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July 7, 2022

Cambridge Spy

The nonprofit e-newspaper for the Cambridge Community

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Spy Notebook: Discovering a Field School in Bellevue on the 4th of July

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There is something extraordinary about the 4th of July beyond the parades and fireworks. While those events are the big draws, there are always a few random moments during the day, like a child waving an American flag or a family picnic in a public park, when you really sense the great love people have for this country and its history.

It happened to the Spy yesterday in Oxford.

Invited to a casual drop-by at the Water’s Edge Museum for its 4th of July celebration of the Middle Passage, the Spy had a spur-of-the-moment opportunity to interview eight students who will be participating in a month-long Field School program in Bellevue.

Co-sponsored by Washington College and the nonprofit Bellevue Passage Museum of Bellevue, MD, these young academics will be digging deep in the town’s history, culture, commerce and current challenges. And they will be using that rich knowledge when they return their own communities to help preserve similar “at risk” neighborhoods.

Coming from such diverse homes as Atlanta, Houston, Montreal, the Caribbean, and even the exotic Western Shore of Maryland, these remarkable scholars have dedicated part of the summer to understand Bellevue’s particular history and culture.

In talking to these young people and hearing of their academic journey before arriving on the ferry to Bellevue, it was moving to hear their collective mission to preserve the African American history of these small hamlets. It also reminded us of a new generation of American leaders dedicated to these communities and this country.

There can be no better 4th of July celebration than that.

This video is approximately ten minutes in length. For more information on the Field School program at Washington College please go here

 

Cows on the Lam by Laura Oliver

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This is about cows with boundary issues, and if you read this column regularly, you’re already saying, “No it’s not.”

Five heifers from my sister’s farm recently went on the lam. The jailbreakers are young, just weaned. They don’t even eat grain yet, but they’re brave and bold and maybe highly incentivized. How’d they escape the pasture? They didn’t jump the fence (though I’ve seen this). They didn’t find a break in the fence. They went under the fence at a stream.

Now they are their own herd of guileless youngsters, out past curfew, and it’s a bigger problem than you would think. They’re black, and even this young, they weigh close to 600 pounds. If a motorist were to suddenly come across one in the road at night, it would not be a good thing. Law enforcement was notified, animal control, neighbors, a veterinarian. It took days to even figure out if they were still on the property. Proximity to an airport precluded the use of a drone and the farm’s 80 acres feature a lot of wooded hillsides and sheltered hollows of oak, maple, and pine. But eventually they were located on a neighboring farm having a drink and some recreational weed which is cow-equivalent to water and real grass though I picture them having a beer and a smoke behind the barn.

It’s a serious problem. I love my sister and brother-in-law and would fix this if I could. As a mother, my theory is that the calves are heading for their mothers on the farm where they were born 100 miles south in Amherst. But that’s because mothers want to believe they are lifetime homing beacons for their offspring when it’s likely your offspring hasn’t thought about you in weeks, maybe months, and rightly so.

So cowgate has become a thing. My other sister and I check in periodically to see if the cows have come home, but I swear every time the answer is no, there is sincere concern for my sister, new brainstorming of solutions, and (I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry), a little fist bump for the cows.

As I write this 3 have been recaptured by experienced cowhands. The mastermind heifer and his cohort are still at large. They are all going to be shipped out west. Once a jailbreaker, always a jailbreaker, my brother-in-law says, and he should know. He’s been successfully raising cattle for decades. (Irrelevant fact: he is very handsome which makes you want to believe him.)

The cows can’t run forever. We know their freedom is limited, they’re on borrowed time. But I guess there is something about an underdog we can’t help but champion.

If you are an American, you are here because of another group of rebellious underdogs. The colonies, of which Maryland was the 4th largest at the time, took on an enemy 4 times their size in terms of population and one armed with incomparable resources. American Revolutionaries endured over 1,500 military engagements with a professional army over an excruciating 8 years. And unlike conventional wars, the War of American Independence was fought for an ideal. A principle.

