Em Lisboa

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Stanko Abadžić, in Lisbon

"He was a squaw; he stayed by the wigwam when the braves were out, and tended the tame buffaloes"

Familiar Letters, by Henry David Thoreau

TO JOHN THOREAU (AT TAUNTON).

(Written as from one Indian to another.)

Musketaquid, 202 Summers, two Moons, eleven Suns,
since the coming of the Pale Faces.
(November 11, 1837.)

Tahatawan, Sachimaussan, to his brother sachem, Hopeful of Hopewell,—hoping that he is well:—

Brother: It is many suns that I have not seen the print of thy moccasins by our council-fire; the Great Spirit has blown more leaves from the trees, and many clouds from the land of snows have visited our lodge; the earth has become hard, like a frozen buffalo-skin, so that the trampling of many herds is like the Great Spirit's thunder; the grass on the great fields is like the old man of many winters, and the small song sparrow prepares for his flight to the land whence the summer comes.

Brother: I write these things because I know that thou lovest the Great Spirit's creatures, and wast wont to sit at thy lodge-door, when the maize was green, to hear the bluebird's song. So shalt thou, in the land of spirits, not only find good hunting-grounds and sharp arrowheads, but much music of birds.

Brother: I have been thinking how the Pale-Faces have taken away our lands,—and was a woman. You are fortunate to have pitched your wigwam nearer to the great salt lake, where the Pale-Face can never plant corn.

Brother: I need not tell thee how we hunted on the lands of the Dundees,—a great war-chief never forgets the bitter taunts of his enemies. Our young men called for strong water; they painted their faces and dug up the hatchet. But their enemies, the Dundees, were women; they hastened to cover their hatchets with wampum. Our braves are not many; our enemies took a few strings from the heap their fathers left them, and our hatchets are buried. But not Tahatawan's; his heart is of rock when the Dundees sing,—his hatchet cuts deep into the Dundee braves.

Brother: There is dust on my moccasins; I have journeyed to the White Lake, in the country of the Ninares. The Long-Knife has been there,—like a woman I paddled his war-canoe. But the spirits of my fathers were angered; the waters were ruffled, and the Bad Spirit troubled the air.

The hearts of the Lee-vites are gladdened; the young Peacock has returned to his lodge at Naushawtuck. He is the Medicine of his tribe, but his heart is like the dry leaves when the whirlwind breathes. He has come to help choose new chiefs for the tribe, in the great council-house, when two suns are past.—There is no seat for Tahatawan in the council-house. He lets the squaws talk,—his voice is heard above the war-whoop of his tribe, piercing the hearts of his foes; his legs are stiff, he cannot sit.

Brother: Art thou waiting for the spring, that the geese may fly low over thy wigwam? Thy arrows are sharp, thy bow is strong. Has Anawan killed all the eagles? The crows fear not the winter. Tahatawan's eyes are sharp,—he can track a snake in the grass, he knows a friend from a foe; he welcomes a friend to his lodge though the ravens croak.

Brother: Hast thou studied much in the medicine-books of the Pale-Faces? Dost thou understand the long talk of the Medicine whose words are like the music of the mockingbird? But our chiefs have not ears to hear him; they listen like squaws to the council of old men,—they understand not his words. But, Brother, he never danced the war-dance, nor heard the war-whoop of his enemies. He was a squaw; he stayed by the wigwam when the braves were out, and tended the tame buffaloes.

Fear not; the Dundees have faint hearts and much wampum. When the grass is green on the Great Fields, and the small titmouse returns again, we will hunt the buffalo together.

Our old men say they will send the young chief of the Karlisles, who lives in the green wigwam and is a great Medicine, that his word may be heard in the long talk which the wise men are going to hold at Shawmut, by the salt lake. He is a great talk, and will not forget the enemies of his tribe.

The fire has gone out in the council-house. The words of our old men have been like the vaunts of the Dundees. The Eagle-Beak was moved to talk like a silly Pale-Face, and not as becomes a great war-chief in a council of braves. The young Peacock is a woman among braves; he heard not the words of the old men,—like a squaw he looked at his medicine-paper. The young chief of the green wigwam has hung up his moccasins; he will not leave his tribe till after the buffalo have come down on to the plains.

Brother: This is a long talk, but there is much meaning to my words; they are not like the thunder of canes when the lightning smites them. Brother, I have just heard thy talk and am well pleased; thou art getting to be a great Medicine. The Great Spirit confound the enemies of thy tribe.

Tahatawan.
His mark [a bow and arrow].

