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150 Years of StoriesBy Paisley Hibou QuailBellMagazine.com Plastered in my “respectable” make-up and clothes, I walked up to the iron-wrought fence with a tote bag. I curled my fingers around the tracery to catch myself from falling. It was a typically hot and humid July afternoon in Washington and I had spent the past hour exploring Capitol Hill. Even a big can of sweet tea wasn't enough to revive me. I was in a stupor. But no matter how out of it I was, I could still appreciate the beautiful Civil-War-Hospital-turned-community-art-space before me. This would be my office for the next week. My task—and my joy—would be to mentor two fourth-grade girls in writing short stories. Old buildings carry the magic of many people and their experiences. Sometimes that magic is good magic; sometimes that magic is black magic. I prefer to think of hospitals as places of healing rather than places of illness and death. Even during the Civil War, when wounds and disease were a sad reality that contributed to a high mortality rate, I try to imagine the anguished nurses sacrificing rest and sanity to save the soldiers. No matter the outcome—positive or negative— the intent to cure was always positive. The nurses loved the soldiers the way they loved their brothers as they fought together for the same cause. That positivity fueled my young writers and me for the week. It seeped from the old walls and floors and into our heads and hearts. The girls and I never once discussed how the building where our workshop took place was once a hospital. Instead we saw the paintings and photographs on display, and the posters for upcoming receptions. In passing, we saw other children throwing pottery and piecing together mosaics. Everyday before, during, and after workshop, we witnessed the act and celebration of creation. People go to art school and enroll in creative writing programs for that reason: to be immersed in the spirit of creation. But that creative energy was not all that was at work. On our second-to-last day, the art center's administrative staff had placed us in a small side room that also seemed to be used for storage. While the girls were tapping away at their keyboards, I noticed an unlabeled cardboard box. It stood out because all the other boxes had something scrawled in Sharpie on the side. Curious, I pulled open the flaps and saw two thick stacks of books. It was a new title about D.C.'s Civil War sites. With the federal government being such a prominent industry in D.C., it's easy to overlook everything else the city has to offer: the second biggest theatre scene in the country (after New York and before Chicago), a flurry of competitive and recreational river sports, and even something as seemingly obvious as Civil War history. Washington was, after all, the capital of the Union. I started flipping through the book for the last five minutes before the girls would read their latest paragraphs to me. And the other explanation for the girls' productivity during the week suddenly clicked: This old building had stimulated their creativity simply by being old. The building had changed more than we could ever know over the past 150 years. My girls' short stories and the story we had lived by workshopping there that week would become a part of the building's ongoing (and hopefully never-ending) history. Thus I will always champion the muse of historic architecture. #CreativeWriting #Teaching #Education #CivilWar #NavalHospital #Pedagogy
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The Absence of Ring EnvyBy The Love Fairy QuailBellMagazine.com Recently an intern in the office—eager to show her knowledge of history—piped up that in the 1920s premarital sex grew more common with the rise of the engagement ring. If a woman became pregnant and her fiancé ran off, she could cash in on the ring. Less worry about spreading those legs then. Whether truth or legend, the story put my mind once again on engagement. Though the most popular time to get engaged is around the holidays, my Facebook feed says otherwise. Now seems to be the time. Inevitably, those posts make me think of my own romantic future, which is heading in the same direction. (My boyfriend is terrible at keeping surprises.) That being said, I don't want an awe-inspiring bauble. The song “Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend” really gets on my nerves because, darn it, why can't books be my best friend? For a short while, I thought I didn't want a ring at all. Then my boyfriend and I stepped into a family-owned jewelry store that had recently opened in my neighborhood. With my busy life, I had not noticed the new store or seen the article about it in the newspaper. But while on our Saturday afternoon walk, my boyfriend and I decided to check it out. The store was small with blue wax molds on ledges that lined the bright white walls. Original pieces, mostly rings and earrings, filled the glass cases. The gentleman behind the counter greeted us and introduced himself as the son in the store name. He explained that the store had been located in another neighborhood not too far away since the 1970s, but they had relocated it because they also lived in my neighborhood. His father was getting older and wanted to be able to walk to work. Then, of course, came the man's sales pitch, but he wasn't going for the hard sell. We talked about the neighborhood for a bit and I later admitted that I needed to get my class ring cleaned. Looking at my boyfriend, though, the man had sensed there was another reason we had come into the store. He half-smiled and said that they do custom orders. After my boyfriend asked a couple of questions, we thanked the man and left. I once read about this man who proposed to his girlfriend in Central Park. But the tale does not end there. He actually rode up to her on a horse, dressed as a knight in shining armor. I remember laughing, putting down the magazine, and not being able to continue. This grand gesture of love just came off as comical. Compare that to my 7th grade science teacher's experience: She was sitting on the sofa eating potato chips with her boyfriend when he proposed. That seems much more my style. Though I prefer tortilla chips. Somehow, though, advertising has brainwashed many men into believing they need to give a girl something massive and sparkling and do it with flair worthy of a Broadway show. Otherwise, thumbs down, mister. I don't ask normally ask my acquaintances how he proposed or to see the ring because I am simply happy that they found love. I also see these details as somewhat private. If a woman wishes to share, go ahead, but if she wants to keep them to herself, that's cool, too. I don't need to know that he proposed right before orgasm. I just don't. I'm also not that interested in whether the ring cost $300, $3,000, or $30,000. I do hope that there is mutual love and respect and that the couple shares a set of similar life goals. Those are the things that make for a healthy marriage. Those green with ring envy are missing the point. #Engagement #Love #Marriage #Folklore #Myths #FactOrFiction
