". . . But the past does not exist independently from the present. Indeed, the past is only past because there is a present, just as I can point to something over there only because I am here. But nothing is inherently over there or here. In that sense, the past has no content. The past -- or more accurately, pastness -- is a position. Thus, in no way can we identify the past as past." p. 15

". . . But we may want to keep in mind that deeds and words are not as distinguishable as often we presume. History does not belong only to its narrators, professional or amateur. While some of us debate what history is or was, others take it into their own hands." p. 153

Silencing the Past: Power and the Production of History (1995) by Michel-Rolph Trouillot

Saturday, August 28, 2010

First Post From Chestertown

We got here about 2, and hour and a half later than planned. This is because we got lost in New Jersey where we always get lost, and because the traffic was fairly horrid in a few spots. Fortunately though that horridness was only in New Jersey. Once we got over the line to Delaware -- a piece of cake.
We brought enough with us that it took 10 minutes to load the car and 10 minutes to unload.
We sped to the Superfresh Supermarket and dropped more money on groceries than we've ever spent at one go before. It took us much longer to load the groceries into the car and unload them in the House than it did with our belongings.
The cable guy who I adore because he has me online without a wait was waiting for us.

It's very pretty, quite bucolic. Things are going to go well, if this little jaunt to get here is any indication. We couldn't have had a nicer day. When we got up at 7 it was 63 degrees, pure blue above and that slant of light we've come to call 9/11 Sky. By the time we got to the House -- which took J all of 60 seconds to show up with the keys -- it had gotten hot. But inside the House it was so cool as to be almost too cool.

They've put in the handrails on the dangerous stairs. Everything is clean and waiting for me to make the traditional pasta for Saturday night. But that may be a bit. I'm tired. We have all the clothes and towels and sheets and things for upstairs to deal with.

The book collection in here is unbelieveable and the new collection coming is will make it even more so. It's all materials that apply to our project.
I think we'll eat our pasta in the pretty little back yard tonight. Which we'll appreciate as we have not eaten today yet.

However, I don't believe in any of this.  It's all a dream.  Haven't been here long enough, am very short on sleep and not eaten, so it will take a bit for this to be reality.


K. said...

"This is because we got lost in New Jersey where we always get lost,"

You didn't happen to see a Chechen gangster running around the Pine Barrens with half his head shot off, did you?

Have a Clipper City and some blue crab cakes!

Foxessa said...

Not ... exactly. Though we certainly blamed it on the Sopranos!

Not crabs yet, but doubtless, we'll get there.

While eating listened to Phil Schapp's jazz program streamed from WKCR on Ned's computer. Later we walked back to the Chester river in the balmy night, stars raining on our heads and the peach-sized, peach colored moon rising over the water. Listened to ducks complaining now and again that the people had gone away and nobody was giving them food and they were starving, you hear us? STARVING!

Then we came home, took showers, and giggled ourselves silly over the nightly reading of the history of Polk's administration -- one filled, it seems, almost entirely with vicious sissies, starting with that Buchanan fellow. Oooh, their correspondence, as when Tisten became BFFL with General Scott, united by their mutual hatred of Polk!

And how I'm out in the backyard, drinking tea and smelling flowers. Seems a little early yet for the bees. The Bumbles are the biggest ones I've ever seen.

Love, C.