The Eastern Shuttle

Posted on Tuesday, October 3, 2017 by spoonbeams

Earlier this week the Washington Post printed an article about unrealistic expectations by airline travelers.

It starts off with a quote by a veteran flight attendant:

I’m weary of those entitled passengers who are continuously whining and complaining. . . I feel like telling them, “Take some responsibility for your choices.”

The columnist Christopher Elliott then goes on to discuss the airlines’ point of view, which in a nutshell is that you get what you pay for, and if you pick the lowest price, then expect very little in comfort and service, and the cost conscious travelers’ point of view, which is that fees are out of control.

The article continues:

“. . a retired civilian Army employee who lives in Troy, Mich., took his first commercial flight in the early 1950s, and recalls paying just $72 to fly from Washington to San Francisco in 1967. He still has the ticket. In economy class, the flight attendants served passengers steak on real plates, he says.

An eight dollar plus change, one-way student Eastern Newark to Boston Shuttle ticket from 1967 may be in a box of my lifetime treasures stored under a bed in my house, but it is doubtful. Whenever possible I was on a flight to visit my college beau. Tickets could be purchased ahead of time or at the gate. One just had to show a student card. Simple. There was always a seat.

Checking on line to see what Eastern was now charging for a flight from Newark to Boston, I was surprised to read that Eastern no longer exists. Imagine my delight discovering that Trump actually bought the Eastern shuttle in 1988, that he installed marble-finish lavatory fixtures in them, and that “On September 20, 1990, he missed a $1.1 million interest payment for the Shuttle operation.“

Back in my 20s and 30s I traveled here and there and a telephone call to any airline would give me all the information needed: what flights were available, the price of a ticket, and the representative would book my reservation on any carrier.

Then for a while I didn’t travel much. In the meantime, the world got internet, gas went up from 50 cents a gallon (I too do remember when it was twenty something cents), obscenely wealthy people, many of whom seem to be the only people who can get away with arrogant strutting displays of “entitlement” became the airlines preferred passengers, and the number of variables involved in making a reservation exploded.

I don’t feel entitled, but I am going to whine and complain. My complaint is that sorting through the many options when buying a plane ticket takes me hours and gives me angst. I don’t necessarily want to buy the cheapest seat available but I want to understand what I am paying for.

Back when life was simple I didn’t have to think about buying direct or through one of multiple third party sites. I didn’t need to study the nuances of budget, basic economy, economy, flexible economy, business class, first class, privileged class tickets on three or four different airlines. I wasn’t constrained by loyalty clubs. I didn’t have to worry if my luggage would be accepted or not or where it would be stored and what I could put in the bags that would go in the cabin or in the baggage compartment and what would be confiscated and never returned. I knew that drinks and food would be served. I could cancel or reschedule my flight without a hassle or a fee.

Not now. Now a ticket on United from Newark to Boston and return on the weekend of December eighth as listed on United’s website could cost me anywhere from $150 to $640. That includes taxes and fees but additional baggage charges could apply. That was yesterday’s price. Tomorrow’s most likely will be different. Do I dare check Delta? or American?

For a while my son who used to book travel for his boss would help me with my flight arrangements, but at this point in my life I have other things to pester him with. Now I go by train or drive, or tag along with friends who book my seats along with theirs, or if left to my own resources, become obsessed with the task — for weeks if time allows. Perhaps if the airline industry acknowledged its “responsibility” to standardize terminology, to eliminate add-ons, and to guarantee all of its customers a comfortable flight experience, flight attendants would not have so many complaints about “entitled” passengers, and perhaps I would travel more.

Living with a foo-foo

Posted on Friday, August 29, 2014 by spoonbeams

Dread descended upon me as Lee and I were driving home from an evening out.

This was my fourth return to my house for the day. The earlier three times Brino, the current doggie love-of-my-life, bounced down from his lookout on the spiral stairs to meet me at the door and bark his greeting. He looks so cute sitting at the window where he can smell, hear, or see someone approaching..

As is his custom, Brino barked unrestrainedly, expressing his joy and love, until he had circled Lee once or twice and then run out the door to greet me, all the time circling in a frenzy, circling back to circle Lee, and then circling around me and in front of me and wherever space allowed. I sat down on the bench and started to pet him and told him what a good dog he was. He quieted down, trying to be a good dog, trying so hard to please me by not barking because he has learned that it turns me into a crazy woman. His face and body showed that he was really sorry that he forgot. Strange strangled sounds emerged from deep in his throat. He looked pleadingly up at me, gurgling and croaking, his eyes saying “Love me, don’t leave me, love me, stay with me, love me, don’t go away again.” Even though it’s amusing, it’s hard to take. It’s exhausting for me. It’s exhilarating for him. He’s so happy we are home. He’s so cute.

A little history —

The foster mom who had “Spike” before he came home with me in January and turned into “Brino,” wrote in his online profile that he would sing and dance for you. That sounds cute, doesn’t it? She said he would pick up each foot and point it. He does do that and looks like a little ballerina. So cute. She also said he yipped with glee to see her. After having one disappointment after another trying to adopt a dog I was desperate, and a little yipping was not going to deter me.

Surely Lee and I could break him of this unappealing small dog behavior that he had most likely picked up from those mini poodles and things he somehow got mixed up with and was fostering with. K, his foster mom, had twenty-one dogs at her home. Spike, a twenty-five pound Pomeranian mix or whatever he is, was the big guy at this mostly mini dog rescue (hereafter called TMMDR). The last time I checked, the largest dog available at TMMDR was a 19-pound Pekingese, Miss Becky, unless you count the bonded pair Kaylee and Mikki, two shih tzus who together weigh 26 pounds.

Pepper — one of the 100 pound labs

Most of the dogs at K’s slept on the lower bunk of a trundle, but a favorite few got to sleep up on her bed. Spike wasn’t one of the favored. My grand delusion was that K, with twenty foo-foo dogs — as my family disparagingly labeled any dog that was too cute for words, yippy and spoiled to boot, that resembled a chew toy for one of our 100 pound labs — just didn’t have the time to retrain Spike herself.

Spike had been on my short list for a few months, but never at the top. My heart ached over a few dogs already during the search, and my life was stuck in a deep loneliness without a furry companion. My days were spent scanning adoptable dogs on petfinder.com, scouting local kennels, completing applications, studying breed characteristics and temperaments, and feeling sorry for myself.

Spike filled most of my requirements. He was older, small enough to fit on my lap, large enough to walk with the big dogs, and not a constant shedder. He was house trained, neutered, and had no allergies or health issues. He got along with the twenty little dogs at K’s, K’s grandchildren, and cats, and he didn’t cause mayhem when left alone in the house.

