manchester, nh and a few of its neighbors

I never realized the history that is Manchester, NH until I picked up the book AMOSKEAG by Tamara K Hareven & Randolph Langenbach. In it is written that “The Amoskeag Company founded the city of Manchester and dominated it over the entire century of its existence. There was hardly a person in Manchester between 1838, when construction began, and 1936, when the mills shut down, whose life was not in some way affected by the company.” www.manchesternh.gov

Tonight I’ll read about the Manchester I knew, and about the role the Amoskeag Millyard played in the lives of the many people who lived at the time when, “it was the world’s largest textile plant, employing up to seventeen thousand workers.” I wish those red brick factories that line the Merrimack River could tell the stories of those whose lives were impacted by the founding of the Amoskeag Mills in this American city.

The Manchester of today is changing. The once short restaurant list is now much longer, and folks don’t necessarily go to Boston for things that they “need”, and new businesses are opening, companies are locating here. Highways are being expanded, and homes are being built. And these days those solid red brick buildings have new occupants. But it was only a short time ago, or so it seems, when Thursday evening on Elm Street was a time for families and friends to shop together. They’d walk up one side of the street and down the other stopping at the small stores along the way. Woolworth’s was there – it had something for everyone-even if was just sitting at the long clean counter enjoying an ice cream soda. And there was The Puritan where folks would go before, during or after shopping often for a grilled English muffin with lots of butter, or a grilled tomato and cheese sandwich, a root beer float, a sundae, or a cup of coffee – there was something very pleasing about a cup of coffee in that small white cup at The Puritan. Then it happened – almost in the blink of an eye-that Elm Street became a lonely place as people drove toward the newly-built Mall of New Hampshire. www.puritanbackroom.com/history.php

Now, after all those years of lonliness, Elm Street is looking good. And, just as with the factories, once again it’s occupied with businesses. Manchester has a phenomenal location. It’s approximately (depending on traffic) one hour from Boston, from the coast of Maine, and from the White Mountains. And The Lakes Region are never forgotten with there many beautiful big lakes and small mountains. Wonderful places, including Concord, the capital of New Hampshire, are bustling, and its many small shops near the capitol and along the main street, are thisclose to Manchester. www.lakesregion.org www.winnipesaukee.com www.concordnhchamber.com www.visitwhitemountains.com www.visitmaine.com

And one hour north of Logan International Airport in Boston, and nearer to Manchester, is a grand New England Victorian hotel called Wentworth By The Sea in New Castle. It’s a AAA Four Diamond resort and it’s also a member of Historic Hotels of America due to the fact that at the end of the Russo-Japanese War in 1905, the Treaty of Portsmouth Conference was held there. The Portsmouth Peace Treaty was the result. Wentworth By the Sea Hotel & Spa is a beautiful place to be. If wending your way by car, be sure to stop at a good eating establishment for a delicious seafood meal.
www.wentworth.com/seacoast-nh

Have fun!

the little girl

Often in life important decisions have to be made. I knew a little girl who was born with a gift of knowing. She didn’t hesitate when making decisions, and since a confidence and a knowing always preceeded her decision making, she was trusted in those matters because the gift she had was felt and accepted.

Time passed and the little girl became a beautiful woman, and the gift she possessed was forgotten by her as she struggled to make decisions in the world. Perhaps she thought making important decisions as an adult required a different approach. Perhaps she got caught up in believing that certain things like making important decisions actually require struggle. She changed and I watched her worry about what was right and what was wrong, longed for her to rediscover the gift she once had and used so easily. She was a child who so simply tapped into what her heart told her, before she became a learned adult trying to figure out all the thoughts in her head. Those thoughts that never seem to stop. Those thoughts-are they right or are they wrong? Who knows? The heart of a little girl once knew. Surely the gift is still there waiting to to be trusted and used once again.

an utterly simple day

At times life seems complicated. At other times it’s utterly simple. Today was one of those utterly simple days. Let me explain.
In a Manhattan taxi on the way to the corner of Canal and Bowery Streets to get the 11:00 am Fung Wah bus, I reach for the bottle of just purchased Perfect water. It wasn’t until after its opening that I realize a very easy twist released the cap, and there was no seal to remove. I place it back in the bag as the conversation with the taxi driver continues. We’re in agreement that the city has changed, and that Saturdays are not as busy as other days. That’s not to say that Saturdays are not busy-just not as. Soon we reach the Fung Wah bus area. I pay the driver and cross Canal Street, and walk to the Fung Wah store front with suitcase in hand to purchase a one-way ticket to Boston for $15. The day is humid and passengers have boarded the bus with bottled water. No time to buy water; the bus is ready to leave. www.fungwah.com

In Connecticut I think about the water still in its bag. Suddenly a vision floods my mind. I take a sip from my bottle of Perfect water bought with a loose cap. I clutch my throat, only the whites of my eyes show. My body falls forward with an impact-dead. Monkey mind is working overtime it seems. What is the possibility someone tampered with that bottled water with the loose cap? I ask myself.