Once declared, there was no going back. We’d be free or die trying. And we did die trying–25,000 men lost their lives in battle or from disease.

A ragtag army fought in below-freezing temperatures without coats or adequate clothing, marched for days without shoes, without medicine, shelter, adequate weapons, or food. Recruits could enlist at 15 years old with parental permission, 16 otherwise. A lot of teenagers fought this war.

George Washington’s biography, which details these years, will bring you to your knees in awe and gratitude. When you come to understand the sacrifice exacted, you come to appreciate more fully the absolute miracle of this or any republic.

We are surely as imperfect as a nation as we are imperfect as individuals. How could it be otherwise?

Yet what an astonishing privilege it is to live in a democracy. Happy Birthday America. I’ll be grateful long after the cows come home.

Laura J. Oliver is an award-winning developmental book editor and writing coach, who has taught writing at the University of Maryland and St. John’s College. She is the author of The Story Within (Penguin Random House). Co-creator of The Writing Intensive at St. John’s College, she is the recipient of a Maryland State Arts Council Individual Artist Award in Fiction, an Anne Arundel County Arts Council Literary Arts Award winner, a two-time Glimmer Train Short Fiction finalist, and her work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Her website can be found here.

 

Food Friday: Go Forth, and Stay Cool

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Just six months ago I was dreaming of summer sunshine, and now I am skulking around in the shadows with the garden hose, swatting at mosquitoes, as I water the hydrangeas and fill the birdbaths first thing in the morning, before the sun gets high. Luke the wonder dog and I walked at eight this morning, and it was already 81°. Sometimes I ask Alexa what the temperature is in places I’d rather be: London is 65° right now.

I bought some popsicles yesterday. Things are never as glorious we remember them from childhood. I remember sticky streams of orange goo running down my arm to my elbow as I sat on the front steps eating a dripping, sweet and cold popsicle. What a treat! Popsicles were hard to wheedle out of my mother. Money for something from the Good Humor truck was even more infrequent. Sometimes I would find a nice stash of quarters in the sofa cushions to buy a sweet Good Humor confection when that Pied Piper truck tooled slowly down the street, ringing bells, luring the other children out from their back yards. We’d stand on the corner assessing everyone’s budget and ice cream novelty choices: cups, cones, sticks, ices, toasted almond, chocolate eclairs, push pops, creamsicles, strawberry shortcake, ice cream sandwiches. It was an American version of Willy Wonka.

The popsicles I bought yesterday were grimly labeled. 45 calories! No sugar added! Gluten free! That’s what we have come to: worrying about Non-GMO popsicles. We have gone to hell in a hand basket. It is summer, and it is hot, and we are going to find sweet, sticky, sugar-laden relief.

There are so many disappointment in life – like discovering that you cannot freeze a snowball in December to throw at your brother in July. Between evaporation and elemental physics, and a mother hell-bent on keeping a tidy house, that carefully-wrapped-in-foil snowball will melt away before you can use it. Plus you might have forgotten it was there. There go your well-laid summer plans.

Another grim fact is that homemade ice pops just don’t have the familiar mouth feel of store brands. Get over it. We are defying the weather and crass commercialism. Sometimes homemade is a little wonky, but that is the price we pay for creativity. I imagine that the ice cream first served at Monticello wasn’t at all like the pint of Ben & Jerry’s Cherries Garcia you have stashed, but I bet it was still a blessed relief during an 18th century Virginia summer.

Go out and buy fancy silicon molds if you like. I’m going to use paper Dixie cups.

Trigger warning – this recipe uses sugar: https://icecreamfromscratch.com/orange-popsicles/

I suspect that these might be healthy. If you must be that kind of person. https://www.crystalkarges.com/blog/kids-love-these-greek-yogurt-berry-popsicles

Strawberry ice pops can be your summer jam: https://www.delish.com/cooking/recipe-ideas/a40095287/fruit-popsicles-recipe/

Of course, Martha would weigh in with something for the Fourth of July: https://www.marthastewart.com/907292/red-white-and-blueberry-pops

Here is a veritable compendium of scoopable ice creams: https://www.bonappetit.com/recipes/slideshow/ice-creams-sorbets-recipes?