Spike got low grades on my barking and yipping requirements, his adoption fee was pretty high, and his foster home was too far for me to visit him ahead of time. But he was cute. I decided to apply for him.

TMMDR seemed keen on having found someone to take him.

Petfinder is the most popular site for finding your pet soulmate, It is similar to dating sites, and just as humbling and depressing. Each pet has a profile. People read profiles and pick a pet. One difference is that prospective adopters or rescuers don’t have profiles.

Each rescue organization requires a separate application, and some won’t even answer a “Is Buddy-boy” still available?” inquiry until they have received and reviewed your application. That could take a week or more.

Uncle Jack

So I filled out yet another application form, answering questions such as: size of yard, height of fence, dog experience, disciplinary strategies, training plans, hours away from home, name of groomer, other people and pets in the home. Did I ever return a dog or put one down? and why? Who would take care of the dog if I went on vacation or died? How often do people, children, dogs visit? Most wanted to call the vet, some wanted to call neighbors, a lot wanted to make a home visit. I felt terribly guilty inflicting unnecessary intrusions into my vet’s day at her clinic.

The application process is a bit overkill. These are dogs looking for new homes. We treat abused children coming across the border and our mentally ill and homeless with less concern.

Petfinder claims to list over 340,000 adoptable pets in over 13,000 adoption centers and shelters. Surely the web designer could streamline the adoption process by setting up a questionnaire for each prospective pet owner to compose a profile. That’s what dating sites do. If the system works for finding a husband or wife it should be good enough for finding a pet.

The adopter profiles could be secure so that only rescue organizations approached by the prospective adopter could see them. Individual rescue organizations could have the option to add a question or two if they deem it necessary. A single secured recommendation from the veterinarian could also be posted online. Harvard and Yale do it. More than 500 colleges choose freshman with a Common Application. Why can’t doggie angels have faith that a common application will work for them also?

Some rescue agencies just don’t respond. They put up barriers. Do they like to play god, are they scams, or they are just incompetent? Many are staffed by unpaid volunteers, but I’m an unpaid volunteer and consider myself competent.

Finally the application was in and accepted, the home inspection went fine, and all we had to do was sign the contract. There were off-putting clauses in the contract, such as —

“The adopter hereby declares that no representations about the nature of the adopted dog . . . have induced the adopter to sign this contract.”

What else would have induced me to choose this dog and sign the contract? All I had were his cute pictures, the profile, a few conversations and emails. We hadn’t even met yet, and they were also asking for pre-payment.

Obviously I had more trust in TMMDR than they had in me.

The contract goes on to dictate what kind of collar he should wear and couldn’t wear, where he should be allowed in my home and outside my home. It threatens to take action to retrieve the dog should I give him to my children or my best friend.

Tuck – my doggie-love before Brino – would have been a very miserable dog if he had to abide by certain rules. How about this one?

This dog will not be kept outdoors during the adopter’s working hours, or at any other time left alone outdoors while the adopter is not at home.

Tuck was happiest in the fenced-in area behind the house where he could look out over the river. He showed his displeasure by being extremely destructive if left inside alone. Tuck’s foster mom warned me, but I had to find out for myself.

Tuck

Another rule in the contract stated that the dog had to be protected from the elements. Tuck loved the snow, the cold, sleet, rain, the wind, the outdoors. He slept on the deck at night. He never went into the shelter we built for him He was constantly on alert, listening, watching. Even the owner of the kennel where Lee’s dog, Uncle Jack, and Tuck stayed finally gave in. At first he thought it imperative that Tuck stay indoors with the pack, but finally he let him sleep outdoors.

Tuck, by the way, rarely barked, and if he did, whoa — it was scary. He looked like a wolf. Nobody ever called Tuck “cute.”

Perhaps rescue agencies don’t know what is best for all their dogs and their new owners. Perhaps they should have a little humility and allow adopted dogs and their owners to find their own way. The contract includes threats of recall, attorney fees, and fines. It is as if TMMDR doesn’t want to relinquish ownership of their dogs. In paragraph one it states that the “donation” is not a fee or sale price.

It’s a very invasive contract. TMMDR can visit my home anytime, call my vet for information anytime, demands that I notify them if I move and if Spike/Brino dies.

But I signed the contract, just like I sign my life away over and over – when I open a bank account, or get insurance, or go to the doctor, or buy a cell phone, or download software, or now, adopt a dog.

I do love my Brino. Except for the fact that I later learned that TMMDR kept the entire fee, including the extra $50 I paid to “help defray the cost” of getting my dog to me, and did not give any of it to K, I do appreciate their efficiency and the work that the organization does. K feeds 21 dogs and gets them their shots and meds. She brought Spike to a groomer so that he’d be cute as could be when I picked him up, drove to meet me half way for the pick-up, and definitely deserved a big chunk of that fee. K and other foster moms and the transport volunteers who ferry the dogs around have very big hearts.

It’s been a few days since the dread and it has slowly dissipated. Brino was able to come along with me on most of my errands since that night so he hasn’t been overwhelming at the door. Everyone he meets on my travels thinks he is so cute.

He is lying by my desk on the tower deck as I write. He’s been a good little boy today, not barking too much, settling down quickly. He trotted gaily by my side on our walk with Lee and Uncle Jack – on the leash and off, he took a dunk in the stream and shook himself off before he came near. He sticks close, doesn’t bolt as all my other dogs did whenever they had the chance. It feels good.

Who knows what goes on in Brino’s cute little head? When I wrote to K to report on how he was doing, she twice asked me, “Is he still behaving like a gentleman?”

“Ooohhh,” I thought. “He’s got an ungentlemanly side???”

He has antagonized some, but not all, of the neighbor dogs, mostly the pit bull next door, and the Caine Corso who usually is very sweet but always very large. Wikipedia, although not necessarily the preferred source for information on such a grand beast, says it best: “Ideally the Cane Corso should be indifferent when approached and should only react in a protective manner when a real threat is present.” That’s what I keep telling Mina, since Brino is certainly not anything resembling a real threat. After getting bit on the bum by the pit bull (totally not the neighbor’s fault and no hard feelings) Brino has been much less feisty.

Depending upon the length of his hair, Brino is my Baby B., my fox, my bottlebrush, my scraggly little guy, my flutterby, my chipmunk, my lion, my mop. Lee affectionately calls him a pain in the a–.

He’s lucky he’s cute.

____________________________________________________________________

I cover the waterfront #2

Posted on Friday, February 28, 2014 by spoonbeams

The New York Times reported today on crude oil flowing down the Hudson – not flowing in it, at least not yet, but flowing on it and along side it. I am so happy that Jad Mouawad is following this story.