There’s suddenly a wonderful smell in the bus. A favorite Chinese food? Maybe. French fries from you-know-where has the same affect when you’re enclosed in a place for a time and someone opens a bag of them. Back to the important matter at hand, drink or not drink the bottled water with the loose cap? That is the question. We’re now at McDonald’s in Connecticut “for 10 minutes” our courteous bus driver announces as we line up to leave the bus. I get off with the others and walk around. I’m back on the bus after 10 minutes, and as I slip into my seat I notice a book, FAST FOOD NATION, on the seat in back of mine. I’d have felt a pang of guilt had I returned with a bag of fast-food. I smile when noticing that the reader of the book is also empty-handed.

Traffic is a bit heavy. It’s okay. We’re a neat group on the bus; it feels happy. Traveling alone allows for listening to parts of conversations. Sometimes you learn something. Not this time as a group of Chinese people are directly in front of me, and I entertain no thought of ever being able to understand the Chinese language. Back to my iPod listening to Christmas music. The songs haven’t been changed since December. I hesitate to return a message on my cell phone, not wanting to be the third person with the loud voice calling everyone on the bus to attention.

Have you eaten Goji berries? They’re supposed to give energy. I brought them along for that purpose. Next trip I’ll check the cap on the bottled water and bring more than Goji berries. I spot a motorcyclist without a helmut. I guess it’s his choice. He looks carefree-red bandana around his forehead, chocolate-colored tank top, jeans. A peaceful, totally content with life expression on his face. www.sunfood.com

Drink or not drink the bottled water with the loose cap? That is the question.

sebastian

Pupul Jayakar wrote in her book, J. Krishnamurti A Biography, that as the time of Krishnamurti’s birth approached, his mother prepared the room, sang Teluga songs to her husband in her melodious voice, and rested on a mat. . . . ” And that “For eleven days of the prescribed period, the baby rested in an atmosphere that recreated the ambiance of the womb. He lay in semidarkness gently rocked in a cloth cradle next to his mother as in all Orthodox Hindu births. Krishnamurti’s entry into the dazzling light of the sun and the world was gradual.” www.jkrishnamurti.org

Sebastian, my grandson, entered the world on 25 May 2006. The delivery room at the hospital where he was born contained a happy staff. Ah, so important. There was a lot of merriment at the time of his birth, and Sebastian’s parents, Alicia and Michael, were alert, helpful and laughing, and the doctor was compassionate and encouraging throughout the delivery process. I’m sure that the little one felt joy in the room at the moment of his entrance. It seems a very kind way of starting life. Just as Krishnamurti’s mother prepared for his birth, Sebastian’s parents prepared in their own loving way for him.

Imagine that-you’ve finally arrived dear Sebastian! It’s an absolute delight to have you with us. May your life have-among other things-love, joy, compassion, understanding, beauty, harmony, success and abundance (in whatever those two words mean to you).

Welcome, Sebastian, to this fascinating world.

The Day After

Congratulations to the Carolina Hurricanes who defeated the Edmonton Oilers last night to win the Stanley Cup in game 7. We are thrilled to have the NHL’s most coveted prize, Lord Stanley’s Cup in our great state. Hockey in North Carolina?! Who’s laughing now… hehehe

-Michael

The Little Prince

It has been a while since I checked in but I can hold back no longer! On May 25, 2006 at 12:56 a.m. a beautiful baby boy named Sebastian joined our family. The best way to describe the birth of your child is that it takes your breath away. There is something so sacred and innocent about the joy and energy which a newborn child brings to a family.

Thank you to the wonderful folks at Rex Hospital in Raleigh, NC who made Sebastian’s birth such an awesome experience. I feel special gratitude to Dr. Segal & Tammy who gave overwhelming comfort and security to my wife and me during the birthing process.

Finally, a special ‘thanks’ to the Grandmothers who have provided that extra special motherly love and of course delicious food over the last few days!

Until next time…

-Michael

along the hudson river

In Cold Spring only a handful of people walk around at any given time. It’s a quiet town, and those living there seem to like it that way. There are a few good restaurants, a few shops and some antique stores. There’s a lovely inn by the river, and a new park, and biking and hiking paths. It reminds me of a movie set. www.coldspringliving.com/lodging.htm

Right next door to Cold Spring is Beacon. Beacon has a good mix of ethnic groups, many artists, two cafes (good coffee), speciality shops, galleries, a nice choice of eating establishments, and there’s DIA. Tourists come on the Hudson Line from Grand Central and meander over to DIA, and after DIA, board the shuttle bus (on weekends) to Main Street for eating and shopping. Some stores close on monday, tuesday and wednesday. And there’s no shuttle bus on the weekdays, but it’s an easy walk to DIA and to Main Street. www.mta.info/mnr www.diabeacon.org www.grandcentralterminal.com

