It is July 29, and it is so cool in Hampton, New Hampshire, people were wearing jackets on the beach, walking their dogs at Plaice Cove this morning.
I was able to mow my entire lawn, without breaking a sweat. My lawn is far more extensive than any lawn I ever wanted to have, but in New Hampshire, when you buy a house they more or less force acreage on you. In the back yard, my neighbor's raised vegetable garden is flourishing without any sort of fencing to protect it against deer or ground hogs or rabbits. Even the fauna in Hampton seem to be careful to offer no offense.
I walked down to the barber shop, where the lady who cut my hair told me about her Italian mother and how she cooked without recipes and her mouth was watering just thinking about some of the creations.
Stepping out of the barber shop, I walked into the hardware store where one of the three men who seem to live there answered my questions about how to treat the spots on my lawn which I burned out with over zealous use of fertilizer. I know a lot about this hardware store guy, his career in the Navy, his wife's love of Fast Eddies, a 50's style hamburger joint two blocks down Lafayette Road, complete with juke boxes and real milk shakes made with ice cream and everything but the waitress on roller skates.
Then I walked back home and sat on my porch and opened my Kindle and plunged into "Follow The Drum," which is set in colonial India.
My favorite food is Indian food. I love Italian, Spanish, Middle Eastern, Thai, Vietnamese, but nothing can quite send me like Indian food.
My brother tells me I would hate India. Too hot. Too squalid. Too crowded, and he is likely correct.
People I know who've been to India never fail to describe the Ganges River, a sacred river, where you throw the bodies of your relatives so they can float down river and out to sea. If you sit by the river, or walk over it on a bridge, you can always see a body floating by, often within yards of women standing in the water, washing their family's clothes.
But I love their food and I love the novels--the best way, no doubt to experience India. Stay in New Hampshire, where the air is clean and crisp and read about it--travel there as if beamed up by Scottie.
The dog interrupted, demanding his walk. For reasons known only to the dog, he refused to turn down the street we usually take but he pulled me down Rte 27, back into town. He did one of those lower the center of gravity, get his belly on the ground and dig in with his back legs and drag me. So, we walked back down Rte. 27, back to town, passing the semi porn sand statue of the girl getting her buttocks exposed by the dog.
My dog marked the spot and dragged me off to his intended spots: He tried to drag me into the Hardware store, the confection shop a few doors down and the bank, on the same block because at each of these places someone behind a counter has given him a treat sometime within the past 7 years and he never, ever forgets the source of treats.
At the bank, they will put a treat in the pneumatic tube which brings you your receipt and change if you are in the driving lane one lane removed from the teller's window.
He remembers that.
We fought through several blocks of downtown, and finally he relented and agreed to walk back home where I settled in back on the porch and went back to India.
Growing up in the decade after the end of World War II, I was smitten with the plucky English, who I saw in movie after movie about the war. The Brits were always brave and funny and unflappable in the movies. By age 10, I was a confirmed Anglophile and I tried to imitate their accents, for which my brother teased me unmercifully.
But I did not know about the English in India and their other colonies. When they ruled colonies, they were something other than plucky and witty. They could be astonishingly cruel.
Of course, it's been noted frequently, that Gandhi would not have lasted five minutes had he been leading his non violent resistance against Hitler and the Germans--he only succeeded because he was protesting against the British. But, that said, the Brits were violent and racist and nasty to their colonial subjects.
Their arrogance set them up for failure when confronting enemies who did not embrace the idea of chivalry.
Here in New Hampshire, it's possible to commune with the world from a shire which offers the comforts of home.
I was able to mow my entire lawn, without breaking a sweat. My lawn is far more extensive than any lawn I ever wanted to have, but in New Hampshire, when you buy a house they more or less force acreage on you. In the back yard, my neighbor's raised vegetable garden is flourishing without any sort of fencing to protect it against deer or ground hogs or rabbits. Even the fauna in Hampton seem to be careful to offer no offense.
I walked down to the barber shop, where the lady who cut my hair told me about her Italian mother and how she cooked without recipes and her mouth was watering just thinking about some of the creations.
Stepping out of the barber shop, I walked into the hardware store where one of the three men who seem to live there answered my questions about how to treat the spots on my lawn which I burned out with over zealous use of fertilizer. I know a lot about this hardware store guy, his career in the Navy, his wife's love of Fast Eddies, a 50's style hamburger joint two blocks down Lafayette Road, complete with juke boxes and real milk shakes made with ice cream and everything but the waitress on roller skates.
Then I walked back home and sat on my porch and opened my Kindle and plunged into "Follow The Drum," which is set in colonial India.
My favorite food is Indian food. I love Italian, Spanish, Middle Eastern, Thai, Vietnamese, but nothing can quite send me like Indian food.
My brother tells me I would hate India. Too hot. Too squalid. Too crowded, and he is likely correct.
People I know who've been to India never fail to describe the Ganges River, a sacred river, where you throw the bodies of your relatives so they can float down river and out to sea. If you sit by the river, or walk over it on a bridge, you can always see a body floating by, often within yards of women standing in the water, washing their family's clothes.
But I love their food and I love the novels--the best way, no doubt to experience India. Stay in New Hampshire, where the air is clean and crisp and read about it--travel there as if beamed up by Scottie.
The dog interrupted, demanding his walk. For reasons known only to the dog, he refused to turn down the street we usually take but he pulled me down Rte 27, back into town. He did one of those lower the center of gravity, get his belly on the ground and dig in with his back legs and drag me. So, we walked back down Rte. 27, back to town, passing the semi porn sand statue of the girl getting her buttocks exposed by the dog.
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| Makes you wonder |
My dog marked the spot and dragged me off to his intended spots: He tried to drag me into the Hardware store, the confection shop a few doors down and the bank, on the same block because at each of these places someone behind a counter has given him a treat sometime within the past 7 years and he never, ever forgets the source of treats.
At the bank, they will put a treat in the pneumatic tube which brings you your receipt and change if you are in the driving lane one lane removed from the teller's window.
He remembers that.
We fought through several blocks of downtown, and finally he relented and agreed to walk back home where I settled in back on the porch and went back to India.
 |
| In New Hampshire She'd Wear Blue Jeans and a Plaid Shirt |
Growing up in the decade after the end of World War II, I was smitten with the plucky English, who I saw in movie after movie about the war. The Brits were always brave and funny and unflappable in the movies. By age 10, I was a confirmed Anglophile and I tried to imitate their accents, for which my brother teased me unmercifully.
But I did not know about the English in India and their other colonies. When they ruled colonies, they were something other than plucky and witty. They could be astonishingly cruel.
Of course, it's been noted frequently, that Gandhi would not have lasted five minutes had he been leading his non violent resistance against Hitler and the Germans--he only succeeded because he was protesting against the British. But, that said, the Brits were violent and racist and nasty to their colonial subjects.
Their arrogance set them up for failure when confronting enemies who did not embrace the idea of chivalry.
 |
| Raptor talk with Owl at Churchill's Nursery |
Here in New Hampshire, it's possible to commune with the world from a shire which offers the comforts of home.
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