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Doing Nothing is OkayBy Kay Feathers QuailBellMagazine.com “I never know what it was to rest. I just work all the time from morning till late at night. I had to do everything there was to do on the outside. Work in the field, chop wood, hoe corn, till sometime I feels like my back surely break. I done everything except split rails.” -Sara Gudger, former slave from Burke County, North Carolina Something that always astounds me when I visit house museums is the docent's mention of household chores. The average Southern plantation required an entire team of slaves to wash laundry, for example. Today I drop my clothes in the washer, pour in some detergent, and wait for the buzzer to go off half an hour later. Yet even though the convenience of modern household appliances is meant to free up my time, I still scrounge for extra minutes in my day. It seems that this so-called convenience has only bumped up the number of to-dos I must tackle before bedtime. Shouldn't I be taking advantage of the fact that I don't have to boil my shirts, beat them with a stick, and hang them up to dry? Today I called my parents to tell them about a recent professional accomplishment. My father congratulated me and said, “Aren't you glad you spent so much unscheduled time in the library as a kid instead of joining the youth soccer league?” He was referencing how many of my classmates growing up had hardly a second to just, you know, be children. To my parents' credit, they did allow me to explore and create and ask questions as a child. Maybe I would've been less likely to try those things had every hour of my day been predetermined. On that note, this December 2013 passage on the blog, Transitions and a Medically Complex Child, spoke to me when I stumbled across it earlier today: “In a world of medical appointments, therapy visits, home programs and educational tutoring, sometimes, special needs parents need reminders to play. To get down on the floor and have fun for the sake of having fun. To drift off in that special world in which imagination takes over and family fun takes precedent over all the other junk in our lives.” Though I am not a parent, I have worked with children and the idea that you should let kids be kids (to an extent) makes sense. You are more likely to notice your surroundings and make meaningful observations if you don't have to worry about the words coming out of your tutor's mouth and the ballet lesson coming up next. The idea that unstructured time should be considered as important as structured time applies to adults, too. An agenda that's too full affects your ability to rest and let your mind wander. While it's important to have some focus, it's also important to let go of the leash strangling your imagination. Forget about your taxes for five minutes. Really. I am always unhappiest when preoccupied; that's a natural human reaction to juggling too much at once. Our ancestors—females in particular—spent generations fretting over the struggles of day-to-day living because they had to. Obtaining food, water, and shelter, not to mention keeping a space clean and liveable, used to be much harder than it is for the average middle class American citizen to do today. When I think of people who really had it good in the 'olden days,' I picture a gentleman-farmer sitting at his desk with a quill and parchment, writing frilly letters and journal entries for hours as his slaves toil away in the fields. This gentleman-farmer wasn't tweaking his OkCupid profile while uploading songs to his iPod and attempting to watch House of Cards all at once before DJing a party. No, he had leisure time so he used it for exactly that: leisure—“freedom from the demands of work or duty,” “unhurried ease.” All I'm saying is that it's OK to have blank blocks on your calendar. 1950s housewives would beat you senseless with a muffin pan if it meant having that free time for themselves. So maybe take a break now that you're done reading this, alright? #FreeTime #Leisure #Hobbies #Relax #SlowDown #Seriously #BackThen The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Before I Knew the Word "Feminism"By Kristen Rebelo QuailBellMagazine.com The writer, age 3 In fifth grade, I approached my mother in the study room of our house and asked her, furious, where in the United States Constitution it said that boys had more rights than girls. I was incensed by a recent confrontation between the separate tables in the elementary school cafeteria. I cannot remember the content of the argument now, but I clearly recall it ending with, “Well, you can't do that because you're girls." This occurred after my third grade phase of wearing wind pants and T-shirts as an effort to prove I could be just as good at soccer as the boys (I wasn't, I was terrible). And after a note about me being passed among the boys in second grade that I wanted to have S-E-X—yes, spelled out—with the boy I had a crush on. I don't think I really understood what S-E-X was at the time, but I spent all of recess trying to decipher the handwriting to figure out which of the boys was teasing me. So when I approached my mother that day in fifth grade, I was angry without really knowing why. I had not yet been introduced to the word “feminism," and I would not use that word proudly for another ten years. My mother's confused response to my query was something along the lines of “There are no laws saying that boys have more rights than girls." She meant to say that everyone was equal and should be treated that way. But she wasn't exactly correct, as there are many laws, historical documents, and political actions supporting the idea that yes, boys have more rights than girls, and that there is a very complex history of gender relations. But as a fifth grader taught in public schools sticking to non-progressive agendas, how was I supposed to know better? I searched in our household dictionary and atlas for answers, but of course found nothing. So I took to the Internet. I had exactly one hour of internet usage a day, as allotted by the parental control settings on my AOL account—either HamsterGirl365 or Retrogal09. (I forget exactly in which grade I decided that retro was in and hamsters were out.) So while IMing with my friend Rachel, who was just as angry about the confrontation as I was, I used my limited knowledge of Ask Jeeves (in a pre-Google era) to search terms such as “girls rule, boys drool," “are boys better than girls?”, and probably the most significant question upon reflection, “why do boys think they are better than girls?" I did not know yet to look up the word that would have given me all the answers I was looking for: feminism. In my sad attempts at research, I did stumble across Susan B. Anthony's role in the movement for women's suffrage. So it was decided that Rachel and I would give a report on Susan B. Anthony to our fifth grade class. For about a week, we used our allotted Internet time to do research, giggled with excitement during school hours, and called each other any time we saw an example of girls being just as good as boys. I specifically remember my excitement over an episode of Sister, Sister, where the twins wanted to play hockey with the boys but were not permitted to try out for the team. Before this, I had seemed to think that no one else noticed sexism (another term I was not yet familiar with). When our report was finished, carefully penciled in my Lisa Frank notebook, we began to get nervous about how it might be received. Would the classroom boys just mock us even more? The idea for our report was presented to our teacher, who I vaguely remember claiming support but saying we did not have time that day. I was discouraged, and grew even more nervous looking around the classroom at the boys who had teased us in the first place. In the end, the report was never given and my Lisa Frank notebook was stuffed under my mattress. Quail Bell art director Kristen Rebelo does not consider herself a writer but enjoys reminiscing about her early attempts at subverting the patriarchy. Just like in fifth grade, she is nervous about speaking up but is trying to get over it. #Feminism #SusanBAnthony #Reflection #EarlyFeminism #Childhood #LookingBack #LisaFrank