A Times article in January annoyed me. It reported that this oil was traveling across our country, but there was no mention that it was happening right here in New York. The article on February 25th annoyed me – it didn’t make clear enough that the Department of Transportation was playing games with its mind-boggling order promoting the shipping of crude oil in DOT-111 tank cars, the ones that have been involved in explosions, fires, destruction, and death because they were not built to do the task at hand.

But I applaud all the coverage. It appears that the articles are being read and that there is a flurry of scurrying by rail, regulators, politicians and citizenry to at last act. Please continue.

The Times Union in Albany has been feeding us the scary news for a while (see the previous Waterfront post). In fact there was a derailment of a thankfully empty oil train near Kingston just this Tuesday. A locomotive and a sand-filled car in the 97-car oil train derailed near the Hudson Valley Mall in Ulster County. A southbound train carrying crude was waiting nearby for this train to pass before it continued on its way. This was the third oil train accident in the state in the past three months. Senator Chuck Schumer is calling for the DOT-111s to be phased out by July, and for the lowered speed limits put into place for tank cars in New York City and Buffalo to be extended to all upstate communities.

If the DOT-111s are phased out, new tankers must take their place. If we need this oil so badly, there should be a law that they be built at home. Come on job creators. Just think of all the men and women you could put to work. I bet the rails could be brought up to higher standards also. There’s got to be some positive side to destroying the climate.

Today I received an email message from the Environmental Advocates of New York, asking for money, of course, but also telling me about the “ 1.6 million gallons of oil moving through our state each year by train.” The email goes on to say that EANY is working with “community activists and organizational partners to stop Big Oil in its tracks. . .” Isn’t that clever?

Why do I keep wondering if all this concern about the trains is a ploy by the pipeline proponents to get their project approved? There is no safe way to move this oil around.

Personally I would like to see all this oil stay in the ground. It is not helping us in this country to save on energy costs or to make us self-sufficient in our energy needs. The extraction of the oil is destroying our landscape, disrupting geological formations, and poisoning our water and air. We need meaningful regulations and constraints on the corporations involved to build an infrastructure to support such huge operations and to force them to clean up after themselves. The workers need to be adequately trained to do their jobs safely to lower the rates of deaths and accidents on fracking sites.

There are issues at every stage of the process. It is a dirty fuel that only the profit makers and the suckered are promoting. The profit makers don’t want it in their back yard and the suckered will live to regret.

I cover the waterfront

Posted on Sunday, January 26, 2014 by spoonbeams

This morning’s New York Times article, “Accidents Surge as Oil Industry Takes the Train,” by Clifford Krauss and Jad Mouawad, is a tardy but welcome look at one more dangerous and irresponsible aspect of the shale oil industry and the need for common sense and regulation to prevent further destruction of our environment, cities, and homes, and avoidable loss of lives.

Last night I watched the first half of Harlan County, USA, an Oscar-winning documentary about the 1973 coal miners’ strike. Working and living conditions were deplorable. The action of the police and the lack of concern by the government was expected but nonetheless depressing. The courage and unity of the coalminers, both as workers and as strikers, and their wives were perhaps naive but definitely inspiring. The double-speak of the mine-owners was nauseating.

Granted working conditions have improved since then, but definitely not enough to convince me that we are living in a land of opportunity and equality and respect for the working man. The American ideals taught in grammar school (or which at least used to be taught in grammar school) and which are touted as making our country exceptional, are lost somewhere in the daily voracious onslaught of stupid and ugly politicking, the distracting hype and expensive investigation of non-existent conspiracies, the hate mongering media establishment, and the distortion that evil money brings to the interpretation and presentation of reality and to our government. I still believe that good money, decent bosses, and politicians and government officials with integrity and honor exist, so don’t get on me that I am anti-money or anti-capitalism or anti-government. These honest hard-working capitalists and politicians are just not having their day right now.

Some big industries still look upon workers as replaceable parts to be thrown away when they are too damaged to keep functioning. Innocent bystanders are also just part of the cost of doing business. Somewhere priorities are lost. What is more important: industry? or the people that industry is to serve?

This December I gathered together information from my personal research on what I see from my window overlooking the Hudson to share with the people of my town. Included were pesticide spraying by the railroads and electric companies, new electric lines from Canada to Manhattan, effects of the rising sea level, and the transport of crude oil from the Bakken fields through Albany to east coast refineries. With just a few updates, the section on the transport of oil along the river follows.

*

Global Partners and Buckeye terminals in Albany are hubs for the passage of shale oil from the Bakken, North Dakota fields to refineries north and south along the east coast. The oil comes in by train and goes out by barge or rail.

Surete du Quebec photo of the Lac Megantic derailment

Roger Downs, conservation director of the Sierra Club’s Atlantic chapter in Albany is quoted in a July 2013 article in the Albany Times Union: “People in the Capital District are horrified by the catastrophic train derailment and the subsequent loss of life in Quebec – but have no idea that the same Bakken crude oil shipments rumble through the heart of the city of Albany every day – presenting even greater risks to the lives of our own citizens. . . If we are truly serious about facilitating a renewable energy future and protecting public health from these man-made disasters, Albany lawmakers can and should act to ban crude oil shipments through all our urban corridors.”

Downs was referring to the tanker train collision, fire, and death of 47 people in Lac-Megantic in Canada, just 10 miles out from Maine, a few days earlier.

Area agencies and residents are also concerned about the possibility of other accidents, such as the one in December of 2012, when a double-hulled tanker, the Stena Primorsk carrying crude ran aground 10 miles south of Albany. No oil spilled from the tanker although the outer hull was breached.

Training of first responders as well as purchasing of emergency equipment in the Port of Albany and surrounding areas has been ongoing. In November, officials from Orange, Dutchess and Ulster counties, the U.S. Coast Guard and New York’s Department of Environmental Conservation enacted a simulation of an oil spill from a Global Partners subsidiary’s terminal in New Windsor. Over 100 people, including representatives from NOAA, observed. The results showed that if floating booms were not used, the oil could spread as far north as Wappingers Creek and south to Storm King Park, a total of 15 miles.

Financial reporters are emphasizing that the less expensive shale oil will boost the east coast refineries that have been suffering from the high costs of imported oil. Shipping crude oil by rail to and through Albany is only going to grow.

Schumer in Kingston, photo by Paul Kirby, Daily Freeman

Railroad companies are asking for more regulation on the construction of railroad cars so that new cars, which are in demand, will be safer than the currently used DOT-111. The DOT-111s are the tankers that derailed and burnt in Lac-Magantic and again in Alberta this October. New York’s Senator Schumer called on the Federal Department of Transportation to phase out the DOT-111 in July, and this January he reiterated his appeal after the North Dakota derailment.

