Nova Scotia

N.B. This is the first of several posts about my short trip to Nova Scotia for a friend's wedding. Feel free to browse using the navigation links.
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Time was at a premium, so I checked in to my hotel, changed clothes, and started up the hill to the Citadel. I liked this hanging sign:

(There was actually an armored car parked right next to the sign, with uniformed personnel entering as I walked by, so I tried to make it unmistakably obvious that I was only taking a picture of the sign.)

A look back on the way up to the Citadel - none of that "pillar of salt" business this time:

Must have had some really high tides here, to maroon a ship or two on the hilltop:

I decided to buy a ticket to go inside the Citadel, since it was rated 2 stars in my guidebook. The good news is that I got a "SuperSaver" discount ticket for this and the other two things I was planning to do. The bad news is that the inside is not really worth 2 stars.

If you pay to go inside the Citadel, it soon becomes clear that the masts are just for decoration:

Cannon at the ready - I love the swivel:

You also get to see some guys in uniforms marching around and getting yelled at, for those who are into that sort of thing. They do know how to count off up to at least 17, however, and do so repeatedly, so the experience will be wholesome and educational for young children.

And when the uniforms involve kilts, I'm willing to cut them some slack.

These doors are marked "No 9 GUN ROOM 10 MEN" and "No 10 GUN ROOM 10 MEN":

Huddling for more instructions:

Standing in formation:

The views from the ramparts of the Citadel were not as good as I'd hoped, which was nice in a way because I felt like I got the gist of the experience in about 10 minutes, leaving me free to go to the must-see tourist attraction of Halifax: the Maritime Museum of the Atlantic.

At the museum, I had to make some tough choices. I chose the Halifax Explosion exhibit over the Titanic exhibit. Great choice; it was really powerful. The testimonies in photographs and items that managed to survive the ordeal, audio recordings of survivors, and all the explanatory notes. Lives taken and spared in the same home, the happenstance of standing in the doorway rather than sitting at the piano. The first round of legal proceedings found the ship that got rammed into (the munitions/explosives ship) to be liable for the accident. The appellate courts decided the blame should be split. The good folks of Massachusetts opened their wallets and hearts, sending much-needed relief supplies and workers.

The one non-explosion exhibit that really caught my eye was an exhibit in the Naval Gallery involving William Hall, the first person of African descent to win the Victoria Cross, and also the first Nova Scotian. He was in the Navy, of course:

Included is a very special object -the Victoria Cross awarded to William Hall, who was the first Black person, the first Nova Scotian, and first Canadian sailor to receive the Victoria Cross. The V.C. is the highest award for bravery in the British Empire, and one of the world’s rarest military medals

Here's what the award was for:

William Hall volunteered to replace a missing man in the crew of a twentyfour- pounder. ... The enemy concentrated its fire on these gun crews until one was totally annihilated. Of the Shannon crew, only Hall and one officer, Lieutenant Thomas Young, were left standing.


Young was badly injured, but he and Hall continued working the gun, firing, reloading, and firing again until they finally triggered the charge that opened the walls.

In a word: Wow. But after receiving this high honor, he eventually returned home and lived the rest of his life out of the public eye. For whatever reason, he was originally buried in an unmarked grave, without military honors.

The museum display does not offer any reason for this slight, leaving me (and others) to wonder whether it was due to race-based discrimination, and/or other factors. In a vacuum, endless possibilities abound. Was it inadvertence or mistake on the part of the relevant authorities, or deliberate humiliation? Did Mr. Hall die alone and in poverty and get buried in a pauper's grave? Was he shunned and forced out of public life due to race? Was he stripped of his military honors due to some sort of improper conduct on his part? Did Mr. Hall's surviving relatives deliberately decide not to inform the authorities of his death, perhaps as conscientious objectors, or for fear that his grave might be desecrated by bigots if it were publicly known?

On its website, the Museum offers a more detailed biography of William Hall which at least suggests that he may have died in obscurity because he did not crave the spotlight ... and certainly he was far from Ireland where he actually received his Victoria Cross. And yet, Mr. Hall had been publicly recognized in Canada by the future king, just three years before Mr. Hall's death, so his entitlement to honors could hardly have been unknown (or even questioned):

Hall received his Victoria Cross aboard HMS Donegal in Queenstown Harbour, Ireland, on October 28, 1859. His naval career continued aboard many ships ... until he retired in 1876 as Quartermaster.