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Just when you thought Christmas was overBy Quail Bell History Buff QuailBellMagazine.com Photos courtesy of Berkeley Plantation Berkeley Plantation, home of Benjamin Harrison V, signer of the Declaration of Independence and William Henry Harrison, ninth U.S. president, is not only a 1726 manor house; it's a regular Christmas wonderland, too. This past holiday season, Berkeley decked the halls with fresh arrangements and wreaths cut from the property's boxwood, cedar and holly trees. Here's photographic evidence of what you missed halfway between Richmond and Williamsburg off Route 5: The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Oral History Rules I've Broken
***This piece originally appeared in Para Contar and was republished here with permission.*** #OralHistory #OldenDays #Archeology #Archives #HumanStories #Politics #Records #Memory #Memories #Academia The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Because Impressive Taxidermy Alone Won't Cut ItBy Quail Bell History Buff QuailBellMagazine.com Some weekends are meant for errands and chores. For this me, this past one happened to be well-suited to crossing things off of my to-do list. One feared task involved combing through all of my mail from the past two weeks. For a variety of reasons, there was a lot of it. Since most of it ended up being junk, I was disappointed to find that something I'd actually been looking forward to receiving was, well, lame. It was a magazine produced by a local museum association, one whose name shall be spared here. The magazine was mostly black and white with hints of different shades of purple scattered throughout its pages. Though glossy, the publication was not too far removed from the PTA newsletter of a well-to-do public high school. The articles were not much better. The whole premise of the magazine is to teach museum professionals how to maintain their institutions and better their careers. In a word, the magazine is about money. This issue contained, for example, a rather obvious and unhelpful story about crowdsourcing. Perhaps the magazine appeals to the current generation of senior curators, but what about the next generation? Does the average educated 22-year-old really need to be told what Kickstarter is? And isn't the recent college graduate or the young professional the one most likely to benefit from a monthly magazine concerning the tricks of the trade, at least in the long-run? Museums rely heavily on fundraising. They look for private donations and grants. Earning all they need from admission sales is a rare, if not non-existent, occurrence. This is what makes the vast majority of them non-profit organizations. According to the American Alliance of Museums, more people visited American museums in 2011 than the number of people who attended major league sporting events and theme parks. But you'd never guess it from the revenue baseball and Disney World generate. Even the Smithsonian—la crème de la crème—can't rely on gift shop sales alone or even largely. 70 cents of every dollar used by the Smithsonian comes from the federal government. Perhaps that model works now and maybe it will continue to work for a long time. Yet it is unlikely that it will work forever, and most museums in the United States cannot even dream of having the Smithsonian's budget. Think of all the little house museums in Virginia and Maryland alone, for instance. Some of these places operate on less than $100,000 per year, including what it costs to pay employee salaries. Assuming a museum has two full-time employees earning $40,000 each, that leaves only $20,000 to run the joint. If you're a homeowner, you know that ain't squat. Sure, museums get tax breaks, but it's not like they get everything for free. The museum staff must still spend money to keep the museum open. However, museums will have a difficult time staying open if they do not learn to appeal to young people. Not everyone, dear Quail Bell(e)s, appreciates the inherent awesomeness of old things. That is one of the reasons why museums exist: to show the general public why history matters. Museum staff already have quite a responsibility updating their exhibits. (The iPad craze has helped and hurt them in that regard.) Museum staff have another responsibility, as well: to keep their industry media (e.g., publications, websites) fresh and interesting to everyone in the field, not just the long-timers. If you can't get the people working in museums excited about museums, you can't expect museums to be around forever, especially if there's nobody to take them over in a decade. #Museums #History #NewMedia #Multimedia #Curators #NextGeneration #Millennials #Technology #Publishing The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
And the Baby Grows UpIn just several hours, my little sister will begin her first day of her last semester of college. She's molted and it's nearly time to fly. I still remember her as a chick, newly hatched. I watched her wiggle and squirm through the glass that separates passersby from newborns in the hospital. She was small, pink and naked save for her tiny diapers. Born so teeny they put her in an incubator to bake a while. The bun was returned to its oven for three weeks—and now that bun is only credits away from earning her university degree. Nauseating articles about millennials written by baby boomers aside (my personal favorite clueless dek: “Young adults do not think and act alike, as it turns out. In fact, some do not want to be called millennials at all.” What an epiphany!), let's admit it: adolescence no longer ends at 18. High school graduation means End of Adolescence, Part 1. Ages 18-23? Adolescence, Part II. 24-25? Early adulthood...maybe. How many times has Grandma told you she was already married at your age? My boyfriend and I enjoy watching classic films and looking at old photos, not just as image-makers and history-lovers, but also because of the sense of awe that rises in us each time we see a twenty-something in the 1940s. That twenty-something would pass for a thirty-something in this day and age. The hard gaze, the conservative haircut, the buttoned-up wardrobe that comes