November 16, 2017--About the Nicest Thanksgiving Story Ever

During breakfast at Cafe Rona (how we refer to our sweet mornings at home), after ten days back in New York City where a single shot of espresso in a paper cup can cost as much as $4.50, where an ordinary egg sandwich in an undistinguished place can arrogantly cast $18, we spoke about feeling ripped off. 

Few people on Broadway are smiling. Most walk through the swarming downtown streets with their heads drooping, buried in so-called smart phones. I have taken to calling them dumb phones since that seems to be the affect they are having on people who look as if they are shuffling along like crack addicts.

Clearly, we are not feeling happy. To quote Wordsworth, too many are involved in "getting and spending" and thus "lay waste their powers." For him, the power to be a part of Nature.

Most everything is commodified--where we live and shop, how we work and play, where we seek fulfillment and, hopefully, love. 

So much is rank ordered. It seems as if everyone, everything is situated within social, economic, and cultural hierarchies so one literally knows where one stands. Most feel unhappy with their sense of how they are doing.

For almost everyone, the answer is that they feel they are not succeeding even if by objective standards we are by comparison to almost everyone else on the planet among the most privileged, particularly in the context of what is most valued--authority, affluence, power, stuff.

Our longing for the life we left behind in Maine (where we cannot extend the season because our cottage is a "primitive" relic of the last century that is more about charm and coziness than infrastructural systems--I mean, we do not have much insulation and very little heat) our longing for a simpler, more authentic life is intensified as we see all the desperate seeking that surrounds us.

And thus we are not much looking forward to the holidays. For the most part here they too are often about desperation. To find ways to feel optimistic, to feel cheered by our place in the world, and sufficiently distracted to get through the days and out the other side to 2018. 

But then on Facebook there was a notice posted by one of our favorite local restaurants in Bristol, Maine--the Harbor Room.

I read it quite early yesterday morning and thus needed to reread it later in the day to make sure I hadn't misunderstood or had been hallucinating. 

Co-owners and friends Taylor Corson and Cerina Leeman posted--

Everyone has been inquiring as to what our plan is for Thanksgiving, so here it is . . .  

We are excited to share that we will be providing a Community Thanksgiving Dinner free of charge to all who come!  

Nothing is more rewarding than bringing our community together and we want to provide an opportunity for everyone to share a delicious meal with neighbors, friends, and family regardless of circumstance. 

Help us spread the word! We will also deliver to those with transportation issues with advanced requests.

Now we know where we want to be, including on Thanksgiving, but . . .

Taylor Corson & Cerina Leeman

March 24, 21017--Upon Westminster Bridge

In 1802, William Wordsworth composed this sonnet upon the same bridge in London where there was terrorist carnage earlier this week that killed five and injured more than three dozen.

Especially now it is worth pausing for a minute, as Wordsworth did that early September morning, to remind us that life and beauty are to be found everywhere, even at a time and place of evil.

Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear 

The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. 

Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!