Monthly Archives: January 2008

Send off

For the past few days, I’ve had a cold that keeps getting worse. Now it’s down deep in my lungs, and so I decided that rather than risk bronchitis, I better hadn’t go to New Hampshire today.

You see, a whole bus-load of people from New Bedford are heading up to New Hampshire to team up with the Carbon Coalition/ New Hampshire Citizens for a Responsible Energy Policy. They’ll meet up at the Climate Action Center in Manchester this afternoon, and then head over to Saint Anselm College in Manchester to be present outside the site where the televised candidates’ debates will take place. (For the record, the Carbon Coalition is working with the League of Conservation Voters.) Two weeks ago, someone suggested that a bunch of New Bedfordites head up to join the Carbon Coalition. In just two short weeks, organizers Annie Hayes and John Magnan got more than thirty people to sign up.

Even though the two of us couldn’t go, Carol and I made sure we were present at the gathering place to give everyone else a big send-off. By 11:35, people started gathering. As you’d expect, there were a good number of students, from UMass Dartmouth, Bristol Community College, and out-of-town colleges. But the majority of those going were older people: businessmen and businesswomen, people who work in the non-profit world, retired people, and even a reporter for the New Bedford Standard-Times.

Someone from WBSM, one of our local radio stations, showed up to do interviews. From Carol, who used to be a reporter and is still a freelance writer, I have learned that media people appreciate it if you introduce them to good interviewees. So I introduced the pleasant fellow from WBSM to Annie Hayes, since she was one of the key organizers; and to some of the students I know (I saw him interviewing Elise and Dani and some others); and to John Bullard, a long-time environmental activist, whom I knew could give an articulate and cogent overview of why these people were going to New Hampshire.

The bus showed up right on time. Appropriately, the logo of the bus company was a waving American flag –what could be more American than keeping America beautiful for coming generations? –what could be more American than participating in the democratic process? The cargo compartment of the bus got loaded up with signs and chairs and blankets and banners. Everyone filed on and found a place to sit. A few late-comers hurried aboard.

The man from WBSM wondered if he could get a recording of everyone chanting, so since I have a big loud voice I got everyone’s attention and passed on his request. Someone on the bus started chanting something like “Clean air, green jobs!” (Being from New Bedford, with its high unemployment rate, we are all in support of jobs creation and we know that green technology has the potential of creating lots of jobs for cities like ours.) Then someone started chanting, “What does democracy look like? This is what democracy looks like!”

This indeed is what democracy looks like: a busload of ordinary citizens going to tell the politicians what issues are of greatest importance. We can only hope that the politicians listen to us ordinary citizens, and not to the lobbyists from the oil and automobile industries.

John Magnan, one of the organizers, was the last person on the bus. He politely thanked me for seeing them off. “Maybe you should give us a blessing before we go,” John said. “Oh wait, you’re a Unitarian Universalist minister, I guess you don’t do blessings.” We both laughed. For my part, I figure the only blessing they needed was having some people see them off and wish them well: if you can’t engage in direct political action yourself, the least you can do is support those who can.

If you’re one of the ones who went on the bus, leave a comment and tell us all how it went!

Moby-Dick marathon at night

Carol and I went across the street at about eleven o’clock to see who was left at the Moby-Dick marathon.

The Readers, those who would be reading during their assigned time, sat on one side of the room, where the Watch Officers could keep an eye on them. They all wore numbers on their left shoulders, big numbers on stick-on labels. They paid close attention to what was going on, and they followed along in their own copy of Moby-Dick, or shuffled through papers with the reading schedule. Attentive and ever so slightly restless, it looked as though either caffeine or adrenalin was pumping through their bloodstreams.

The Spectators sat in the chairs on their side of the room, or on the stairs leading up to the balcony, or they sprawled out on the balcony itself, or they wandered back and forth to the back room where the bathrooms and coffee were. There were two groups of Spectators. There were a few people like Carol and me who would stay until they got tired and then go home. And then there were the people who obviously planned to stay all night. The all-nighters were predominantly young and slightly giddy; but the older all-nighters had more of an appearance of grim resolution.