This singular letter was addressed to John Thoreau at Taunton, and was so carefully preserved in the family that it must have had value in their eyes, as recalling traits of the two Thoreau brothers, and also events in the village life of Concord, more interesting to the young people of 1837 than to the present generation. Some of its parables are easy to read, others quite obscure. The annual State election was an important event to Henry Thoreau then,—more so than it afterwards appeared; and he was certainly on the Whig side in politics, like most of the educated youths of Concord. His "young chief of the Karlisles" was Albert Nelson, son of a Carlisle physician, who began to practice law in Concord in 1836, and was afterwards chief justice of the Superior Court of the County of Suffolk. He was defeated at the election of 1837, as a Whig candidate for the legislature, by a Democrat. Henry Vose, above named, writing from "Butternuts," in New York, three hundred miles west of Concord, October 22, 1837, said to Thoreau: "You envy my happy situation, and mourn over your fate, which condemns you to loiter about Concord and grub among clamshells [for Indian relics]. If this were your only source of enjoyment while in Concord,—but I know that it is not. I well remember that 'antique and fish-like' office of Major Nelson (to whom, and to Mr. Dennis, and Bemis, and John Thoreau, I wish to be remembered); and still more vividly do I remember the fairer portion of the community in C." This indicates a social habit in Henry and John Thoreau, which the Indian "talk" also implies. Tahatawan, whom Henry here impersonated, was the mythical Sachem of Musketaquid (the Algonquin name for Concord River and region), whose fishing and hunting lodge was on the hill Naushawtuck, between the two rivers so much navigated by the Thoreaus. In 1837 the two brothers were sportsmen, and went shooting over the Concord meadows and moors, but of course the "buffalo" was a figure of speech; they never shot anything larger than a raccoon. A few years later they gave up killing the game.

Family-Coordinated Halloween Costumes and What's Lost

Is Halloween participation declining? I've wondered about this for some years. This year's Halloween theme, it seemed on social media, was family-coordinated costumes. Sometimes with the kids being character counterparts, but this year often with the parents (my friends) involved. OK, it makes for a cute Facebook photo, but I have to believe it was the parents that "coordinated" (insisted) that. The sad part is that is squashes the child's individuality and wishes a bit for the parent's selfish desire for photo "likes". I sort of loved the organic clashes that could arise in a group of trick-or-treaters: a ninja with a hillbilly with a ghost with a vampire. The kid gets to be what the want. I'm saddened holiday children's play is another causality of narcissistic parents in the Facebook age.

Susan Brownmiller on Harvey Weinstein

"The woman's folklore of rape - cases that ever reach a court of law - is an oral history of abuses be men in positions of authority...the producer that preys on a starlet's ambition...these are examples of what men would call seduction...but the imposition...by an authority figure is hardly consensual or 'equal'..."

Susan Brownmiller in Against Our Will: Men, Women, and Rape, 1975

Memories of a Summer 2005

Accidentally driving over the Tappan Zee Bridge, cashiers covering the Yonkers' store summer picnic, 40-something chauffeur and coworker cashier (and mom of coworker and co-passenger cashier) singing "Don't cha wish your girlfriend was freak. like. me?..."

It popped in my mind for whatever reason as I left work for the weekend...

Word on the Street (Summer 2017)

A Fate Even Worse than Old Maid

To All Turkey Trotters Today

I saw a man wearing a beret

I saw a man wearing a beret Monday evening in my neighborhood. I'm not sure if he was doing this for solidarity with France or because he was a hipster.

Grandma on my Mom's boyfriends

I called home tonight. My mom told me "whenever I tried to tell my mother about the guys I was dating, she always seemed so bored. Like, 'yeah, uh-huh, all right...let me know if there's a wedding or anything planned, but otherwise, I don't really care...'".

Oh my god you did not!!

I turned thirteen on Friday the 13th

I turned thirteen on Friday the 13th. This was also the name of the first Facebook group I joined.  I felt privileged to be part of such a select group (second only to those born on February 29th); membership was literally written in the stars.

Anyone born on November 13, 2002 is also turning thirteen on this Friday the 13th. Using a list of Friday the 13th occurrences, I subtracted thirteen years from each occurrence date to generate a list of birthdays for people who also turned thirteen on Friday the 13th:

Birthday of People who turned Thirteen on Friday the 13th

• November 13, 2002
• March 13, 2002
• February 13, 2002
• June 13, 2001
• December 13, 2000
• September 13, 2000
• July 13, 1999
• April 13, 1999
• January 13, 1999
• May 13, 1998
• August 13, 1997
• November 13, 1996
• February 13, 1996
• June 13, 1995
• July 13, 1994
• April 13, 1994
• October 13, 1993
• January 13, 1993
• May 13, 1992
• March 13, 1992
• August 13, 1991
• February 13, 1991
• June 13, 1990
• December 13, 1989
• September 13, 1989
• July 13, 1988
• April 13, 1988
• October 13, 1987
• August 13, 1986
• November 13, 1985
• March 13, 1985
• February 13, 1985
• June 13, 1984
• December 13, 1983
• September 13, 1983
• October 13, 1982
• January 13, 1982
• May 13, 1981

Of course that's me at the end.  I turned thirteen on Friday, May 13th, 1994. My golden birthday. I do not recall anything particularly unlucky befalling me. I'm sure, like all my birthdays, I ate crab meat stuffed shrimp and Carvel ice Cream Cake. Owing to this alone, it was a good day.

