. Even back in the beginning, you think everyone was gung-ho about the Boston Tea Party? You think they were all stoked that they had no tea in the city, unless you wanted to drink the salty harbor water? No, Sam Adams was cool with it, but it was pretty much his idea, and he drank beer for breakfast instead of tea, anyway. Because he was a badass.
They were divided into three camps, really. The sons of liberty, who were all about this "Don't shoot 'til you see the whites of their eyes!" "For Boston!" "Give me liberty or give me death!" "My only regret is that I have but one life to lose!" super-sized, value-meal pride. The Loyalists, who mostly cowered in their houses and ran away when the men with torches came to smoke them out. Because the English are posh and get Germans to fight it for them, why don't you understand I can't get gunpowder on my dress reds or dust on my breeches! (I may be simplifying the Loyalists' side a bit.)
And then you have the people who were just sitting back and watching it all happen, who were likely recruited by the Sons of Liberty and the Minute Men (Motts in a Minute: for the American Revolutionary in your life!) and then watched as their children died in a brutal, muskets-and-bayonets war. I'm not, after all, trying to glorify the American Revolution. It's a fascinating case-study, though. Hey, doesn't that whole "recruited by the Sons of Liberty" segment look an awful lot like the working class Americans who watch their children join the ranks of the military today? Another grand American tradition, no doubt.
And there was actually a fourth type of person involved in this war: Benedict Arnold. But that's a different issue altogether.
Look at how riled about we get about sports. I was sitting in class and met a boy from New York. I asked him if he was Yankees or Mets and he praised the Steinbrenners as the height of moralistic behavior. (And Derek Jeter as the height of class -- there's obviously work to be done there.) We started talking about Manny, and how he let three lovely pitches float by him -- "Not the Cardinals, not the Mariners, not the Brewers. No, it had to be the Yankees." And suddenly, we were in a three-way debate with the boy sitting behind us, who happened to be from Milwaukee.
We're American; it's in our nature to be stubborn and hard-headed and to believe firmly that we are right about everything. It is in our nature to believe that we know what is best for everyone. And it is in our nature to be disagreeable and contrary. (Really, Mom, I'm just being a good American.) All this nonsense about the good old days, when America was one happy country and it was rainbows and butterflies all the time -- show it to me in the history books. Give me a period of time when the peace and prosperity were not interrupted by protests and civil rights' violations. When all Americans actually trusted and loved their government. When the government wasn't full of more pettiness and in-fighting than a clique of high school girls.
Basically, show me a period in American history when we didn't all behave like spoiled, entitled middle class high school students. I'm not criticizing, because I love America. And history would be so boring if we all got along all the time. And nothing would ever change. How stagnant would life be, if we were all placid and happy?
So I say, good for you, America. This country was born of division, not Kumbayah; we had to fight and bleed and kill and die for those things we needed, for the freedom we craved. And indeed, it is only through division and opposition that this country has moved forward. I sort of like being out of the slave-owner days, myself. And if we have to keep fighting for what we need, if people have to keep screaming until someone finally hears them, or gets tired of fighting about this and wants to move on to something new, then thank god we live in a country where we can do that. Thank god we can fight and claw our way toward equality, where we can sit on buses and refuse to move, where we can burn our bras and gather together to ask for an end to human rights' violations. Because otherwise, it would never happen. And it needs to.
I'm not applauding Barack for choosing someone to speak at his inauguration who is filled with hatred and venom toward an entire group of people, because that's not what I mean when I say that we need to fight, that there needs to be action-reaction. People like Fred Phelps are not the sort of Americans I am talking about here. But a team of people willing to have open debates, however dug into their own beliefs they are, that's what this country has always needed. And I'm not talking Jacksonian duels, here, guys. (Though, how awesome would that be?)
So, Mr. President, on this, the eve of your inauguration, I'm asking you to please not silence opposition and disagreement because it is the only thing that will ever save us. It's not that we always agree or see eye to eye that makes us great. It's that we don't always agree and we never see eye to eye, but we stick together anyway, we don't secede, we don't break off and form our own enclaves or countries. (Uh, usually. Well, at least, most of the time?) Like any real family, the fighting doesn't ruin us.
If this country needs a fight, a knock-down, drag-out brawl to get to the next level, then that's a fight I'll join. And if it looks like a bar fight with swinging chairs and flying kegs, then I'll know my darling brother has joined the fray, as well.
Oh, and I'm making a couple rules right now.
1. Catholics cannot marry non-Catholics, or they will be ex-communicated. No questions asked. Nor can Jewish people marry non-Jews, etc. (Hey, it's Church doctrine, sugar. I'm just doing what God says is right.)
2. Atheists cannot get married at all. (After all, it's a religious thing, isn't it? There should be no marriages that go unrecognized by the Church, right?)
3. If you only had a civil ceremony, your union is henceforth a civil union. You get what you pay for. And since the Bible mentions marriage, marriage has to mention God.
4. Brunettes cannot marry each other. Because, hell, I'm feeling arbitrary.
What's that, Thomas Jefferson, slave owner and lover of Sally Hemmings? The rights of the minority should never be decided by the majority? Someday, love, someday.
Yeah, and there really is a fountain of youth in Florida, of all places. Cities made of gold (my Boston comes close to that, actually) and whiskey streams, all that jazz.