Quick! https://icecreamfromscratch.com/orange-popsicles/

We don’t want to relive our childhoods, except the sweet memories. A little ice cream in a bowl while watching dragonflies darting around the sun-dappled lawn might bring us as close as we care to those hot summer days. Enjoy your Fourth, stay cool.

“Sometimes life is just what it is, and the best you can hope for is ice cream.”
― Abbi Waxman

Opening the Door for Harriet’s Ice Cream in Cambridge: A Chat with Oasis and Jazz Myrieckes

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There is actually some historical evidence to suggest that Dorchester County’s most famous Harriet loved ice cream. A quick search on Google indicates that Harriet Tubman first discovered it when visiting Philadelphia in 1849. And while there is only modest documentation to this claim, it was certainly enough for Oasis and Jazz Myrieckes to honor Miss Tubman with their new store, Harriet’s Homemade Ice Cream and Cakes, on Race Street in Cambridge for this American hero.

The Spy sent our newest agent, Julian Jackson, Jr., to investigate this welcome addition to the Cambridge food scene a few days ago.

This video is approximately four minutes in length.

Harriet’s Homemade Ice Cream and Cakes
428 Race St, Cambridge, MD 21613
11AM to 7PM daily

 

Mid-Shore History: Cousin George’s Giant Legacy by Debra Messick

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One of Dorchester County’s most iconic landmarks, the Spocott Windmill, rises alongside Route 343, which starts as Washington Street in Cambridge, becoming Hudson Street heading West into the Neck District.

The grandson of the man who, at age 95, undertook rebuilding the historic structure, disclosed that and many more stories in a newly published book detailing the incredible, indelible life of one of Dorchester County’s most dedicated office holders and civic contributors. 

Call Me Cousin George, A Personal Look at the Life of Senator George L. Radcliffe, by George M. Radcliffe Jr.–the senator’s only living grandson–was at first intended as a keepsake for the great grandchildren who had never gotten a chance to hear his stories around the family dining room table at the Spocott Farm as he had.

But the project soon took on a life of its own, befitting the larger than life accomplishments of its subject. 

Going through his grandfather’s treasure trove of voluminous correspondence, journals, and photographs turned into a ten year labor of love, providing a springboard to an outsized journey of learning about the man, the world he emerged from, and the historic times he became actively engaged in helping transform.

When the manuscript was finally presented to Salt Water Media in Berlin, MD, the impressed editors advised George M., Jr. that what he’d prepared contained a story holding great interest for a much wider audience than the family memoir he’d initially set out to create.

Spocott Windmill

Prefaced with a well informed overview of a life spanning nearly a century (1877-1974), the chapters marking his expansive experiences and contributions are told in a series of highly readable essays detailing the nooks and crannies comprising the landscape of his life, clearly delineating a modest man of character, good will, and determination that saw him overcome the odds, from frail health as a youngster to surviving a violent robbery at age 90. 

Throughout, the story is sprinkled with famous names–Woodrow Wilson, Franklin D. Roosevelt, Harry Truman, and Lyndon Johnson, just to name a few. 

But, in keeping with the grounded, down-to-earth values of Radcliffe’s persona, these are not necessarily the most memorable figures, not by a long shot. 

George L. Radcliffe

Instead, the reader relishes learning about picturesque personalities populating his inner circle. Among these was lifelong chauffeur and companion, Dorchester waterman John Swain Foxwell (Radcliffe never took up driving, yet commuted between Baltimore, Washington, and Dorchester County regularly, sometimes almost daily.)