with parenthood—all of these elements add a decade or two to a body that, today, would still be footloose and fancy-free. Without a family, a mortgage, or even necessarily a significant other (or dog!), the young urbanista of 2014 can afford to be selfish. I recently and reluctantly found explaining “hookup culture” to the older folks at my office job. Blushing, I described the concept behind OkCupid. I quickly added many footnotes, none of which I'll bother detailing here, but the question I couldn't exactly answer was, Why has traditional dating all but died? If I could answer that question, I'd probably have fewer heartbroken friends. I could've spared myself countless hours of listening to OkCupid horror stories. I'd never have to hear the words “He dumped me by text” again. Because if I knew the answer to that question, I would've found a solution for my generation going back to traditional dating en masse. I would've been that prude-turned-savior my entire social circle worshipped for matching everyone with their soulmate. Because even if we're living longer and infertility for women in their late 30s is less of an issue now than it was for our grandmothers, we do not fall in love later than our grandparents did. Infatuation still starts with puberty, and that's when the heart first begins to ache. Yet today's primary post-grad heartache seems to center on LinkedIn profiles and Skype interviews more than anything. When my sister graduates in May, most of her female classmates will not walk across the stage and grab their diploma with an engagement ring shining beneath the auditorium lights. Most of them will be more anxious about employment than marriage. I have told her about a few of my classmates: the ones who still did not have a job a year after graduation, the ones who, two or three years out of college, thought they were destined for a career as a professional waitress rather than the professor or television producer they imagined being at age 19. We have had plenty of conversations about grad school, too. In December 2012, I remember warming my hands over a mug of hot chocolate listening intently as one of my friends elaborated upon the various multimedia samples she planned to include with her grad school applications. After each summary, she'd second-guess herself in a frenzy: “Do you think they'll accept me if I put that in?” I picture two young women in a coffee shop two generations ago discussing love instead: “Do you think he'll like it if I wear my hair that way?” Now my friend is a successful student in an Ivy League program studying exactly what she had hoped for. But it took her two years of waitressing after college, one year of working at two different non-profits for crappy pay and a lot of agonizing over her grad school apps to get there. This morning, I told my sister that I was proud of her for going into her last semester of college. Plenty of people never get to that point. She muttered thanks, averting my gaze. For her and other privileged twenty-somethings, the concern is not finishing college. The hand-wringing lies in deciding what to do the moment the cap and gown come off. “Do something good,” I had told her the day before. “Help somebody.” I suggested AmeriCorps, teaching fellowships, artist residencies with a community engagement angle, an internship at an art or history museum that cared about community outreach. I thought back to our grandmother who, at about the same age, had herded alcoholics and drug addicts in The Bowery toward clean living. That was the 1950s, when a dark cloud hung over the Manhattan neighborhood, and Quaker missionaries like my grandmother hoped to give the down-and-out a second chance at a sense of purpose. My sister nodded after I made my suggestion. “That's what I want to do,” she said simply, and went back to filling out online job applications. #College #Graduation #Unemployment #Millennials #Twentysometimes #Jobs #GradSchool #Uni #CollegeDegree #Anxiety The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
A Cheerful HeartBy Raquel Lynne QuailBellMagazine.com I’ve been asked, “Why do you write about the memories from your past”? My response: “We need to reflect on the past for our overall well-being." You see, I believe that when we look back over the flicks of our lives, it brings to us a clearer understanding of who we are, and how we’ve arrived at this juncture in our lives. Merriam-Webster defines memory as "a: the power or process of reproducing or recalling what has been learned and retained especially through associative mechanisms; b: the store of things learned and retained from an organism's activity or experience as evidenced by modification of structure or behavior or by recall and recognition." My evolution as a writer began with short stories focused on characters that used their memory to help them cope with the world around them. In my story, “Memories are Forever,” the character Helen used memory to reconcile her abuse as a child. In “Life as We Knew It,” the main character Isaac used his young daughter's memories to rebuild the past he had forgotten due to a tragic accident. Today my use of memory has broadened into a series of essays to capture past events and to settle my restless mind. These memories have helped me to re-instill sets of personal values, re-establish broken relationships, and to teach others about differences. My cheerful disposition is often questioned with, “Are you always this happy”? and “Do you ever get upset?” or “Don’t you get tired of smiling”? To answer the last question, I reflect upon my father. He was a constant hummer; he whistled, he sang and he smiled. My father’s spirit was always upbeat; he lived each day with an appreciative heart. When he experienced a bad day, he would be quiet, as if to go inward, possibly to recollect a memory, to solve the issue, but it was never for very long. I knew when everything was alright because his singing and humming returned. So why is my disposition always so cheerful? I learned to be joyful and grateful in all circumstances; I learned the fine art of humming and singing, and the act of inward reflection. My hope is that when I share my reflections, that it too brings you a sense of peace. Perhaps these pieces will help you to reminisce about your past, and that you are encouraged to share your flicks with others. We are here to teach and share with one another, and for that I am so grateful. #FamilyMemories #Father #Daddy #FatherDaughterRelationships #ChildhoodMemories #FirstPerson #Essay #Reflections