What happened post-9/11, the "re-unification" of America, was a fluke. Our natural state as Americans is combative and argumentative. It's one of those things I like so much about our country. And Barack, I love him, but he talks about there only being one America -- which is sort of true. But that one America is one great big family, full of the same constant squabbling and petty disagreements that all families are prone to. (Raise your hand if you thought going on the silver standard was the answer to all of our problems? William Jennings Bryan? Anyone? Anyone?) We're all constantly taking sides; it's what we do. Even back in the beginning, you think everyone was gung-ho about the Boston Tea Party? You think they were all stoked that they had no tea in the city, unless you wanted to drink the salty harbor water? No, Sam Adams was cool with it, but it was pretty much his idea, and he drank beer for breakfast instead of tea, anyway. Because he was a badass.
They were divided into three camps, really. The sons of liberty, who were all about this "Don't shoot 'til you see the whites of their eyes!" "For Boston!" "Give me liberty or give me death!" "My only regret is that I have but one life to lose!" super-sized, value-meal pride. The Loyalists, who mostly cowered in their houses and ran away when the men with torches came to smoke them out. Because the English are posh and get Germans to fight it for them, why don't you understand I can't get gunpowder on my dress reds or dust on my breeches! (I may be simplifying the Loyalists' side a bit.)
And then you have the people who were just sitting back and watching it all happen, who were likely recruited by the Sons of Liberty and the Minute Men (Motts in a Minute: for the American Revolutionary in your life!) and then watched as their children died in a brutal, muskets-and-bayonets war. I'm not, after all, trying to glorify the American Revolution. It's a fascinating case-study, though. Hey, doesn't that whole "recruited by the Sons of Liberty" segment look an awful lot like the working class Americans who watch their children join the ranks of the military today? Another grand American tradition, no doubt.
And there was actually a fourth type of person involved in this war: Benedict Arnold. But that's a different issue altogether.
Look at how riled about we get about sports. I was sitting in class and met a boy from New York. I asked him if he was Yankees or Mets and he praised the Steinbrenners as the height of moralistic behavior. (And Derek Jeter as the height of class -- there's obviously work to be done there.) We started talking about Manny, and how he let three lovely pitches float by him -- "Not the Cardinals, not the Mariners, not the Brewers. No, it had to be the Yankees." And suddenly, we were in a three-way debate with the boy sitting behind us, who happened to be from Milwaukee.
We're American; it's in our nature to be stubborn and hard-headed and to believe firmly that we are right about everything. It is in our nature to believe that we know what is best for everyone. And it is in our nature to be disagreeable and contrary. (Really, Mom, I'm just being a good American.) All this nonsense about the good old days, when America was one happy country and it was rainbows and butterflies all the time -- show it to me in the history books. Give me a period of time when the peace and prosperity were not interrupted by protests and civil rights' violations. When all Americans actually trusted and loved their government. When the government wasn't full of more pettiness and in-fighting than a clique of high school girls.
Basically, show me a period in American history when we didn't all behave like spoiled, entitled middle class high school students. I'm not criticizing, because I love America. And history would be so boring if we all got along all the time. And nothing would ever change. How stagnant would life be, if we were all placid and happy?
So I say, good for you, America. This country was born of division, not Kumbayah; we had to fight and bleed and kill and die for those things we needed, for the freedom we craved. And indeed, it is only through division and opposition that this country has moved forward. I sort of like being out of the slave-owner days, myself. And if we have to keep fighting for what we need, if people have to keep screaming until someone finally hears them, or gets tired of fighting about this and wants to move on to something new, then thank god we live in a country where we can do that. Thank god we can fight and claw our way toward equality, where we can sit on buses and refuse to move, where we can burn our bras and gather together to ask for an end to human rights' violations. Because otherwise, it would never happen. And it needs to.
I'm not applauding Barack for choosing someone to speak at his inauguration who is filled with hatred and venom toward an entire group of people, because that's not what I mean when I say that we need to fight, that there needs to be action-reaction. People like Fred Phelps are not the sort of Americans I am talking about here. But a team of people willing to have open debates, however dug into their own beliefs they are, that's what this country has always needed. And I'm not talking Jacksonian duels, here, guys. (Though, how awesome would that be?)
So, Mr. President, on this, the eve of your inauguration, I'm asking you to please not silence opposition and disagreement because it is the only thing that will ever save us. It's not that we always agree or see eye to eye that makes us great. It's that we don't always agree and we never see eye to eye, but we stick together anyway, we don't secede, we don't break off and form our own enclaves or countries. (Uh, usually. Well, at least, most of the time?) Like any real family, the fighting doesn't ruin us.
If this country needs a fight, a knock-down, drag-out brawl to get to the next level, then that's a fight I'll join. And if it looks like a bar fight with swinging chairs and flying kegs, then I'll know my darling brother has joined the fray, as well.
Oh, and I'm making a couple rules right now.
1. Catholics cannot marry non-Catholics, or they will be ex-communicated. No questions asked. Nor can Jewish people marry non-Jews, etc. (Hey, it's Church doctrine, sugar. I'm just doing what God says is right.)
2. Atheists cannot get married at all. (After all, it's a religious thing, isn't it? There should be no marriages that go unrecognized by the Church, right?)
3. If you only had a civil ceremony, your union is henceforth a civil union. You get what you pay for. And since the Bible mentions marriage, marriage has to mention God.
4. Brunettes cannot marry each other. Because, hell, I'm feeling arbitrary.
What's that, Thomas Jefferson, slave owner and lover of Sally Hemmings? The rights of the minority should never be decided by the majority? Someday, love, someday.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)