Day Exploring-Boba and Bánh Mì

One

For a year, I wrote a monthly feature for the Lewiston Sun-Journal. It was called Explore. I’d spend a day in a Maine community and write about the place and the people who lived there. I’m not sure if they’re still online or not but I have some of them posted on my writing site. I especially liked this one on Wilton. The places became sources to write something more than the usual “town in the news” hack pieces. At least that was always my goal.

A bonus of these assignments was getting to work with a stellar editor in Mark Mogensen. Most local dailies don’t pay freelancers enough and I was forced to take my writing elsewhere. It was my Sun-Journal piece on Biddeford that led me to believe I could pitch it to a bigger paper. I did and my more involved feature landed on the pages of the Boston Globe nearly three years ago.

The practice I developed back then: spending the better part of a day in a particular place informed this post. As I was out and about in Lewiston last Friday, the thought of doing something like this on a semi-regular basis held some appeal. We shall see.

My initial thought was to go into detail and provide some personal history about me and Lewiston. Like being a seven-year-old second grader with a teacher who was overly demanding about my penmanship. It was 1969 and teachers had way more leeway in how they marshaled their young troops back then.

In the case of Mrs. D, it meant imposing her iron will on a young boy who was hyper and with no interest in mastering cursive writing. She died in 2006. I remember seeing her obituary and not feeling sad at all.

My Franco-American grandmother lived in Lewiston. My family visited her nearly every Sunday. My aunt who never married lived with her.

Immigrants like my grandmother were proud of their city. Her Catholic faith was important and a central element for her and most francophones and fellow French-Canadian settlers in Lewiston. If there is any doubt about the role of the Church in French-Canadian life in Lewiston, St. Peter and Paul Basilica, which sits like a sentry overlooking Lewiston (and neighboring Auburn) should tell you that religion was important to them. They made sure to leave a memorial to their faith. Funding for the church came from thousands of small donations given by Lewiston residents, especially the Franco-American community.

There is a lot more history about the Basilica I could cover, but I’m not really interested in doing so. Other family members have mined that vein if people are interested. Continue reading

Looking Back and Moving Ahead

All week, I’ve felt pressure from being behind the eight ball of work and deadlines. How was I going to juggle each of the balls I had in the air and not drop at least one of them?

Thursday happened to be my day for visiting two communities in rural Franklin County. They are where I’m engaged in a part-time grant project focused on Maine’s aging population.

Every other week, I leave my house just prior to 8:00 AM and usually don’t return until 6:30 or 7:00. I have two community teams I’m working with. I also end up logging more than 200 miles of windshield time.  I am enjoying getting back to grassroots organizing and connecting dots. Continue reading

Memory Failure

What we remember and history are often two separate things. Memories are flawed, no matter how insistent we are that we remember exactly what happened.

Lots of things shape our memories; our pre-existing thoughts and beliefs apparently help certain memories “stick” better. Apparently, even our political orientation can contribute to the formation of false memories. Continue reading

Nostalgia Act

Alfred Rosenberg photo-from You Know You're From Lisbon, ME if... Facebook page.

Alfred Rosenberg photo-from You Know You’re From Lisbon, ME if… Facebook page.

What is it about the past that we find so attractive? Our desire to return to what we consider “better days” has become big business for marketers and others who’ve found a way to mine this vein for all it’s worth.

An email exchange the other day about the town where I grew up, Lisbon Falls, and the interest that many seem to have relative to a particular page on Facebook about the town that existed when we were kids (but has long ago disappeared) finds me curious about nostalgia, and what lies behind it. Continue reading

Looking for a sign

Signs are ubiquitous. They inform, invite, beckon, and some signs say “stay away.”

From the National Park Services Technical Preservation Services, in Preservation Brief #25, “American sign practices originated largely in Europe. The earliest commercial signs included symbols of the merchant’s goods or tradesman’s craft. Emblems were mounted on poles, suspended from buildings, or painted on hanging wooden boards. Such symbolic signs were necessary in a society where few could read, although verbal signs were not entirely unknown. A sheep signified a tailor, a tankard a tavern.”

Some are familiar and even iconic. They speak of commerce and capital.

Continue reading

The way of the world in two photos

Sign at Lisbon United Methodist Church, in Lisbon Falls.

I’m not sure exactly what this message is supposed to mean. Well, I have a sense in the context of it being on the church sign of the local Methodist Church in Lisbon Falls that it means something like this; focus on living a life infused with good works and making the world a better place, rather than merely focusing on making a good living—i.e. pursuing wealth accumulation as an endgame. Continue reading