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The Warehouses and Factories of YoreThis iPhone video shows Richmond's Tobacco Row. Across the James River from Manchester lies an assortment of tobacco warehouses and cigarette factories founded in the 1700s. During the Civil War, this Richmond district laid claim to Libby Prison and Castle Thunder. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Brit Rock—But Not BowieFowberry Excavation Site 6 submitted by SolarMegalith. Cup with penannulars on Fowberry Excavation Site 6 panel (photo taken on October 2013). Rock Art in Northumberland, England—The largest and most extensively decorated panel in the Fowberry (meaning 'fortification of the foal') Excavation site group is adjacent to the Bronze Age burial cairn. Among the motifs there are cups with multiple penannulars, grooves and a cup with two rings. More on ERA... Fowberry Excavation Site 6 submitted by SolarMegalith. General view of Fowberry Excavation Site 6 panel (photo taken October 2013.) Get your local dose of archeology at the Alexandria Archaeology Museum. ***This post originally appeared on The Megalithic Portal and was republished here with permission.*** The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Uncovering the Messages from Carpenters Past One of my main passions besides writing is carpentry. Specifically, renovating old houses. I've done projects for myself, for family and for a living. I have come to appreciate the beauty and quality of old houses. Today I found something that I've seen before, and I wanted to share it with others who don't get to see this kind of thing on a regular basis. Something perhaps not everyone knows about the renovation process is that we uncover some really awesome history. Working on old houses means finding artifacts that fell back behind furniture or trim. In one 200-year-old house I found a 130-year-old church program behind a mantle we were temporarily removing. We also found empty liquor bottles behind the plaster and lathe in the ceilings. Plaster guys having too much fun I guess. The more elusive, and therefore more valuable in my eyes, artifacts in old houses are the writings on the walls. I've found drawings from kids under 150 years of wall paper that were only visible when the plaster was wet from my wallpaper scraping. These discoveries are a nice reminder in the middle of a day of hard work that houses are these incredible living museums. Sometimes the drawings are pretty obviously from kids, sometimes they are things like home drawn height charts documenting the growth of a family, and sometimes they are notes left by carpenters and tradesfolk of the past. Today while I was working on a window, my eye caught a drawing on the plaster wall next to me. As I focused my vision, I realized there was not one but several drawings on the wall of the room I'd been working in for a week. The drawings are so faint that they are only visible in a certain light. As you can see, some of these are simply goofy drawings. Two of them are the sort of notations us tradespeople frequently make when working on houses (little sketches, measurements, marking the placement of something, etc.) The date is a little blurry, but to my eye it is marked 1942. A lot of times we end up covering up these old marks when renovating, but I like to take pictures to preserve them for a little while longer. The archeology of houses is something you have to grow to appreciate. Look around if you find yourself in an old house; you never know what you might find. And I'll keep leaving my mark for future discovery. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Flee DMV (Temporarily)By Quail Mother QuailBellMagazine.com Looking for an excuse to get out of town, fledglings? This photograph of the sanctuary at Plymouth Congregational Church in Miami—a building modeled after a city mission church in Mexico and completed in 1917—is really all the persuasion you need: View the entire campus here.
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Advocates Who Could Not Advocate On a recent shopping trip to Diversity Thrift, I saw a sign for an exhibit in their gallery. The thrift store is just one part of the overall Gay Community Center of Richmond. GCCR serves as a site for many LGBTQ events in Richmond. One aspect of the GCCR which is too little known is the Gay Community Art Gallery. The current exhibit at the Gay Community Art Gallery is titled "Lawyers Without Rights: Jewish Lawyers in Germany Under the Third Reich." The exhibit was created by the German Federal Bar in cooperation with the American Bar Association. In Richmond, the exhibit is being presented by Jay M. Ipson, a Holocaust survivor and the founder of the Virginia Holocaust Museum. When I walked into the exhibit with my partner, we were greeted by Ipson, wearing his fabulous Jewish cowboy hat. He introduced us to the exhibit. I noticed his tie pin which was pretty unusual—an adjustable wrench. He has a very interesting story about the wrench, which I will save for his telling. Ipson's own father was a Jewish lawyer at the time of the Third Reich. His story, as well as the stories of many other Jewish lawyers, are documented in this exhibit. There is a lot of text, so give yourself time to walk around and read the different stories. If you aren't the type to read a lot at exhibits, you can just pick a few individuals to focus on. Strike up a conversation with Ipson; he has a lot of valuable things to talk about. Don't miss guest speakers Professor John Paul Jones and the Honorable Tracy W. Throne-Begland Jan. 15 at 6 p.m.
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Curry GoatI was born on the 25th of October in 1968. I came quite late in my parents’ lives—for there were already four girls, with the youngest being 12 years older than me. I grew up much like the only child. What teenage girl wants to play with her infant sister? My memory isn't the best, but what I do remember are like lightning flashes, quick bursts that leave as quickly as they appear. I grab a hold of as many as possible when a strike occurs. My sisters had children that were my age. We had more of a sibling relationship than anything. As the oldest, I felt it my duty to protect and love my nieces much like an older sister. Now whether they saw me like that, I have never asked, but my love and devotion for them ran deep. One of my strongest memories of them is of the goat whom we saved from being slaughtered. The goat was for the curry goat served at a yearly reunion my father and his Jamaican family held. Boy, did we put a wrench in that plan. We named the goat “Goatie” and were allowed to keep him as a pet in the barn on my parents' property. I think of the three of us now, all grown up with a family and children of our own. Unfortunately time has put distance between us, but I know the memories that are contained within us live on in conversations and personal giggle moments, when a flash of memory strikes. I received a beautiful note from one of my nieces the other day which read “an auntie’s love lasts a lifetime.” It sure does. I am proud of my nieces, my girls. They have grown into amazing women and mothers. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Longest Night Sure, December is a big month for Christians but it’s a big month for Witches too—after all, Pagans started this Yuletide tradition. It’s well-documented that Christmas finds its origins in the Pagan winter solstice celebrations—“Yule” in pre-Christian Celtic culture and “Saturnalia” in pre-Christian Roman culture—honoring the rebirth of the Sun King after the longest night of the year. So many of the Christmas traditions and symbols that Christmas-celebrators love and uphold are originally Pagan, some of which include mistletoe, the evergreen tree, wreaths, lights, rebirth, the feast, wassail, even gift-giving!