Also, free African American woman Adaline Morris Wheatley, known as “Aunt Adaline” was the homestead’s cook, manager, and guiding light, whose picture held a singular place of honor in the Spocott homestead’s dining room.

Radcliffe’s Senate terms, 1935 to 1947, are noteworthy in overlapped with the Great Depression and World War II. But his overall contributions extend even beyond the consequence of his times. 

For instance, his friendship with FDR, long before he became president, inspired Radcliffe to become an early and ongoing leader dedicated to fundraising and fighting the scourge of infantile paralysis, also known as polio, culminating in the March of Dimes.

Visitors to Long Wharf Park can view a plaque commemorating FDR’s trip up the Choptank River via the Presidential Yacht Sequoia, to help dedicate the new bridge connecting Dorchester and Talbot counties, whose construction came about through Radcliffe’s efforts.

A voracious reader and student of history from his earliest days, raised within a strong boat building community, Radcliffe realized long before many others how vital it was for the U.S. to build up and maintain an ongoing seafaring force. His insight and efforts have been credited with what turned out to be the crucial beefing up of the Merchant Marine during the late 1930s, prior to U.S. official entry into World War II. 

Though a Democrat, Radcliffe, true to his rural roots, resisted being pulled into ultra progressive stances that clashed with his firm centrist and fiscally conservative views. Yet, in 1945, Radcliffe remarkably rose on the Senate floor to offer A Proposed Constitutional Amendment Providing Equal Rights for Women and Men.

Studying at Johns Hopkins, where then Professor Woodrow Wilson was an advisor, Radcliffe’s Ph.D. dissertation explored the pivotal role played by Governor Thomas Holliday Hicks, who also lived in Dorchester County, in keeping Maryland from seceding during the Civil War. 

The dueling loyalties which served as a backdrop to the War were reflected within his own family history. His Baltimore born mother, Mary McKim Marriott “Daisy” Radcliffe, had strong family ties to the Confederacy, while his father, John Anthony LeCompte Radcliffe, rooted at Dorchester’s ancestral Spocott Farm, left behind indications, including the tantalizing clue relating to his son’s middle name, that he had abolitionist leanings, according to his great grandson.

An inherent interest in and ability to pull on the state’s many historical threads without becoming entangled in messy controversies laid the foundation for Radcliffe’s successful revitalization of the Maryland Historical Society in the 1950s, bringing branches to every county, expanding its staff and Baltimore headquarters, and initiating outreach to schools.

At an age when retirement usually entailed a slowing down from an active life, an ongoing drive to preserve the cherished historical legacy inherited from his parents here in Dorchester county inspired him to embark on a project long promised to his mother, another, to himself. 

 Chapel of Ease

The first was the creation of the Grace Church Foundation, which involved the restoring and relocating the derelict original church building, a Taylor’s Island outpost of Trinity Episcopal Church in Woolford. 

The next involved hiring Mister Jim Richardson, legendary Dorchester boatbuilder, whose shipyard was across the street from the property, to tackle the prospect of authentically reconstructing, with no blueprints, the English windmill constructed by Radcliffe’s father in the 1860’s and destroyed by a heavy winter storm when he was 11. Believing from the outset that he’d find a way to somehow rebuild it, Radcliffe had managed to salvage original stone from its foundation. Despite the passage of 80 years, he kept the dream alive and saw it through. Over his objections, the structure was named in his honor, with a wooden sign bearing the title George L.

Radcliffe’s son, George M., and his only surviving son, George M., Jr, continued their patriarch’s legacy of service to community with a view to make life better for generations to come; George M. was a long time trustee of Washington College in Chesterton, George M., Jr. taught public school science for over 30 years. After retiring he essentially continued that pursuit, guiding the Maryland Ornithology Society’s junior birding program, the Audubon Society’s Dorchester County vital citizen science bird atlas count, and presiding over the Spocott Windmill and Village Foundation, which holds an open house twice a year.