Sen. Schumer reported that between 100 and 200 DOT-111s pass through Kingston daily. Most freight trains travel the western bank of the Hudson. The tracks on the eastern shore are being restructured to make commuter travel more efficient. However, the difference in how a railroad disaster would affect us if it is on our side or the other side of the river is only a matter of degree.

Nothing in today’s New York Times article today mentions that oil trains are running across and down New York state, nor am I able to find any mention of Schumer’s concerns on the issue in the Times. I’d like to think that our Senator’s second round of concern was sparked in part by the letter I wrote to his office – but that is a bit presumptuous. Why don’t you write him one?

I’m not a rabble-rouser.. I don’t want to start a revolution. I’m not a Joe Hill. I just want to be safe and healthy and leave a good place for my children and their children.

It’s 1:30 and there are only 15 comments on the article. There are however 400 on Ross Douthat’s contribution on marriage, sexuality, morality and poverty. There are 212 comments on Maureen Dowd’s coverage of the emerging marijuana tourist business in Colorado.

Come on, people. Come out of the clouds and think a little.

Call to action issued after North Dakota oil train wreck, 01/07/2014 http://www.upi.com/Business_News/Energy-Resources/2014/01/07/Call-to-action-issued-after-North-Dakota-oil-train-wreck/UPI-75251389095711/

CP Rail oil shipment deal signals rail transport no longer stopgap measure, by Jeff Lewis, 09/01/2013 http://business.financialpost.com/2013/01/09/cp-rail-oil-shipment-deal-signals-rail-transport-no-longer-stopgap-measure/?__lsa=c6f7-eda2

Global Partners boosts Bakken shipments to eastern refiners, by Aaron Clark Bradley Olson, 04/18/2012 http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2012-04-18/global-partners-boosts-bakken-shipments-to-eastern-refiners-1-.html

How an oil spill could spread in the Hudson River, by Brian Nearing, 11/13/2013 http://blog.timesunion.com/green/how-an-oil-spill-could-spread-in-the-hudson-river/4485/

Hudson spill drill will test skill: many agencies plan for first river exercises since tanker accident, by Brian Nearing, 11/08/2013 http://www.timesunion.com/default/article/Hudson-spill-drill-will-test-skill-4968951.php

New York turns into hub for shale boom, by Gregory Meyer, 02/14/2014 http://www.ft.com/cms/s/0/5afe2abe-7564-11e2-b8ad-00144feabdc0.html#axzz2mMKhLZNS

Oil by rail: are we safe? Quebec disaster puts focus on busy Albany oil corridor, by Eric Anderson, 07/10/2013 http://www.timesunion.com/default/article/Oil-by-rail-Are-we-safe-4656040.php

Schumer calls on FEDS to require phase-out plan of DOT-111 cars carrying oil through Western New York. . ., press release, 08/13/2013 http://www.schumer.senate.gov/Newsroom/record.cfm?id=345541&&year=2013&

Tanker carrying Bakken crude to Canadian refinery runs aground, by Eliot Caroom & Dan Murtaugh, 12/20/2012 http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2012-12-20/tanker-carrying-bakken-crude-to-canadian-refinery-runs-aground.html

Unsettling echoes of Canada rail disaster, by Chris Churchill, The Advocate, 08/03/2013 http://www.timesunion.com/default/article/Unsettling-echoes-of-Canada-rail-disaster-4705390.php

Fouls on the Field vs Feces on our Fowl

Posted on Tuesday, October 15, 2013 by spoonbeams

Federal regulations are specific details, directives or requirements with the force of law enacted by the federal agencies necessary to enforce the legislative acts passed by Congress. About.com US Government Info

During the 2012 major football referee lockout, brought on by a dispute between the National Football League and the NFL Referees Association over pay and benefits, games did not proceed without referees. According to a 2012 Los Angeles Times article, there was the issue of “player health and safety — the hottest topic in today’s NFL. The NFL Players Assn., fresh off its labor battle with the league, has backed that stance by referring to officials as “first responders.” Even though there was much controversy over the fact that “the quality of games could suffer with replacement officials,” the NFL scurried to hire substitute referees so that the season could start.

Players of a game got more respect and protection than we, the people, and the world as a whole, are getting now.

The absurdity of demands, the stupidity, stubbornness, and shortsightedness of the self-absorbed Republican members of the House, have closed our government. Their unwillingness to face reality and to govern, have suspended the nation’s system of inspections, monitoring and special procedures written to enforce and carry out our laws in a manner that safeguards our health and safety, and prevents corruption and environmental disasters.

If we followed the lead of the NFL, all business and enterprise, food production and banking, manufacturing, trade and transportation, politicking and on and on and on would be prohibited until our “responders” were back to work.

That might make a few Republicans blink and a few voters wise up.

Sisterhood is Powerful

Posted on Sunday, June 30, 2013 by spoonbeams

Kathie Sarachild — the woman behind the title — google her name

My after college friends, the two women I hung out with in Boston from 1969 until 1975 when I finally moved out, having had it with doggie poo on the streets, a discouraging proportion of gay to straight men on Beacon Hill, and a neighbor across the alley who hosted orgies with the windows wide open, were okay attractive, intelligent, liberal thinking, book-reading, professionals with masters degrees making decent salaries.

MARRIAGE AND WORK

We weren’t girls who went to college only looking for a husband, but I am sure none of us would have turned the right one away had he come along. I, for one, was engaged to a college sweetheart before coming to my senses. Actually I was out of my senses when I dramatically, hysterical and in tears, in the presence of quite a few people, most of whom I didn’t know, at some gathering in a now-forgotten city in New Jersey, declared that our engagement was a huge mistake. I had been building up to it. Once said, I wondered why it took me so long to admit.

Marriage was important to us, and so were children. And certainly, what was wrong with having someone it would be so nice to come home to.

We were living the life of independent women, meeting for lunch at Grendel’s Den, and later for drinks and steamers at the bar in The Half Shell. We devoured Anais Nin, Doris Lessing, and Simone de Beauvoir, but we weren’t exactly all on the same page. They were getting fired up and fortifying their stance with Betty Friedan and Germaine Greer while I was fueling my angst and imagination with Violet Leduc and Caitlin Thomas.

L. gave herself a birthday party with girlfriends every year. We were all at her mother’s house celebrating. I must have stepped out of the room, probably to attend to an uncomfortable contact lens, which was a constant source of squinchiness during my twenties. I vividly remember returning to the kitchen where the talk was about discrimination against women in the work force: less salary, no respect, limited prospects. Women could be librarians, sales clerks, secretaries, and beauticians: cooks but not chefs, teachers but not principals, nurses but not doctors.