We stayed and listened for a while. The rhythms of Moby-Dick, when read aloud, are expansive and calming; I sat cross-legged and felt meditative; although not all that meditative, because I craning my head back and forth so I could watch people come and go. At last Carol touched my arm and said we should go. We went across the street and went to bed.

——

At around two in the morning, I was awakened by loud voices outside our apartment building. There are a lot of bars in the neighborhood so we get more than our share of drunks walking by our house. But these voices kept on and on; and besides, it wasn’t a Friday or Saturday when we usually get the loud drunks. I went to the front windows and looked out. Three guys stood just under one of the windows, all bundled up against the bitter cold, and one of them appeared to be sipping out of a large can; but they didn’t sound drunk, merely high-spirited.

I opened the window a crack. “People trying to sleep up here guys.”

“Oh, sorry, sorry,” said the one with the can, and they scampered off towards the Whaling Museum. The only thing I can figure is that they were at the Moby-Dick Marathon and decided they needed to take a break outdoors; but it seems odd that they would come across the street and stand under our windows.

Moby-Dick marathon 2008

Screen grab from the video showing someone holding a book.

Every year, the New Bedford Whaling Museum hosts a Moby-Dick marathon, where Herman Melville’s entire novel is read aloud. I went over on my lunch hour, and this is what I saw and heard….

(You’ll hear the voices of Scott Lang, mayor of New Bedford, and Barney Frank, our representative to Congress, among others.)

2:56

Note: video host blip.tv is defunct, so this video no longer exists.

Sisters

My sister Jean is back east for a holiday visit. She is staying with my younger sister Abby in Acton, Mass. Today I drove up there to hang out with them. First we had lunch at a Chinese restaurant with my dad and his friend Rhoda. Jean forgot her reading glasses, and asked us to read the fortune from her fortune cookie to her. Of course we didn’t read her the actual fortune, and made something up: something about being sure to rely on the wisdom of your brothers and sisters. Dad and Rhoda were tolerant of us. After lunch, dad and Rhoda had to run some errand, so Jean and Abby and I decided to go browse in bookstores.

Then it was time to go get a cup of coffee. “Show Dan your video,” said Abby to Jean. Jean, who is the Photographer and Writer of us three, showed us the video she shot on her cell phone. It was pretty cool. Jean said she was going to shoot another video while we were having coffee, and of course Abby pretended to pick her nose, which led to a number of booger jokes. We left an extra big tip for the waitress.

Abby invited us to dinner at her house. Jim, her husband, took it in his stride when all three Harper children descended on his peaceful house. Abby showed me the gorilla puppet that Jean got her for Christmas. It was pretty cool. At the dinner table, Jean and Abby and I competed to see who could tell Jim the best story about the stupid things we did when we were kids.

After dinner, Jean and I took turns making the gorilla puppet talk. Abby, who of the three of us is the acknowledged Expert on Children’s Literature and Toys, brought out a monkey puppet from her vast puppet collection. When there are puppets among the three of us, they take on distinct personalities, and we talk to them as if they are alive. Jim started to askance at us, got up to get another beer. “Um,” said Abby, “I think Jim’s getting kinda creeped out by the puppets.” We stopped. I decided it was time for me to leave — I had a long drive ahead of me, and besides no one should have to put up with the three of us Harper siblings for very long.

I got home about nine o’clock. “What did you do?” said Carol.

“Brother and sister stuff,” I said. Carol is an only child, so this didn’t mean much to her.

“Like what?” said Carol.

“Making fun of each other,” I said. “Teasing each other. Being stupid.”

Carol stamped her foot. “I want to do all that,” she said. She wishes she had had brothers and sisters. I didn’t tell her about the booger jokes; I figured I wouldn’t spoil her idealized notion of what it’s like to have siblings.

What?

I got up, tired to wake up by taking a shower, and then looked in on Carol. She was already at her computer, working to meet yet another deadline.

“Morning,” I said.

“Glue me,” she said, smiling.

“What?” I said, not sure my brain was yet fully functioning.

“Gloomy,” she said, looking out the window. I finally noticed that it was indeed dark and gloomy outside.

“Oh,” I said. “Yeah, it is. I thought I was supposed to glue you to something.”

She pretended she couldn’t pull her hand off the desk. “Glue me, glue me!” she said, laughing.