Echoing his grandfather’s characteristic modesty and penchant for quietly doing good ( with no wish for reward other than that), George M., Jr. maintained that the story rightly should have been told by his late brother Bill, a local newspaper reporter, had survived an untimely death in an auto crash (along with his sister). Another sister also died at a young age.

Though unsure of his ability, he took up what he felt was a sacred duty to share his grandfather’s story with the next generation and followed it through to completion.  In so doing, he also kept his spirit alive.

Call Me Cousin George: A Personal Look at the Life of Sen. George L. Radcliffe, by George M. Radcliffe, Jr, Salt Water Media, Berlin MD, 2021 (www.saltwatermedia.com)

Dance with Me by Laura J. Oliver

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The littlest among us will become the stars of the show tonight. Have you seen them?

Parents bump babies in strollers over brick sidewalks, tow toddlers like dinghies by the hand. Teens pause to check out the action. Tourists perch on pier pilings drawn by the electric anticipation in the air. 

For years, the United States Naval Academy Band has performed free summer concerts at the Annapolis City Dock. Pristine yachts bob on their moorings while a saltwater breeze diminishes the flame of the setting sun.  The bricks in the courtyard of Susan Campbell Park still hold the sizzle of summer but that’s just mid-Atlantic Maryland in July. This gathering begins as a desire for entertainment, but it becomes a desire for something else– something bigger and difficult to identify.

The band is made up of Musicians First Class wearing their immaculate dress whites for the occasion. A cap only partially conceals the lead singer’s shiny blond hair, her crisp shirt tucked neatly into the A-line skirt which ends professionally at her knees. 

A ripple of applause greets her as she takes the stage. The crowd is on alert now, water bottles stowed, panting dogs drop belly down.

Strangers flash smiles at each other as the drummer turns on the magic, tapping the opening beat on the edge of his snare. The guitarist takes a run, and our formally attired lead singer opens the set by belting out Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance. There is such a disparity between her uniform and the music selection that it’s disarming. 

Charming. A boundary breaker. 

Like seeing your British Airways pilot rapping to Kanye on the flight deck. Like seeing your cardiologist singing karaoke in his scrubs.

But the real performance is in front of the stage, where about a dozen children have gathered—most under the age of 5. They swing and sway. They hop and up down like tiny lunatics. They are completely off the beat. Strangely expressionless, too. 

They spin like little helicopters that have lost their tail rotors, collapse into each other both unselfconsciously and without acknowledgement, then pop to their feet to spin some more. 

They are too small to have ever made a mistake, too young to bear the weight of regret, too innocent to need forgiveness. It is as if each is dancing in his own separate world, maybe the world from which they so recently arrived, and yet the proximity of the other children is required. 

When I’m feeling isolated it’s as if I too need to step into the same stream in which others stand though I’m fishing on my own. I take my computer to Barnes and Noble or a coffee shop to be in community but not engaged. Alone but a lesser lonely. 

It’s some kind of invisible energy that connects us—something that we need as much as the food that sustains us, or the air that we breathe, but can you name it?

If we could see magnetism or radiation, we might see goodwill sparking off every surface in the park on Tuesday nights. If affection was a vibration, if inclusion rose like heat off these bricks, or could be heard like the bells of St. Anne’s—if love were a color, or wellbeing a wavelength—we might see a reality we can feel but not prove. 

There is no distance between us, and no one dances alone.  

Laura J. Oliver is an award-winning developmental book editor and writing coach, who has taught writing at the University of Maryland and St. John’s College. She is the author of The Story Within (Penguin Random House). Co-creator of The Writing Intensive at St. John’s College, she is the recipient of a Maryland State Arts Council Individual Artist Award in Fiction, an Anne Arundel County Arts Council Literary Arts Award winner, a two-time Glimmer Train Short Fiction finalist, and her work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Her website can be found here.