Hall moved back to Nova Scotia to live with his sisters.... A modest man, he lived and farmed without recognition until 1901, when HRH the Duke of Cornwall and York (later King George V) visited Nova Scotia. A parade of British veterans was held, and Hall wore his Victoria Cross and three other service medals. The Duke inquired about the medals and drew attention to Hall’s service.


Three years later, William Hall died at home, of paralysis, and was buried without military honours in an unmarked grave. In 1937, a local campaign was launched to have Hall’s valour recognized by the Canadian Legion, but it was eight more years before his body was reburied in the grounds of the Hantsport Baptist Church.

I wish they would explain what led to the initial slight of Mr. Hall, and who led the campaign for local recognition, and how they ultimately prevailed. It looks like he was 77 years old when he died; I'm not sure how old his sisters were at the time, or if they were still living.

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Harry Potter 7.2

Or perhaps it should be either "7.5" or "8" from a mathematical perspective. Be that as it may, one of the changes that struck me most powerfully in the translation from page to screen was the evacuation of non-combatant students.

In the book, as I recall, a girl from Slytherin suggests giving Harry Potter up to Voldemort, and McGonagall promptly offers all non-minor students the chance to evacuate if they do not wish to support Harry and defend Hogwarts. Somewhat improbably, each and every Slytherin takes this offer, but a smattering of students from each of the other houses does as well (almost none from Gryffondor of course). They are escorted off school premises through the secret tunnel into the relative safety of Hogsmeade and the world beyond.

In the movie, a girl from Slytherin likewise suggests giving Harry Potter up to Voldemort, and McGonagall promptly responds. But Movie-McGonagall's response could not be more different - it is authoritarian and draconian. She immediately orders all Slytherin students sent away. Someone asks where they should be taken, and she responds with something like, "To the dungeons, that should do for now."

In other words, one Slytherin's treacherous cowardice taints the entire house. Movie-McGonagall does not allow for the possibility of individual choice, courage and heroism. Nor does she send the Slytherins out of the combat area to freedom, and presumably the comfort and protection of their families. Instead, she keeps them on school premises, in the dungeons under Filch's custody. The dungeons may be a little safer than other parts of the castle, but a Squib can't protect the students, and the clear intent is to keep all members of the untrustworthy house confined.

Militarily, I suppose this makes sense. On the field of battle, you can't afford to leave enemy "non-combatants" at liberty to sabotage your operations, report on your strength and strategy, or join the fight against you. And I suppose you can't really afford to individually assess the degree to which each individual with suspected ties to the enemy is in fact an enemy.

But in the movie - especially knowing how this differs from the book - it makes the good guys look bad.

Quick Trip to France

It all happened very quickly. At 5 pm, I signed up for the expedition. By 7 pm, I was waiting with a crowd (enough, but not too many - we happy few!) eager to get a glimpse of the young king, an avowed francophile who loves France so well that he will not part with a village of it.

Soon after, I boarded a boat for France. Didn't bring my passport, but then again, invading armies don't need passports. In any event it turned out OK - no border control to speak of.

Our journey was somewhat abridged (just 2.5 hours), and not everyone could make an appearance. Lord Scroop, for instance, never even showed up. That may have been for the best, all things considered. I think Harry was on to him anyway.

We new conscripts marched with our fellow soldiers, a little back from the front lines since we were not, to be perfectly honest, heavily armed. Alas, I seem to have no visible scars resulting from the conflict, giving the lie to Harry's promise that we'd be showing our scars to our grandchildren. Not that I have any grandchildren at the moment either - and now I'm confused. Did he promise us grandchildren? Oh well.

But all in all, we won the battle of Agincourt with remarkably few losses.

It was a lovely evening. From the field of battle, we could see birds swarming and crying over the nearby coast. After our victory, I noticed fireflies.

And then it was time to head home; we had just enough time back in England at the end to see Harry happily affianced.

Harry + Kate = 4evah!

Production Notes: In this production, the role of France was played by Governors Island. The role of the English Channel was played by the Upper New York Bay and/or the Buttermilk Channel (I think we came around and docked at Pier 101 on the Brooklyn side). No Frenchmen were harmed in the course of the performance.

Justin Blanchard, the actor playing Henry V, reminded me of Elijah Wood.