If you stay long enough you tend to hear over and over that the Hudson River towns are “in the process of changing.” Change doesn’t occur quickly or easily. Newcomers arrive with their ideas and enthusiasm, and, at times, change happens. Sometimes it doesn’t and places close. Either way it seems not to matter to those who live here. They appreciate the slow pace and enjoy the way of life the towns offer. I heard that after 9/ll many people moved from Manhattan to the Hudson River towns and the Catskills. Manhattan though is ever on the move, growing differently year after year as people from all over the world decide to make “the city” their home. It’s Manhattan’s nature to be always changing while remaining vibrant. And it seems to be Beacon’s nature to just be. www.escapemaker.com/ny/beacon/beacon.html

one to be savored

Have you been to a beautiful quiet place lately for at least two weeks without the usual kind of interruptions and entertainment? It’s soul satisfying. A place surrounded by trees, with a deer or four, wild turkey, chipmunks and birds passing by, with the sky so dark at night and stars brightly shining, and no one close enough to drop by. You’re all alone to decide how the course of the day will go. You’ve read J. Krishnamurti’s or E. Tolle’s writings, or another that teaches how to listen and observe. It’s serene. It’s enjoyable. There’s no television, radio, or ways to catch-up on the news. The news of the world is according to how it’s presented in each country. Things are not always as they seem. This being the case, we’re not exactly all on the same page. Let it go. www.jkrishnamurti.org www.eckharttolle.com

Before TV, video games, and all the things that manage to keep people in one spot for hours, life was lived outside more, and people didn’t need the medication that seems to go with today’s lifestyle. Obesity wasn’t an issue, and I doubt anyone commented on someone’s breast size, nose size or thigh size in those days. Certain things were as they were. Life was not as complicated. There were thousands of items not known at that time that are in use now, and people were fine without them. As was the environment. Tomorrow I leave. They’ll be no more mention of life in the country – at least for a while. But perhaps for you, a vacation is around the corner, and if there’s a choice to be alone, you need to know that it’s not lonely. It’s truly a delicious feeling; one to be savored.

the storyteller

Still she thinks of herself as a poor black girl living in the south before blacks and whites mingled. I say this because her past is always with her as those times seem to be more real than present day life. Since I’ve known her it’s been that way. Some things run real deep. She’s a good storyteller, and when I look at her I can vividly imagine that little girl back then in Arkansas. The stories she tells of that time will make you laugh, though some will bring a sense of acute sadness. My childhood was in New England and those stories never reached me.

I like her style of cooking. I think it’s changed just a little from her mother’s way. She makes corn bread every week, eats the greens of the south (gave up frying, but makes every attempt to recapture that taste by vigorous sauteeing). Her mother once took her and three of her siblings on a trip north to visit family, and she talks about seeing, for the first time in her young life, whites and blacks together. You feel in the telling of this that every fiber of her body relives the shock.

She didn’t marry a black man and didn’t stay in the south. She owns a nice three-bedroom apartment in Manhattan, has a big loving heart and, has what could be called, a good life. The value of money that was instilled then holds true now. Money or no money, she’s solidly frugal. I feel that keeping those stories alive is important because many people still haven’t grasped the enormity of what happened if you were black and living in the deep south at that time. From listening to her stories, a new understanding was very gently pounded into my head during my stay with her this year. Any new insight has the potential to shed new light on other areas of life. I thank her for that and for the loving person she’s become in spite of it all.

going, going, going?

When traveling alone in a foreigh country and you need a hand someone generally shows up. It must be an unspoken law of the universe. Someone will be by your side just when you want to scream out to the world, “HELP! I can’t read this map. The street names are driving me crazy. I can’t understand a word on a menu. And I barely remember where my hotel is because I forgot to take an address card.” Dah! It never fails that the nicest people will notice the agony on your face, and additionally, see a way to practice their English (I’ve been told it’s easy to spot an American. I’m not asking how; I don’t want to know), and Voila, you might have a guide for the day. When I’m in a tight spot in a foreign country I ask myself, “What’s the worst thing that can happen to me right now?” Perhaps I have a lack of imagination, because when I ask this question, always I see myself sleeping on a bench at the local police station.

Travel essay books give great ideas as to the what, why and how of traveling. For instance, I just finished reading PASSIONATE NOMAD The Life of FREYA STARK by Jane Fletcher Geniesse. Freya Stark was an unstoppable traveler, or after reading the book, you might say she was simply unstoppable, and her life was an exciting adventure. Travel & Leisure says of the book, “Freya Stark was one of the most intrepid adventurers of all time. . . . Jane Fletcher Geniesse brings to life this intense, original personality, and her often dangerous exploits.”

If you want to get going, but have questions, read a good travel essay book. It can give insight as to the way other travelers see the world, and other views start to unfold for you, after which you just might find youself purchasing a one-way ticket to who knows where for who knows how long.

“To awaken quite alone in a strange town is one of the pleasant sensations in the world. You are surrounded by adventure. You have no idea of what is in store for you, but you will, if you are wise and know the art of travel, let yourself go on the stream of the unknown and accept whatever comes in the spirit in which the gods may offer it.” – Freya Stark, The JOURNEYS ECHO