Food Friday: Charcuterie

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Fine dining when I was growing up meant a trip to Pellicci’s Restaurant. Pellicci’s was (and is) a family-run, red sauce, red and white tablecloth Italian place. We were allowed to order orange sodas, and we learned how to twirl spaghetti with forks in enormous soup spoons there. Sometimes, when my father was feeling flush, he would order an antipasto salad which we shared among us. He would eat the exotic rolled slices of pepperoni and salami, and the olives. My brother and I ate the radish roses and the celery sticks. My mother would sample the rolled cheeses and breadsticks. There was something for everyone; just a little taste to hone our appetites for the enormous plates of spaghetti to come.

These days charcuterie boards are like the old antipastos, except even bigger, with more types of foods. Your family could eat well while sharing one, without ever needing the bowl of steaming pasta and meatballs. I like doing a charcuterie board when I can find an excuse not to cook, which is often: too hot, too cold, too tired, too lazy, out of ideas, running late, ooops, you thought we’d be eating dinner, again? This is when it pays to plan, just a little bit, for any emergency. There is always a little stash of charcuterie treats in the fridge. Cheese, olives, pepperoni, celery, and radishes have long shelf lives. We don’t often have TV dinners, but this is a good one. Add some cheap white wine, a locally crafted beer, or even some orange soda- live large.

“Charcuterie” refers to the preparation of cured meats, like prosciutto, pancetta, speck, salami, summer sausage, chorizo or pepperoni. It is an all-encompassing term nowadays, meats, a variety of cheeses, pâté, crackers, nuts, fruits and vegetables, and mustards, hummus and dipping sauces. Some people prepare beautiful charcuterie boards. https://tastesbetterfromscratch.com/charcuterie-board/

There are guides you can find for pleasing arrangements of comestibles. Please promise me that you can figure this out for yourselves, that you don’t need to send $1.50 through PayPal for this: https://www.etsy.com/listing/1164392348/charcuterie-png-jpeg-file-charcuterie? I have even seen manufactured charcuterie boards with designated, labeled areas for each food type. Heavens to Betsy!
https://www.sophistiplate.com/products/waiting-on-martha-build-your-own-cheese-charcuterie-board-16-x-12-maple-wood?

Do not spend your hard-earned money on that. If you need ideas, and you want to spend money, go to your favorite independent book store and buy a cookbook or two.

And decide what foods will appeal to your audience. The under-12 set will not notice your carefully-arranged-by-region array of imported meats and cheeses. They’ll be gobbling the pigs-in-blankets and grapes and Goldfish. Your book club might care if you have recreated a spread from Eat, Drink, Pray, Love, but they will be drinking your wine, too. Mr. Sanders likes fancy hams and sausages and nicely toasted rounds of garlic bread, good Kalamata olives and and shaved Parmesan, or maybe a little bruschetta, with crumbles of feta cheese falling to the floor to the absolute delight of Luke the wonder dog. I like rolls of pepperoni and Provelone cheese, with a little swipe of Colman’s mustard. Plus every variation on a cheese straw that I can find. Sometimes I take the time to make my own Parmesan crisps. Yumsters! https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/giada-de-laurentiis/parmesan-crisps-recipe-3381387

You can add anything and everything to your charcuterie board. And you don’t even need a board. I’ve used cookie sheets, cutting boards, Thanksgiving turkey platters, and even an old pizza pan. Then rummage in the fridge, or take a slow walk through the deli department. I’ve noticed that Boar’s Head has an over-priced package of “Charcuterie”. https://boarshead.com/charcuteriepairing? Bosh. Get the deli to cut some fresh slices of meat and cheese for you. Buy a stick of pepperoni. Wander though the cheeses and buy some nice Parmesan or Jarlsberg. But I have had some very tasty chunks of domestic Cracker Barrel Cheddar on top of Triscuits, with pepperoni coins and have been perfectly happy. Throw in some peanuts, grapes, strawberries and maybe some chocolate. Oh, don’t forget veggies. They are not just for the children.