As always, I was racing against children for the front row. The children had an advantage this time, however, since I was wearing dress shoes. One young boy (maybe 10 years old) kept trying to get the director to remember him, or at least admit to having seen him before, from prior New York Classical Theatre performances. I felt bad for both of them. The director was clearly unable to remember one child out of 20,000+ audience members in recent history, and was equally uncomfortable varnishing the truth with a gentle lie to please the kid. And the kid so clearly wanted to be recognized, to be singled out as memorable, and so desperately wanted to be acknowledged for his appreciation of NYCT's work! The boy boasted that he knew the story and had memorized the St. Crispin's Day speech, and the director told him that he would "hear most of it" tonight. Flash forward a number of scenes later, the kid and I were next to each other (and near the director) on the front lines during The Speech. The kid was audibly reciting the speech along with Henry. It was charming and annoying at the same time -- so I turned to him with a smile and put my finger on my lips without a sound, hoping he'd get the message (OK to lip synch to show you know it word-for-word, just don't make us hear it in stereo). We made eye contact, but he continued... until Henry skipped a bunch of lines. The kid was indignant and offended. The director was near us, and tried to explain the concept of abridgment, as a directorial prerogative, but of course it's difficult to do that in a quiet and hurried whisper to a child who is necessarily a purist and an idealist in matters of the Bard. I did not say "What part of 'You will hear most of it' did you not understand?" and would like that instance of admirable self-restraint noted on the "credit" side when my vices and virtues are tallied on the last day.

Jessie's Girl

As I was skating uptown this morning, I had my most recent iTunes purchases on shuffle. One song that came up was an a cappella version of "Jessie's Girl" by a group called Freshman Fifteen.

The lines that really stood out to me were:

And I'm lookin' in the mirror all the time,
wondering what she don't see in me
I've been funny,
I've been cool with the lines
Ain't that the way love's supposed to be

Because that's actually the core of the problem for our love-lorn narrator, isn't it? He's looking in the mirror all the time. It's all about him - not about her.

Again and again, the word-choice underlines this point (he wants to have a woman like that, with that body of hers, and clearly doesn't care who he hurts in the process, such as his good friend). Why should she give up someone who may actually care about her ... for this jerk?

It's a good song to skate to. Kept re-playing this and "Light Up the World Tonight" (from Glee)....

Independence Day

Tuesday Night Skate

So this is what I was up to last night:

I skated south to north on the Hudson River bike path, as is my wont.

This billboard at first glance seems to promote "IOCANE RUM" in homage to The Princess Bride:

(The real name of the rum does nothing for me - far too pedestrian for my tastes.)

I believe this is one of the fake pier sculptures, rather than a rotting pier:

Don't tell Howard Camping, but it looks like he was off by two months. This poster reveals the truth -- "IT ALL ENDS 7.15"

There were several new sculptures of river-watchers. These two (here glimpsed afar through the trees) were my favorites:

They're made of wood, but gleamed like gold in the late evening sun:

A locomotive:

A bridge-like sculpture:
Setting sun:
Birds in twilight:

I went all the way up to the Pier i Cafe at 70th Street, where I enjoyed a blueberry lemonade. I got through all the chapters of the audiobook I'd brought with me, so I listened to them again on the return trip, but this time cleaved close to the water on the pedestrian path rather than sticking to the biking/skating path. (It's more appropriate to my skating speed anyway.)

Freeze-frame of a fountain:

Playground equipment becomes a sinister web in the deepening dusk:

Moon over New Jersey:

Photo on the move:

Luminous sky and water:

The Statue of Liberty after dark:

Based on the very cool Google Maps route choosing feature, it appears that I skated 12 miles. Woot!

Lonesome Lake Trail

Even on a misty, rainy day, we were not alone on Lonesome Lake Trail. But people were friendly and we often had the trail to ourselves because we were climbing slowly and letting groups pass us. The leaves helped shelter us from the deluge, and provided a beautiful steady pattering like the rushing of a brook.

We had ample time to enjoy natural bonsai scenes:

I liked the young hemlocks atop the moss-covered boulder:

As we ascended, the rain lessened and finally stopped. One family coming down, the guy thanked us for turning off the rain. I gave him a cheerful "You're welcome!" and a big smile. As we went on, I heard the voice of their little boy objecting in the distance "But they didn't turn off the rain!"

About 1.2 miles in, we got our first glimpse of Lonesome Lake. Not bad!

We crossed a small bridge on the way to the AMC hut.

My mom decided she wants to come back and stay at the hut. It's quite nice, with beautiful bunkbeds and a glorious view.

We took the trail around the lake, which is entirely on boardwalks to keep us out of the bog:

We then reconnected with the Lonesome Lake Trail and headed back down to the camp site and parking lot. The rain increased steadily as we descended.