Ancient history, enduring controversy The term “Pagan” has been bandied about for centuries and often Christians use it to refer to anyone who isn’t Christian. However, Paganism refers specifically to pre-Christian earth-based religions and spirituality, often polytheistic and/or pantheistic and sometimes described as monotheistic in the sense that the many gods, goddesses, and spirits are aspects of one Great Spirit. It has nothing whatsoever to do with Satanism or evil-doing. Wicca, Neo-Druidism, Neo-Paganism, and etc., all fall under the umbrella of Paganism—think of them as ‘denominations’ of Paganism with their own specific practices, traditions, and beliefs. Not all Pagans identify as Wiccans, Neo-Pagans, or Druids, and so on. Pagans range from traditional (such as Strega, Norse, Egyptian…) to eclectic and practice in a coven (as a group) or as solitary practitioners, and I’ve studied all along that spectrum.* There are a lot of different perspectives on the Christian appropriations of Pagan holidays and traditions, especially considering that many (not all) Christians vehemently denounce Pagans as immoral, evil-doers responsible for the world’s ills. JSK, poet and eclectic Pagan, sees the humor in this. “Whenever I see signs that say ‘Jesus Is the Reason for the Season,’ I get a little giggle building up. But he has, in a sense, become the reason for the way people celebrate today even though many of the rituals and traditions that we think of as being about Christmas were actually associated with other festivals first. So it just doesn’t really seem like a fight worth having, in my opinion. I know though that my sister-in-law, a fundamental Baptist, would probably disagree with me on this. But we already disagree on so many things that I’m okay adding another to the list.” Zina Slade, a horse-trainer and eclectic Pagan, finds the appropriation a little disturbing, “It angers me a little what Christianity has done to Paganism, but I don’t dwell on it. I do wish that people were more aware of the true history of Paganism and Christianity though. When I took a class on Ancient History in college, it was an enormous eye-opener and such a valuable experience.” Zina is referring to the early days of Christianity, when the religion spread mainly by force. Wherever Christians arrived to convert the indigenous Pagans, the local gods and goddesses were appropriated, along with the Pagan holidays, by the new religion. For example, in Ireland, Brigid the goddess of fire, metalwork, and poetry became Saint Birgit, who is still honored on her Pagan holiday, Imbolc, with bonfires lit by nuns. The historical transition from Paganism to Christianity was not a smooth one: some Pagans willingly converted after bets, battles, answered prayers, visions, and dreams, for political reasons, and for love; many were converted by force; some converted with the compromise that the beloved Pagan deities and holidays found their way into the new Christian religion; and others refused to give up the Old Ways and were met with a bloody struggle, including but not limited to the witch hunts of Europe. And others still appeared to convert but in reality they kept the Old Ways a secret and passed down the knowledge generation by generation. When Pagans have mixed-feelings about religious appropriation, it’s because of this violent history of conversion, oppression, and persecution. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Shooting Down History In an odd coincidence, historic sites in both D.C. and Richmond recently suffered mild damage as a result of stray bullets. The Richmond Railroad Museum opened their doors Dec. 21 to find evidence of bullets in the old Southern Railway Passenger Station. I happened to be there to get some pictures for the article I was writing about the museum at the time. The museum volunteers called the police to show them the damage. It seemed to be mostly a hole in one door with a corresponding hole in the plaster wall of the hallway, plus a broken window pane in the stationmaster's office. The incident in Richmond seems tame compared to an intense shootout that happened in D.C. on Dec. 26. The African American Civil War Memorial and Museum was in the middle of a volley of 60 or so shots. Bullets damaged the surrounding area, with one bullet even striking a panel listing the members of the 121st Regiment Colored Infantry. Fortunately, none of the names was damaged. Extra fortunately, no one was hurt in either of these incidents. Historic sites pale in importance to human life. But people need to be more careful with guns. Someone could have gotten hurt or killed. Stray bullets are a big deal. Tighten up D.C. and Richmond! The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Bundle Up like it's 1886By The Picture Pharmacist QuailBellMagazine.com This image is brought to you by The Graphics Fairy. Dear fledglings, Can you turn this little Victorian girl into one of the Three Muskateers? Download her and pop her into Photoshop. You might surprise yourself—gender-bending, anachronisms, and who knows what else? Should be a trip. Yours truly, The Picture Pharmacist
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This Old HouseNow you see it, now you don't. This house, 2006 Barton Avenue, on Richmond's Northside was built in 1890. It fell into disrepair, and in 2007 the Richmond Redevelopment Housing Authority bought the property. Despite the over 120 years of history here, they chose to demolish the building earlier in December. I woke up one Thursday morning to this backhoe across the street from me. And when I got home from work the next day, the house was gone. It only took them one day to make the house and history disappear. One house is maybe not such a big deal. And this particular house had a lot wrong with it— interior floors and walls collapsed, fire damage on the second floor. It would have been a total gut and re-build type of project. It would have been fun to do, to dress up those old bones. I can see the benefits economically of the decision to demolish. But it gives me pause. Pryor, the company that did this demolition, is the same company that did the demolition of the Loving Warehouse in Shockoe Bottom. The Loving family had this historic and beautiful warehouse