I do love using little bowls and dishes that I have collected over the years to hold the olives, radishes, chocolates, crackers, etc. Nothing speaks of a John Cheever WASPy cocktail party like a tiny silver bowl holding half a dozen potato chips.

Find an excuse not to cook tonight, and concoct a practically labor-free charcuterie board. Relax for a change of pace. It’s going to be a long summer.
https://www.bhg.com/recipes/party/appetizers/how-to-build-a-simple-charcuterie/

“It’s so beautifully arranged on the plate, you know someone’s fingers have been all over it.”
-Julia Child

Harriet Tubman on the Courthouse Lawn: A Chat with Adrian Holmes on Plans for a Tubman Sculpture in Cambridge

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For Adrian Holmes, the founder and program director of the Alpha Genesis Community Development Corporation, she had reason to feel some significant satisfaction on the day that the organization’s public art project of Harriet Tubman had its official opening a few years ago.

The result of more than a year of community input as well as the stunning design work by muralist Michael Rosato, the project not only won the hearts of the community but unexpectedly also gained national fame with both print and television media profiling this powerful image of the legendary Tubman saving her niece from slavery.

And that publicity set into motion a remarkable journey for Adrian and her board members.

Just a day after the mural opening, Alpha Genesis received a call from someone asking if her group might host a new Harriet Tubman sculpture by Wesley Wofford at the Dorchester County Courthouse for a month while it was touring the country.

That fateful call led to a remarkable chain of events that led to a permanent new Tubman statue by the same artist being installed next September on the courthouse lawn.

The Spy sat down with Adrian on Sunday afternoon from ArtBar 2.0, the organization’s very popular event space in downtown Cambridge to talk about this extraordinary moment on the Mid-Shore for both art and history.

This video is approximately five minutes in length. To make a donation to help raise the remaining $10,000 left in the campaign and donate a brick please go here. For more information about Alpha Genesis Community Development Corporation please go here.

 

I Am Reading Your Horoscope by Laura Oliver

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I have a confession. I read my horoscope (Pisces) every day in The Washington Post because (must I really spell this out?) the ones in the Post are completely accurate!

I also read the horoscopes of former flames to see if they’re suffering. 

Capricorn: “You will want to move on today but persistent thoughts of a certain someone make it impossible.” Yes!

Also in the confession category: my best friend mispronounces my name. She’s called me “Lora” for 15 years and I’ve never corrected her. Now I can’t. But it’s worse for my writer friend Brian Doyle who has been referred to as Drain Boyle, Brain Doyle and Brian Dooley.

Besides answering to the wrong name, I listen to books on tape and report that I’ve read them. And I think keeping a secret means you only tell one other person. Okay, two.

But back to horoscopes. Do I believe this stuff? Of course not? But I do know that words are the power tools that change experience into feeling. Because it’s not what happens to us as much as what we tell ourselves about what happens to us that creates our mood and determines our futures. That’s powerful stuff. And it’s all just story. 

Remember I told you I’m a student of neuroscience?

Well, did you know that when you hear the words, “I have a story to tell you, ”your brain sends out a flood of endorphins in the belief that intriguing information is on the way?

Research shows our brain believes what it hears, even when the words contradict the facts. For instance, we are affected by false flattery, even when we know it is false! (By the way, you look terrific today.)

The placebo effect makes people get better on the power of belief alone (cool), but recent discoveries show health improves even when patients know they’re getting the sugar pill! (Cooler.)

Don’t believe me about the influence of words? 

I have found your horoscope.

You are filled with joy when a burden is lifted today. A financial windfall is coming your way. Exciting news arrives before noon.

I know what you’re thinking. She just made this up! And yet…

We are affected by the story we tell and not just about ourselves but about others. Sure, the guy who cut you off in traffic could be a jerk. But the story you can write in response as you merge onto Route 50 is this. 

His mistake was unintentional. He’s as embarrassed as you are annoyed. He’s late to pick up a frightened 4-year-old. He’s distracted by his lab results. He would give his life for his children, just as you would for yours. 