As Seen in the Checkout Line: Guys made easy

Via Cosmopolitan

The Day After Veteran's

Veteran's Day was yesterday. Having has to work on it the last four years, it's not a day I much noticed or observed. However, this year it left a bad taste in my mouth. I was soured by all the conspicuous patriotism; this isn't necessarily bad per se but Facebook was full of Oscar-speech-worthy fawning. Cynically I noticed the posters were typically the people generally most concerned with image-building (in all aspects of their lives, Veteran's Day and beyond). The objective seemed to be to demonstrated for the public record that they are someone who cares about soldiers' sacrifices, recognize "we're only the land of the free because of the brave", and by this insert themselves into the larger story occurring that they'd otherwise be involved with. I feel the insincere praise cheapens the day and is worse than saying nothing.

Such postings are  now commonplace on these holidays. However, this year I also noticed several veterans (and here I am referring to several people specifically in my age-group, and only in my age group) who took the opportunity to point out that they veterans, either in words or photos. This is a little bit like throwing a birthday party for yourself, no? Like, "Hey, reminder! Don't forget to congratulate me, too, people...".  I found it a bit off-putting.

If I came downstairs on Veteran's Day morning to my father saying "ahem..." and looking at me expectantly, it would be no less surprising if he were riding around on a rainbow-farting unicorn while doing it. Throughout my extended family, military service was never a big deal. It was certainly nothing to boast about (with recognition that they'd take almost anyone that signed up). I wondered if that was a certain jadedness by people who experienced military life beyond propaganda, if it was also because they served during an era less pro-military (Vietnam), or, in particular, during  a time when a much larger percentage of Americans were serving than at present (Vietnam, World War II) and so it was not seen as something unique or extraordinary.

Today I learned: all numbers after twelve, just "many"

Today I learned while listening to From Our Own Correspondent that in the Greenlandic language named numbers only go up to twelve; after that, it's just "many".

And now I know.

Every Woman's Told Me...

What I've heard from every woman in my life ever is that:

1. To have more confidence (starting with my mom)
2. I'm making her fat (starting with my mom)

Tango: Brighton Beach

 

Tango: Brighton Beach, via the "News in the 1910s" album of the The Library of Congress Flickr. Cropped & edited w/PicMonkey.

The Handsomest German of Them All

War is so cruel. So much waste. Shot down by Snoopy over the fields of Morlancourt.

Snoopy then killed him again in death when they depicted him as below. So cruel. So much waste.

The End of War

This morning I listened to the Radiolab episode New Normal? on the to work. The opening segment featured John Horgan asking people on the streets in Hoboken whether "humans [will] ever stop fighting wars?"

My initial thought was "yes". Major war has already ceased. The powers haven't fought among themselves in 70 years. This new normal is due to advancements in weapons' power and economic well-being. There's a lot more to lose, and it's much easier to lose it.

However, "conflict" never ended and never would - it's innate human nature. Instead, conflict is diverted through other channels: pummeling non-state combatants with rusting rifles from billion-dollar bombers or, without firing a short, using economic and diplomatic leverage to achieve aims.

How individual humans' develop vis-à-vis conflict came to mind as analogous parallel to the progress of civilization and decline of intra-state wars. Whereas adolescent boys charge each other needing very little provocation, fists are never thrown in adulthood - perhaps because the penalties are stiffer and we risk homes, families, and stable jobs. I'm doubtful the competitive drive that causes schoolyard brawls really lessens. Instead, direct conflict is replaced by passive-aggression, subtle put-downs, personal sabotage, and ego-gratifying bullying down the hierarchy.

Trypophobia: I has it. I has it bad.

Trypophobia: The irrational fear of holes, pods, circles, or cracks, especially those found in nature.

Yesterday a Dangerous Minds posting gave a name to a pain I've long known I've had: trypophonia. Many years ago, I saw photos with a lotus pod photoshopped on to skin, a hoax claim that it was some sort of tropical disease. I haven't been able to un-see that since. After viewing the Dangerous Minds article and learning this is an actual thing - and looking a little bit too much - my blood pressure still hasn't come down from last night. Steady at hypertension, stage two.

No photos today: you're welcome. Happy Halloween!