demolished to prepare the lot for sale to developers working on the plan for a baseball stadium in Shockoe Bottom. It starts to feel like a big deal when a City has the habit of knocking down and building on top, and asking questions later. One of Richmond's resources is its history. The good history and the bad history both deserve our respect. Demolition as a trend does not best serve the history in Richmond, or the citizens of Richmond. We need to take the time to understand the history of places, and perhaps chose to investigate with archaeology and research before moving forward. Some might call the old house a blight, and be happy it was knocked down. I'm almost positive that what is built in its place will be more of a blight. But my disdain for vinyl is a topic for a larger column. I might be a fool for houses, and you can call me sentimental, but looking at the picture below just makes me sad: The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Through Sickness and HealthIt was winter, 1986, and I had just arrived as a freshman to UMass, Amherst. Being from Connecticut I was used to the cold, but it was somehow different being far away from my parents. Bundled up in my parka, hat and mittens, I headed to my 9 a.m. anthropology class. The snowflakes fell gently, occasionally landing on and tickling the tip of my nose. I could see my breath as I trekked through what seemed like 4 feet of snow. My toes and finger tips began to tingle quickly so I decided to stop off at the student center’s Blue Wall to grab a latte. The Blue Wall was a campus landmark for lattes. It was the 80’s version of Starbucks. “A small latté with one sugar," I yelled to the barista who had asked for my order. Thankfully the coffee line was not long, but the place was still loud. I guess the snow kept most students inside. I grabbed my latté, paid and hurried out the door. When I got outside of the Blue Wall, my eyes fell upon the most amazing thing—amongst the rows of vendor who typically displayed their art for sale in the student center, sat the most beautiful display of hand knit sweaters. In an array of colors, lengths and styles, I knew immediately which one would complement my collection of clothing back in my dorm room. The vendor caught me assessing her handiwork—the stitches, the pattern she had used, the softness of the yarn. I was in awe of an off-white, mid-length one. “$40”, said a gentle voice, “or your best offer." I smiled at her, reached inside my parka and pulled out my money. I counted $15. I couldn’t possibly offer her this, I thought. I responded, “I will have to come back later, ma'am, I don’t have enough money with me right now. I only have $15." “No problem. It’s yours, please. $15 is fine. I want you to have it." “It will last you years in this Amherst cold and it will always protect you from the elements." I graciously thanked her as I handed her the money. She gently wrapped up the sweater. “Many blessing to you, my dear, and happy holidays," she whispered as she handed the sweater to me. With my new sweater and one sugar latte in hand, I hurried off to class. No longer were my toes and fingers feeling tingly. Later that day when I got back to my dorm room, I unwrapped my sweater and held it up to myself and looked in the mirror. I was very proud of my purchase and excited to wear it. Needless to say, 27 years later I still have the sweater, and on cold wintery days I wear it. It was with me when I turned 21, graduated college, got my first job, and rocked my baby boys in their cribs. It has seen me go through two marriages, and two divorces. It helped me wipe away countless tears as my son graduated high school. It was with me on those days when I had to trek through the snow to get to my cancer treatments. The sweater carries the many memories of my college friends borrowing it, us drinking lattes while laughing and telling jokes at the Blue Wall. When I walked across the stage to receive my MBA, the sweater came with me. The vendor was right about those cold winter day in 1986; the sweater has protected me from the elements and has guided me for 30 years. I often wonder about that vendor and what happened to her. I looked for her when I returned to campus for a reunion, but I did not see her. Wherever she may be, I send her wishes for many blessings, like she had whispered to me in 1986. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
History for Railfans and Future Railfans alike! By Mo Karnage If you have ever taken 14th Street and crossed the Mayo Bridge, heading into Manchester on Richmond's Southside, surely you have noticed the building on your left, with the signs saying 'Richmond Railroad Museum CLOSED.' Well, the museum isn't shut down, although it seems that folks all around Richmond get that impression. In fact, the Richmond Railroad Museum is open on Saturdays from 11-4 and Sundays from 1-4. The brevity in open hours are because the museum is entirely volunteer-run. The museum has existed in the old Southern Railway Passenger Station since 2011, when the Old Dominion Chapter of the National Railway Historical Society moved and expanded into the space. The window of opportunity to visit is small, but the price is right. Admission is free, although donations are welcome, and it is a good idea to bring some money to spend on unique gifts and historical items in their gift shop. The Railroad Museum is a great place to take kids, older folks, history nerds, train nerds, and also, dates! Railfans are people who are railway enthusiasts, and they often go to great lengths to research and learn about a variety of trains. They collect photos and artifacts on trains. Some specialize in certain lines or regions or time periods. What they all share is a passion about trains. At the Richmond railroad Museum, Railfans share their passion and knowledge with anyone who comes in. Who knows, maybe you will catch train fever! One of the first displays that will catch your attention, as soon as you park in their lot, are the train cars set up outside. You can go inside several of the different cars. If you want a guide, one of the volunteers might be available to tell you about the functions of various aspects of the train cars. All the cars have been carefully restored by the ODC.