They talked of how women need financial independence to be in control of their own destinies. Not all women chose to marry, or were chosen to be married, and many who married found themselves trapped in uncomfortable if not intolerable situations. If they married, they wanted the right to work even though they knew it still meant that hubby expected his working wife to be at home, relaxed and lovely, with drink in hand and dinner on the table, and children clean and done with homework every night when he returned from the job. And so forth.

Everyone stared at me when I walked into the room and said something like: “It’s ugly in the work environment. It’s stifling, stressful, competitive, demeaning, nasty. How many men enjoy their work, or get to choose? No man should have to wake each morning, rush off to the office or factory, squelching his spirit to make the boss happy. Men are suffocating in mines and in bureaucracies acting out scenarios that make them cringe. Women don’t have many choices, but if my only choices were entering the so-called man’s duplicitous work world or staying at home in the woman’s realm, well I’d rather be barefoot and pregnant.” Or something like that.

From then on I was Aunt Tom.

ABORTION AND BIRTH CONTROL

In my senior year at high school I dated an older boy who adored me because of my innocence, and would have been very happy to take it away. He thought fear of pregnancy kept me a virgin. But my fears went deeper than that. He gave me a book to read about abortion, illegal at the time. It spoke to the different options available to women of different economic and social classes, and of the many reasons women chose to terminate a pregnancy, and of the disastrous outcomes of back alley botches. It all made sense to me, but it did not have the desired effect – or perhaps he was just interested in my education?

A few years later, in a conversation about the pill and abortion, a college roommate told me her mother had had an abortion. My ambivalence showed, and so did my roommate’s annoyance. By the end of the conversation, however, I knew if an untimely or inappropriate pregnancy should occur, I would opt for abortion – even an illegal one. I was still lily white at this time.

I did go on the pill almost immediately when I met that college sweetheart. The local doctor in my college town refused to give me a prescription and shooed me out with a moral berating. My beau’s sister lent me her wedding band and sent me to her own ob-gyn and all was well – for me, and for her family who really didn’t care very much for me.

No one in my circle of friends, acquaintances, family, favorite authors, or historical heroes truly believed that the decision of whether a woman got pregnant or ended one had anything to do with the law. The law was just something to work around – an outdated nuisance. And this law was based on religion beliefs. Everyone knew from seventh grade American history class that there was a separation between church and state. We read The Scarlet Letter, a tale of adultery taking place in a Puritan colony in 1642, before our enlightened founding fathers wrote the Constitution setting the separation of church and state in stone!

Curious about when the pill was first available to women in the United States I asked the computer. The FDA approved it for contraceptive use in 1960. I also learned that Eisenhower thought that birth control was not in the government’s purview. At least that’s how I interpreted his words the first time I saw them out of context on The Pill. He was quoted:

I cannot imagine anything more emphatically a subject that is not a
proper political or governmental activity or function or responsibility.

Miraculously discovered in Mom & Dad's matchbook collection two days ago.

A timely discovery in Mom & Dad’s matchbook collection

Wow! Eisenhower was once more on my side. Birth control was not a government issue.

When I went back online to do some research, I found more. The sound bite was taken from Eisenhower’s response to a question at a press conference in 1959. He was asked for his reaction to the recommendation that the United States provide information on birth control to countries asking for help to alleviate crippling overpopulation. The rest of his answer:

This thing has for very great denominations a religious meaning, definite religious tenet in their own doctrine. I have no quarrel with them; as a matter of fact this being largely the Catholic Church, they are one of the groups that I admire and respect. But this has nothing to do with governmental contact with other governments. We do not intend to interfere with the internal affairs of any other government, and if they want to do something about what is admittedly a very difficult question, almost an explosive question that is their business. If they want to go to someone for help, they will go unquestionably to professional groups not to governments. This Government has no, and will not as long as I am here have a positive political doctrine in its program that has to do with this problem of birth control. That’s not our business.

Margaret Sanger, at the age of 80, challenged Eisenhower to a debate “to put him straight on the question of planned parenthood.”

Googling on, I found that Eisenhower’s words have been used to back up both pro and anti-birth control constituencies throughout the years.

What did he actually believe? More than that, what did he actually say? I see the words, but what is a “positive political doctrine?” What about a “negative political doctrine?” Did he choose his words carefully or was this an Obama “You didn’t build that” moment.

As a former archivist and one who loves finding the answer, I know this topic requires more in-depth original document research. What I’m finding online are various bits and pieces of history strung together to promote opposing agendas. It is hard enough to approximate the truth in news and history when it is written by journalists and scholars with high standards for their work. It’s impossible when writers and news commentators and our politicians lie outright, and twist and contort words and make up facts to promote themselves or promote fear. Eisenhower is merely an interesting aside here. This is not a dissertation, just my silly blog post, and I can’t devote weeks to find the answers. I’m clearly pointing out that I know not of what I write. And neither do a lot of “experts.”

Whatever his personal opinion on birth control – his official answer to the US getting involved in population control overseas was “no.”

A few years later however, Former President Eisenhower, along with Harry S. Truman, “agreed to serve as co-chairman of the honorary sponsors council of Planned Parenthood-World Population,” co-chair of Planned Parenthood, or co-chair of a financial campaign for Planned Parenthood – take your pick. It depends upon where you look.

He did say, however, in a message to Planned Parenthood in 1968:

“Millions of parents in our country — hundreds of millions abroad — are still denied the clear human right of choosing the number of children they will have. Government must act, and private citizens must cooperate urgently through voluntary means to secure this right for all peoples. Failure would limit the expectations of future generations to abject poverty and suffering, and bring down upon us history’s condemnation.”

Planned Parenthood’s Fact Sheet on Republicans on Choice, Family Planning, and Privacy, a teacher’s aid, interprets Eisenhower’s words as his seeing “reproductive rights for what they are — basic human rights.”

Yes!

But according to Donald T. Critchlow in The Politics of Abortion and Birth Control in Historical Perspective (1996) Eisenhower agreed “after some hesitation” which is interpreted in wiki.answers that he agreed “albeit reluctantly.”

It is outrageous that abortion and birth control are still controversial political issues. The people who vote for political leaders who hold women in such contempt that they deny them safe and simple health care and control of their own bodies are living in a fantasy. It may be a religious fantasy. It may be some sick sexual fantasy. Or it may be something as simple as the fact that their parents voted Republican, and so then do they.

However, the stupidity and the level of hate and fear shown by today’s outspoken anti-women’s leaders in the Republican Party and the church do not reflect the opinions of the majority of voting Republicans or churchgoers, and certainly not the opinions of most Americans. The leaders of Republican Party in past decades were more realistic and compassionate (before George the 2nd changed the meaning of the word) in their approach to women’s health, family planning, unwanted pregnancy, and unwanted children. Check Planned Parenthood’s Fact Sheet again. Of course, PP also knows how to cut and paste to their benefit.