Feel the difference? You are the author of all that you feel, and it so often is a judgment when it could be a gift. 

It’s not just an emotional sleight of hand. The primal brain is ego-centric and sees all action as inner-directed. When you criticize, you feel criticized. When you forgive, you feel forgiven. When you offer understanding, you feel understood. 

I have a story to tell you…

You are exquisitely compassionate, infinitely kind. In your heart of hearts, there is only goodwill– for yourself and for others. Love prevails. Goodness and mercy shall follow you all the days of your life.

That’s a story that could heal the world. Share the news. 

Laura J. Oliver is an award-winning developmental book editor and writing coach, who has taught writing at the University of Maryland and St. John’s College. She is the author of The Story Within (Penguin Random House). Co-creator of The Writing Intensive at St. John’s College, she is the recipient of a Maryland State Arts Council Individual Artist Award in Fiction, an Anne Arundel County Arts Council Literary Arts Award winner, a two-time Glimmer Train Short Fiction finalist, and her work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Her website can be found here.

Food Friday: Honoring Juneteenth

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I didn’t learn about Juneteenth when I was growing up. I was taught that Lincoln freed the slaves, and we all lived happily ever after. I learned later in life that Juneteenth is named for the day in the middle of June of 1865, when the Union Major General Granger announced the end of slavery to the last enslaved African Americans in Galveston, Texas, more than two years after President Abraham Lincoln’s 1863 Emancipation Proclamation. The first Juneteenth celebration was held the following year, and the celebrations have spread to every corner of the country since.

I want to be careful about writing about Juneteenth. I don’t want to appropriate the significance of this Black American holiday which is only being recognized by the government as a federal holiday for the first time this year, 157 years since the actual event.

As a food writer and home cook it is easy for me to wander the halls of history and culture and pick up a soupçon of French style, a dollop of Greek passion, a nibble of Middle Eastern angst, or a taste of British class conflict. I am a mongrel American, but I am a white American. I grew up in a household of bland food, where garlic was considered exotic. My mother relied on convenience foods like boxes of frozen vegetables. We had cubed steaks for dinner, and bologna sandwiches for lunch. Pizza was exotic. I was 18 before I ever saw a Brussels sprout, and 25 before I tasted okra. Now we are lucky enough to sample foods from all over the world through the heritage of many cultures who live in our country. Life is richer and more flavorful here in the inclusive 21st century.

This Juneteenth I will be doing some home cooking to honor the legacy of the Black Texans on the anniversary of Emancipation Day. I will try to honor the memory of enslaved cooks who brought African cooking to America. I’ll remember their pain and suffering, while cooking some of their traditional recipes which have enriched and enlivened Southern cooking.

A good place to start is with okra. Enslaved West Africans brought okra seeds to America in the 1700s. They also brought watermelon, yam, black-eyed pea, and pepper seeds. You can find okra in regional varieties of gumbo stew, or breaded and fried. Of course, almost anything tastes better fried.
https://www.foodfidelity.com/southern-fried-okra/

Here is a tasty salad that will feed a holiday crowd: https://www.eatingwell.com/article/7916898/okra-greens-salad-from-brazil/

Always popular are okra stews:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O3dl8rlBBzA&t=1s

If you have a lot of okra on hand, and those CSA boxes are often packed with it, Food52 can help you decide what to do: https://food52.com/recipes/okra

But if you are squeamish about okra, there are many other foods served at Juneteenth celebrations: fried chicken, barbecue, tomato salads, red beans and rice, and strawberry pie. There is something for everyone: https://www.seriouseats.com/juneteenth-menu-5189136

Spread the joy of freedom and emancipation, of equality and fairness this Juneteenth. Liberty for all.

“Juneteenth has never been a celebration of victory or an acceptance of the way things are. It’s a celebration of progress. It’s an affirmation that despite the most painful parts of our history, change is possible—and there is still so much work to do.”
— Barack Obama