Eagle Cliff Trail

We went hiking on the south side of Squam Lake, near Center Harbor. The trailhead was easy to miss, but once we found it the trail was easy to follow and well-marked with yellow blazes.

The trail is not long, but it climbs steadily most of the way. The payoff is good:

The motor boats looked like waterbugs:

Birches gleaming in the sunlight:

Punch Brothers

I had secretly hoped that the Punch Brothers were inspired by - or at least aware of - Mark Twain's short story A Literary Nightmare (a/k/a "Punch, Brothers, Punch!"). The story discusses M.T.'s supposed encounter with a jingle ("Punch, brothers, punch with care! Punch in the presence of the passenjare!") that embeds itself into his brain.[fn1]

It's a cute - if predictable - story, in which the narrator starts by quoting the virus-like jingle, explores the horrors experienced by those infected with it, and concludes with the following lines: "Why did I write this article? It was for a worthy, even a noble, purpose. It was to warn you, reader, if you should came across those merciless rhymes, to avoid them--avoid them as you would a pestilence." (Ha ha ha.)

I didn't see anything at all about the M.T. story on the Punch Brothers' website -- even after running a google search on the site for words such as "twain", "clemens" and "passenjare"[fn2] -- but in this instance, wikipedia gives me the answer I like, so I will of course assume that wikipedia is correct.

But the Punch Brothers' music is reasonably infectious in its own right, and their concert in Prospect Park was a good excuse for a farewell picnic for Lauren, who is also leaving New York.

What's up with all these departures, anyway? Is it a sign?

--------------------

fn1: I recall becoming aware of the M.T. story and a modern version of it simultaneously, in early elementary school (the mental image is of our kitchen in Ohio). In the modern story, there is a catchy rhyme about donuts which similarly hijacks the narrator's brain. It's something like "There's not no nuts in you-know-whats. Because a wholly whole hole with a hole bitten in it is a wholly whole hole, and it just plain isn't!" But I haven't been able to find this online in a google search, so I don't know the author or title of this piece.

fn2: For example, the google search passenjare site:www.punchbrothers.com returns ZERO hits (same result if you substitute in "twain" or "clemens"), whereas the search bluegrass site:www.punchbrothers.com returns 189 hits.

DiFara's Pizza

For Tricia's last day in New York, we trekked out to DiFara's Pizza in Midwood, Brooklyn. It's actually pretty easy to get to - one block away from the Q train. But there's not a lot in the area, for example in terms of parks at which to sit and enjoy a slice of pizza. (There is, however, a second pizza place in the neighborhood, right next door to DiFara's. Not as famous though.)

DiFara's is open only for two hours a day, 7 p.m. to 9 p.m. This guy makes all the pizza personally by hand:

After he pulls the pizza out of the oven, he grates some fresh parmesan on top, and cuts some fresh basil right on to the pizza.


The first slice was absolutely amazing - a delight to the palate. Wow!

But because we'd made a special trip for it, and because we weren't going to schlep anything home, I had a second slice and a few bites of a third sliver. I don't usually eat more than one piece of pizza at a sitting, and I was sorry I did this time. On second taste, the cheese was too rich, and the crust wasn't quite the way I like it (I like it either thin and crispy or thick and deeply saturated in grease; this was simultaneously light, thick and burned).

So for me, I don't think it's worth the trip. It's a long way for a single slice, especially when there's a lot of very good pizza much nearer my usual stomping grounds.

Afterward, we wanted to celebrate Amanda's birthday. Lo, and behold! Just two doors down we found a combo Dunkin Donuts/Baskin Robbins establishment! Amanda picked out a red velvet ice cream cake, and the guy came out from behind the counter to unlock the padlock that secures the frozen wares. (Does this tell us something about the neighborhood, that they have to use a heavy chain and padlock to prevent looting of birthday cakes??)

None of us had had "red velvet" flavored ice cream before - but it was really good. (Great choice, Amanda!) The scene above shows us in our barbaric state before Wendy had the brilliant and highly civilizing idea of asking the guy for bowls in which to eat the cake. (We had initially made the mistake of asking for plates, and the guy told us - truthfully, I believe - that he didn't have any. It did not occur to him to offer bowls. That requires some creative thinking with a focus on the ultimate goal which, in this case, was to eat cake in a manner that is relatively hygienic and un-messy.)

All in all, a great send-off and birthday celebration.