AND SO?

I was about thirty years old and sitting at my aunt and uncle’s kitchen table. Two of their sons were my age and married. They were curious why I wasn’t. I said because I have everything I need – money, a job, a home, friends. I’ll marry if and when I find the right someone or the right man with whom to have a child. I wasn’t big on single motherhood. I’m not sure what they thought of my answer or of me. It was spontaneous but it still seems right.

Who knows why I married?

Reading about the life of the late Shulamith Firestone I was struck by all that the feminists of my day accomplished and how doggedly our government is nibbling away at women’s rights — basic human rights. I was also struck by how so many of those activist women’s lives turned tragic.

No, I was not a feminist. But because of the feminists I am the woman I am now, and I am fed up.

Musings on Mom and Shredded Wheat

Posted on Wednesday, March 20, 2013 by spoonbeams

This evening I bought three boxes of bite size Post Shredded Whole Wheat and two curtain rods in Walmart and I feel sullied.

It was on my way home from visiting my mom in her assisted living in New Jersey – a two-hour trip one-way. She was at the table napping in front of a magazine when I arrived, but one of the caretakers who likes to make me feel that my trip hasn’t been in vain, badgered her (but in a gentle way) until she lifted her head from her chin, opened her eyes, and together they sang a few bars of My Bonnie Lies over the Ocean and Cielto Lindo in Spanish. My mom never knew Cielto Lindo or any Spanish when she was who she was. I find it interesting that she has learned something new. She said hi to me and gave me a smile, and went back to sleep.

When my mom isn’t too deep into her own thoughts or too sleepy, she recognizes me and that makes me feel good, but I would have been okay going home without connecting with her. She’s 96 and she is tired. I have no idea what goes on in her mind. She has started to mumble when she is half-asleep. She might mention her oldest grandchild by name, or my father, but there is usually no context to her mumblings, and I miss most of the words if they are words.

Often when I visit the house is full of chatter. Her housemates talk to themselves, one speaks on an imaginary phone she holds to her ear, some talk to baby dolls. They are important conversations but only one-sided. They have their own languages and sometimes they talk to me, expecting an answer. I comprehend nothing except their desire to communicate. I try to respond but feel very inadequate. There is one man with the most beautiful smile and brightest eyes who speaks bubbly words of nothingness. What was he like when he was whole, and what makes him so happy now?

Why should my mom wake up to smile at me? I lowered my expectations a long time ago. My visits are opportunities for me to see how she is, which means is her color good, has she slipped further into her illness, is she in pain, is she miserable, does she look comfortable and peaceful, does she need anything, and we hold hands. If we talk, it is for a few minutes and then she drifts off.

When I left, I was already in my “why?” state of mind.

My plan was to stop at the bank and Lowe’s and to pick up cereal. Lowe’s had the paint but not the curtain rods. I don’t usually shop at Walmart. It’s too big, too much a bully, too destructive, but it was on my way out of the big box complex, and it would have everything I still needed. Just one stop on the way home instead of two stops in the other direction was a good idea.

The parking lot was very crowded. I cringed looking for a space and once again entering the store. Memories of my husband who would come home from errands excited by the tattooed ladies in the Walmart in Plymouth, New Hampshire made me smile. I stood on tiptoes and stretched to reach the three boxes of shredded wheat that were on the top shelf — so far back and high that I had to coax the last two forward by knocking them down with the first. Obviously PSWW is not a big seller. The price was nice, but it made me even more uncomfortable with my lack of resolve. It is so easy to slip into abetting the enemy.

PSWW is the only “just cereal” that I have found, even on health food shelves. It has nothing added – no sugar, no honey, no nuts, salt, dried fruit, cinnamon, additives. The back of the box proudly shouts out that Post shredded wheat has “an ingredient list that is so good, we have nothing to hide.” Why does this statement madden me instead of making me happy? I’ve researched it and it seems to be true. It’s not organic, but I want a “NO GMO INGREDIENTS” label, and no BHT, and more choices.

My body was quickly moving to rant mode, and eventually my thoughts caught up and settled on frankenfish; over-processed flour; chemical-laden apples ripening in boxcars; aspartame in milk; misuse of antibiotics; chicken breasts with no bodies, heads or feet lined up on shelves in a dark warehouse, hooked up to feeding tubes. I just don’t understand an agricultural-industrial complex that arrogantly tries to convince consumers they have no right to know what they are putting into their bodies. Individuals run agribusiness. Their families eat food, drink water, and breathe air. How can they greedily produce foods that negatively effect their children’s bodies and their children’s environment? How do they and the politicians who support them twist the reality which is that they are destroying the agricultural diversity and sustainability of our planet and the integrity of our food supply into the fantasy that they are graciously feeding the world?

My son, the one who works with food and public health, and I talk a lot about the world’s food supply. He has convinced me that a new round of make-millions-while-crippling-life-as-we-know-it will belong to the medical-industrial complex. They will discover ways to alter our bodies so that we can adapt to our unnatural diets, and of course we will pay with our health and our money to fix their “mistakes.” Maybe we already are on this path; there certainly are enough pills and medical procedures that help us cope with our debilitated digestive systems and allergies and ballooning numbers of ill.

One neighbor always tells me that we have choices. We can shop at natural food stores, grow our own vegetables, buy at local farms, prepare from scratch. These choices are still very limited and they take research and energy, commitment and time. They are luxuries not available to those who are struggling. They are not concerns of the hungry.

There is more to life than shopping for food.

____________________________________________________________________

Something new to think about:

http://www.businessweek.com/articles/2013-05-30/genetically-modified-wheat-isnt-supposed-to-exist-dot-so-what-is-it-doing-in-oregon

So let me tell you about my tower #5: It’s not on an island

Posted on Wednesday, September 5, 2012 by spoonbeams

Mom might like it better if I wore my pearls —

It’s been hard to write about the tower these few weeks. For one, I’m actually working on the house – painting, not very well but hoping to improve with time. Yesterday I was up on scaffolding – and I was moving it around and pouring paint out of a five-gallon can. My mother wouldn’t approve and the way my back hurts right now, I might agree.

Two, I feel guilty every time I sit down at the computer knowing Lee is hard at work. Third, my mind is focused more on the present stage of the tower than on a year ago when we were studying drawings.

I have also been totally distracted by the ugliness in the air: the blatant disregard of truth, equality, ethics, science and suffering by so many of those in control in our country. It didn’t seem right that I should write about my happiness. It seemed disrespectful to those without a place to live, without food on the table, a job, health, without hope.