Inside the museum, there are multiple rooms with displayed artifacts. The largest room is the Freight room, and has artifacts from around 150 years of train history in Richmond. There are items from the six different train companies that used to operate in Richmond. There are old documents and maps as well, which are neat little windows into our past. The Stationmaster's Office is quite charming, set up like it would have been when the station was in use. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Rub Your Palms Together and Drink that Cocoa Editor's Note: People have been heating with wood well before the inventions of electricity, nuclear power, the mining of coal, or extraction of oil and propane gases. There is something instinctively comforting about sitting around a wood fire, something primal about staring into the flame. And something more wholesome about the process of procuring wood than other heat sources which involve radioactive waste or fracking. While wood emissions are an area of concern, wood remains an accessible, affordable, local resource for people trying to save money and stay warm. There are efforts being made to bring ye olde wood burning stove/boiler into the modern age, making best of the old technology. WASHINGTON—Bill Traver has sold wood stoves to customers in Maryland, Pennsylvania and West Virginia from his small shop in Hedgesville, W. Va., for nearly three decades, but over the past few years, he’s seen an increase in sales. “It’s because people are finally getting away from gas and oil,” Traver said. “Because they can’t afford it.”
Traver’s store isn’t an exception. According to U.S. Census data, the use of wood heat in Maryland grew by 33 percent from 2000 to 2010. Much of that increase is due to the market - the recent economic downturn, combined with increased prices for oil and propane, has led to many customers switching to wood stoves and boilers for heat. But as wood heating has grown, concerns over its emissions have grown, as well - so much, in fact, that in October, Maryland and six other states, along with the Puget Sound Clean Air Agency, sued the Environmental Protection Agency over certain high-emission wood boilers. Wood-fired boilers are different from wood stoves, which heat wood inside the home. Boilers operate outside a home, using combustion to heat up water, which runs through pipes into the home to heat it. But the trouble with older boilers and wood stoves comes from the soot, smoke and small particles they emit. In 1988, the Environmental Protection Agency placed regulations on stationary wood-burning devices like new wood stoves. Currently, those rules require catalytic stoves, which use a device to start combustion at lower temperatures, to emit less than 4.1 grams of particulates. Non-catalytic stoves must emit less than 7.5 grams. Wood boilers, however, were exempted from the rules. That’s made it so even though cleaner boilers are available, the older, dirtier versions are still sold and used across the country. Jonathan Kays, a natural resource extension specialist with the University of Maryland, said that even with the concerns over boilers, wood heat can still be a clean, cheap option, especially if residents in rural areas use newer, cleaner wood stoves. “You know, renewable energy is focused on solar and wind and geothermal, but to take advantage of those, you have to have $20-or-$30,000,” Kays said. “But the average person could buy a wood stove for $2-or-$3,000 and could cut their heating bills in half or more. And that’s what’s happened. The wood is cheap.” The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Ancient Village in the Great LakesCahokia - Monk's Mound submitted by bat400 Ancient City in Madison and St. Clair Counties, Illinois--Time to drool over another place you'll definitely want to visit. A few miles west of Collinsville are the remains of a Mississippian city now called Cahokia. The site was inhabited between 700-1400 A.D., with its peak being around 1050-1200 A.D. The city is famous for its 120 plus mounds constructed and enlarged on several occasions during the city’s habitation. At its most populous Cahokia is believed to have had as many as 10000-20000 people living there and its central area covered six square miles. In addition to the mounds, a bastioned stockade around a central mound and plaza area, and the remains of rows of houses and other plazas have been found. The site has produced many finds, including copper items, fine pottery, and carved tablets of stone. Burials of individuals with funeral goods and human sacrifices support the concept of a society focused on individual leaders or hierarchical lineages. Some researchers (including Timothy Pauketat, Joeseph Galloy, Thomas Emerson, and John Kelly) believe that Cahokia, along with two other Mound Centers, the East Saint Louis" and Saint Louis Mound groups, were joined and served as a central ceremonial and administrative center to a much larger area of smaller settlements, farmsteads, and craft centers, In others words, they functioned as a city, producing an influx of peoples of multiple ethnic and language groups, spurring trade, and having a large influence on religious and technological culture up and down the Mississippi River and its regional watershed. Other researches (whom Galloy refers to as "minimalists') concede the size of each center, but doubt that the society was as complex as to be considered as as a city. What happened to Cahokia’s inhabitants is not completely understood, but archaeology seems to point in the direction of a decline in the population starting in the 1200s, leading to it being abandoned by 1400 A.D. The name ‘Cahokia’, comes from a tribe who inhabited the surrounding area some 200 years after the city was abandoned. Cahokia - Kunnemann Group submitted by durhamnature. Excavation of Kunnemann Mound, one of 6-11, from "Cahokia Mounds" via Archive.org See individual site listings for major structures within the Cahokia complex, including Monk's Mound and Woodhenge. For more, see the Cahokia Mounds State Historic Site, and the National Park Service's World Heritage Sites. ***This post originally ran on The Megalithic Portal and appears here with permission.***
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Dormant Trees, Dead Bodies, Living SoulsBy Vault Photographer QuailBellMagazine.com A view of Arlington National Cemetery, c. November 2012 (if the Canon date is correct)
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East of the Virginia Capitol BuildingBy Quail Bell Camera Eye QuailBellMagazine.com Saunter through Shockoe Bottom and you're likely to twist your ankle on some cobblestone—but that's also what we love about it. #exploreRVA
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