But Michelle made it okay. She said it all last night at the Convention. Rather than read my rant, hear her speak of the America I know and I want for my children. Michelle said it better than I could and it is okay for me to think and write of other things.

We still held some hope to get the addition up and closed in before the winter. Actually only 36 days passed between the “please rethink” email and the “love the tower” email of August 21, 2011, but it was a long 36 days.

From the south

Duke came to visit with the new model (which now looks a bit battered in the photos) and a set of drawings. It looked fantastic and had “wow” appeal. He incorporated many of my wants into the tower. It had a greenhouse bridge over the doors to the two structures and the entrance to the house was not visible from the street. He angled the house so that we captured the best view from the observation deck and maximized the footprint while taking into consideration the 10 foot-septic tank setback.

Street side

He topped off an 11 x 11 observation floor with a wide shallow roof that would enable me to keep windows open at least on the third floor during the rain, and provide shade (although not enough shade I discovered and grumbled about for a few miserable days after it actually was up). And he lined up the first floor windows so that you could see green grass and sky through the addition from the living room. It wasn’t the angle I had envisioned, but it worked just as well.

We talked a lot about the window walls that framed the spiral staircase corner. They were visually striking and would allow lots of light into the space.

View during today’s morning coffee

Duke left and we played with the design. Lee didn’t say much but I knew what he was thinking. It was an expensive little addition compared with our original idea. We had started simply: one story plus a loft in a square shed roof structure with a balcony for morning coffee overlooking the river.

My thoughts were along the same line as Lee’s. All those angles and windows and that large deck were going to bump the costs up, but we started calling the addition our tower.

First I cut windows. It was easy to take away the transoms. It was also easy to eliminate the two picture windows on the third floor. One faced a brutal winter north wind, the other side faced neighbors, and we also wanted wall space to hang our art.

North side

We didn’t need five little windows in the second floor landing of the cottage. Three more deleted.

We knew we didn’t need or want all that outdoor deck, which actually grew even bigger in subsequent drawings. The tower is to be our private space, not for entertaining. We decided to limit the deck to the area adjacent to the tower. I don’t know what we will do with all that deck we still have. The roomiest side looks over our neighbors’ yards and outbuildings – not the nicest view and definitely none of my business. We may eventually put up a trellis and perhaps a clothesline or make a container garden in that area. We’re thinking of getting IPE decking tiles for the deck, and we’ll add them a section at a time.

River side

The window walls around the spiral were the biggest problem. Everyone – including me – loved the look. However these windows didn’t face the water, they faced the street and our neighbors. Lee and I sometimes thought of our tower as our cozy nest in a tree house. Living with those windows would be like living in a fishbowl.

I obsessed for months on how to preserve the excitement of the window walls yet add privacy. What was the point of all those windows if they had to be covered up? The spiral stair made it troublesome, if not impossible, to reach to open and close curtains, let alone windows. I didn’t want windows I couldn’t open or clean. Even so, I checked into shades and blinds and tinted glazes and sheets.

My visit to Hunter Douglas was surreal. Anything the saleswoman showed me that might work cost as much as the windows, if not more. Lowe’s and Home Depot weren’t much better, nor was the web.

Dave, our builder, said we could wait to order windows until after the building was up. That helped and I eventually settled on four large square fixed windows, letting the privacy issue rest. I have used my mom’s old tablecloths, flat bed sheets, and rolls of woven toweling from Lowell National Historical Park for curtains. Certainly I will find the right piece of material squirreled away amongst my treasures and hang it strategically.

We actually were able to place one awning window in the spiral wall and get some air circulating in that corner. I didn’t have to compromise totally on the “no-windows-that-don’t-open” rule.

It wasn’t until we were actually ready to start building that I discovered a major omission in the drawings. The original cottage had a dormer riverside, but not to the front. If you were short to average size you could stand tall at the top of the stairs, but it was still a bit precarious to cross the second floor landing to get from one room to the other. If you were tall, you bumped your head. Even before planning this addition, I would fantasize popping out the roof and making that landing a livable space. That was on my original wish list.

From the top before the dormer went in and oops, the roof is on crooked —

Somehow we all overlooked it. When the architect added it back in I thought we were making it easier to put the pieces together. Dave told me otherwise! All of a sudden the original cottage had to support not only the bridge but also an entire new room.

Dave had another surprise. Because Lee and I had told Duke numerous times that there were very strong winds coming down the Hudson which often blew for days with gusts of 40 – 60 plus miles per hour, he passed the plans to an engineer to make sure that the tower and especially its roof would be able to withstand this abuse. The engineer added LVLs and Simpson ties and lots more lumber and. . . We’ll get to that later.

The tower is standing. It’s wonderful. There have been frustrations and compromises, but in the grand scheme of things they are minor. Lee reminds me each time that I will come up with a solution and that we will be very happy. I pout, but he is right.

Neighbors and Fences — a Second Subtler Approach

Posted on Sunday, June 24, 2012 by spoonbeams

My old New Hampshire home, painting by Marguerite Tanner, 2004

Perhaps it is because I lived for four years by myself in a 5000 square foot 1790 house on 12 acres in rural New Hampshire, but whatever the reason, I have come to believe that neighbors are there for you when you need them, and you are there for them in return. You may not socialize together, you may have totally different philosophies of life, vote for the other man, have more or less money, and pray to a different god or not at all. In most circumstances you stay out of each other’s lives, you do no harm, and you are there when four hands are needed when there are only two.

Like when your tractor breaks down and the fellow who lives behind you sees you struggling to start it walks over and says let me look at that. Or when some pipe in your basement cracks and it’s nine o’clock on Friday night. The woman down the street from whom you buy your eggs calls you up to tell you that she just bought some new hens, hears of you dilemma and then starts calling her friends who might be able to help. A great guy appears at your door tools in hand and fixes everything and asks for nothing. Or when your husband is in hospice and the underground spring that forms a duck pond every year in your orchard during snow melt changes its course and you’ve got two feet of water in your basement.

Neighborliness comes in many forms. Robert Frost, who lived many years in the state, wrote how he and a neighbor “beyond the hill” would meet one day every spring ‘to walk the line and set the wall between us once again.”

Stone Walls at my old New Hampshire home

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Like Frost, I now have a neighbor beyond the hill.

He is all pine, and I am apple-orchard. My apple trees will never get across And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him. He only says “Good fences make good neighbors.”

. . . Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall

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A Contest, a New Hampshire Travel Log, and My Own Little Facebook Policy

Posted on Sunday, February 19, 2012 by spoonbeams

Recently Sunset Hill House, a very special inn in Sugar Hill, New Hampshire announced a contest. The innkeepers would select ten of the entrants to spend five nights at their inn sometime during 2012. The winners would have free range in the inn, including spying in the kitchen and attending staff meetings. They could spend their days and nights doing what they liked best – hiking, skiing, antiquing, cuddling, reading, enjoying the good life in the White Mountains, the Green Mountains, and along the Connecticut River. All the contestants had to do was write a letter to the innkeepers, Nancy and Lon, and tell them why they were qualified to do this reporting, and Nancy and Lon and their staff would pick the winners.

Sunset Hill House! What warm and powerful memories I have of my one night stay there. It was two years ago this spring. I was still in the gloriously high days of getting to know someone new. I planned a trip to New Hampshire to retrieve my Miata. I had left my Miata at a neighbor’s house in January until the weather warmed so I could drive it with the top down to my new home in New York.

We rented a car and drove up to the Lake Winnipesaukee area and stayed at The Maria Atwood Inn in Franklin. I knew the innkeepers, Fred and Sandi, from when my husband and I owned a b&b in Moultonborough. A bunch of b&b’s belonged to the Lakes Region Bed & Breakfast Association and we would meet monthly during the off season for networking and morale boosting. Even tho we always met at one of the b&b’s I guess I had never been to Fred and Sandi’s. It was great – it was Lee’s first b&b, and he couldn’t have had a more positive first experience. The home had been rebuilt after a fire, and it had been very authentically recreated (and of course modernized). Post and beam construction, vaulted wood ceilings, stained glass, wide pine floors, and fireplaces. Breakfast table conversation I remember as being exceptionally interesting. Sandi cooked up moose sausage – Fred had shot the moose – I believe it was legal. You’ve got to see their website. It’s a hoot!

The second day we picked up the car, dropped off the rental, and visited my favorite Center Sandwich hotspots – the Creamery and the Corner House Inn, and then drove down to Concord. We stayed at The Centennial Hotel. I used to have lunch there in the Granite Restaurant & Bar with my mom. She lived down the street, at Birches at Concord, an assisted living dedicated to those with memory loss. The hotel and restaurant were over the top for Concord, and may still be. Their website calls it a “welcome alternative to both traditional franchised hotels and local inns . . urban contemporary flair . . . in a beautiful Queen Anne landmark.” Sophisticated, yet not too much so that Lee, who wears only painters pants (with shirts, socks and shoes of course) and I were not uncomfortable. The waitresses recognized us when we came in – my mom always had a shrimp cocktail and a rich dessert. Lee and I had dinner and then went to see “Lunch” at Red River Theatres, Concord’s independent film venue. It was a beautiful day.

We drove up to the eastern entrance to the White Mountains, stopped off at the Mt. Washington Hotel to look out the window, enjoyed a few waterfalls, and then drove to Sugar Hill, where Sunset Hill House is located. I had heard that Sugar Hill was pretty, and I think I had actually been there when my husband and I were scouting out b&b’s for purchase, but nothing prepared me for the incredible views from this inn. You could see way into the White Mountains to the east, the Green Mountains to the west. We were able to book a room on a “last minute” deal – I believe it was $80 a night with breakfast, and a gourmet 3-course dinner for $20 a person. We were the ONLY people at the inn that night. We were the ONLY people at dinner that night. The staff did not shirk from their duties. It was perfection. We were invited to pick our room from the 30 available. I cannot remember what the meal was, but I will always remember the meal. After just one more glass of wine and a goodnight from the staff, we were left alone in the inn for the night. The cat slept in our room.

We woke up to see another little red Miata parked next to ours. It belonged to Nancy who greeted us at breakfast. There was a table filled with young workers who were going to do some work in the gardens. Breakfast was tops!

We left for home keeping close to the Connecticut River. We crossed the river several times, stopped here and there, but mostly enjoyed the wind in our hair, the sun dabbling through the new leaves on the trees. We agreed we would be back.

Unfortunately like many of the promises we all make to ourselves, we still haven’t followed through, but when I saw this contest opportunity I wrote my letter and sent it off with hopes. Having just started my blog, having run a b&b for 7 years, and having had such a memorable visit to the inn once before, I felt I had great credentials for the job.

There was one little pinch in my enthusiasm. At the end of the invitation to enter the contest was a request that applicants “like” or “fan” the inn on Facebook.

I had already dropped my Facebook membership. I used to be a Facebook-er or whatever the nomenclature is that I used to be. But I was very put out when Facebook chose 5 or 6 photos of me and pasted them across my home page. I changed those to something more representative of my style and me and proceeded along. Facebook gave me the chance to get a glimpse into my son’s lives, to find out what was going on with my friends socially and what they were thinking politically. I caught up with one old high schoolmate who wasn’t actually one of my friends back then, and we regret that loss.

Then however Facebook started digging up my past and posting quotes from years before. This was too much. If I wanted to repeat those posts I would choose them and do that myself.

Websites I visit for shopping or for news started referring me to their pages on Facebook. What at first I thought was just an inexpensive way for start-ups to advertise on the web was actually a new marketing trend practiced by commercial enterprises and non-profit organizations. Facebook was now capable of keeping track of my shopping, travel, browsing activities, as well as my communications with friends. My sons had already dropped out because they didn’t like the new all-encompassing world of Facebook. It was time for me to take action also.

Before I closed my account I deleted all the posts and comments that I could and defriended all my friends. I soon learned that I wasted my time. That information is with Facebook in perpetuity.

Soon after I had sent my contest entry to Sunset Hill House I received a broadcast email from the innkeepers. They were overwhelmed with entries. They had decided to automatically award the first three “vacations” to those entries that received the most votes on Facebook. Get your friends to vote for your entry, they wrote, and vote yourself. Another way to influence the judging was to interact with the inn on Facebook.

I certainly wasn’t going to pick up my membership. I asked Lee, who wasn’t using Facebook anymore but hadn’t closed his account, to “like” Sunset Hill House. He did.

Then today I received another broadcast email from the innkeepers, again stressing the importance of the Facebook aspect of the contest. I felt like it was written to me personally but I’m sure it wasn’t. I won’t rejoin Facebook just to win a contest. I responded:

I’m sorry to have to drop out of the contest, and I want you to know why. Not everyone is a Facebook fan.

While I would be very happy to write on your Facebook page, I am not willing to have my own Facebook presence. I used to be an active Facebook-er but dropped out when it was no longer possible to ignore how invasive and powerful it had become. I certainly understand your eagerness to market through this giant social network, and it will not keep me from visiting you again in the future.

I hope you will continue to have the vibrant website you now have off Facebook. Otherwise people like me — who struggle to maintain even an illusion of privacy online — will not be able to know what is happening at your inn.

We all pick our own battles. Pity we’ll have to pay for our next visit.

spoonbeams

growing younger and older at the same time

Category Archives: Rants