June 28 to July 4 2020 — Existential Autotrip

Daily Entries for
the post covering the week of
Sunday, June 28 through Saturday, July 4 2020

This entry is for Friday, July 3, 2020
Welcome to the 814th consecutive post to the blog,
existentialautotrip.com

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1.0 Lead Picture
Kali Lamporelli: Oh! Happy Day!

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2.0 Commentary
Reminds me of Dick Deadeye, the character in Gilbert and Sullivan’s HMS Pinafore who utters the classic line: From such a face and form as mine the noblest sentiments sound like the black utterances of a depraved imagination.
Or, don’t be the only male in a class on Female Relationships.
You, too, will be subjected to that opening line, “I don’t agree with anything that Dom just said.”
The females sometimes use that opening even when I’ve said nothing on the question.
But somehow I enjoy the abuse: it’s better than being ignored.

The photography credits for Dr. K Kane’s lead picture in yesterday’s entry go the her daughter, Cassandra, a multi-talented rising senior a Harvard.
I’ve amended the post to reflect this.

Cousin Lauren paid a surprise visit early this morning.
Fun to share a cup of coffee with her.
She’ll hang around for the day and we’ll end up having dinner out.
An early holiday celebration.

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4.0 Chuckles and Thoughts
Forgive, O Lord, my little jokes on Thee, and
I'll forgive Thy great big joke on me.
~Robert Frost

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5.0 Mail
We love getting mail.
Send comments to domcapossela@hotmail.com

This from dear Sally C:

Dear Dom,

With regards to fashion, the fashion pages of the Boston Globe used to reduce my mother and me to paroxysms of mirth. Neither of us has much in the way of fashion consciousness, except to adhere to classic designs that never get old, and of course, there is always the element of "What do I know?" But there were always elements, too, akin to the Three Stooges' episode, "Hoi Polloi."

Mother would clip pictures of the mostly bizarre offerings of the seasons and send them to me. Oh, my! What entertainment the fashion pages provided for us! I think the best one was of a model with a poncho-like piece of fabric over her shoulders, unhemmed, every cut ragged, with an equally ragged sash-sort-of-piece, in a contrasting color, pinned diagonally across her bosom. The single blur of black make-up diagonally and broadly marked across her forehead - a new eyebrow? - completed the look.

It had us in stitches! I am aware that these extreme "looks" never make it to the commercial market for consumption by real people (they usually get modified into something more reasonably considered a garment), but oh, what entertainment they provided! In a weird way, I miss those clippings! (I have to admit that I don't find any amusement in today's fashions at all - people spend hundreds of dollars for a pair of jeans that's been ripped to shreds and deliberately worn out before sale. My dungarees eventually looked something like that when I worked in a stable, but it took longer and they cost less. When my jeans were too far gone to patch reasonably, I threw them away. A fool and his money are soon parted, as they say.)

Dr. Kane's label "FACE SHIELD" on her face shield also tickles my funny bone. It reminds me of the cheesy, campy Batman series in the 1960s, where everything was labeled what it was, from the poles on which Bruce and Dick slid down to the Bat Cave to the Bat Computer itself, as if they didn't know what they were. It makes me wonder if the Batman uniform had his name tag in it, in case he confused it with Robin's uniform. Ha ha ha!

Sally

Blog Meister responds: Love this!

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6.0 Dinner/Food/Recipes
Wednesday night I had leftover lamb shanks.
With half of a bottle of Beaujolais Villages, Jadot.
An easy-to-prep night for me.

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7. “Conflicted” podcast

Conflicted, by Dom Capossela, is a spiritual/fantasy story about a sixteen-year-old mystic-warrior conflicted internally by her self-imposed alienation from God, her spiritual wellspring, and, externally, by the forces of darkness seeking her death or ruination.

https://soundcloud.com/user-449713331/sets/conflicted-dom-capossela

The podcasts are also available on Sound Cloud, iTunes, Stitcher, Pinterest, Pocket Cast, and Facebook.
Search: dom capossela or conflicted or both

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11.0 Thumbnail
A wedding is a ceremony where two people are united in marriage.
Wedding traditions and customs vary greatly between cultures, ethnic groups, religions, countries, and social classes.

Most wedding ceremonies involve an exchange of marriage vows by a couple, presentation of a gift (offering, rings, symbolic item, flowers, money, dress), and a public proclamation of marriage by an authority figure or celebrant.
Music, poetry, prayers, or readings from religious texts or literature are also commonly incorporated into the ceremony, as well as superstitious customs originating in Ancient Rome.

Some cultures have adopted the traditional Western custom of the white wedding, in which a bride wears a white wedding dress and veil.
This tradition was popularized through the marriage of Queen Victoria.
Some say Victoria's choice of a white gown may have simply been a sign of extravagance, but may have also been influenced by the values she held which emphasized sexual purity.
Within the modern 'white wedding' tradition, a white dress and veil are unusual choices for a woman's second or subsequent wedding.

The use of a wedding ring has long been part of religious weddings in Europe and America, but the origin of the tradition is unclear.
One possibility is the Roman belief in the Vena amoris, which was believed to be a blood vessel that ran from the fourth finger (ring finger) directly to the heart.
Thus, when a couple wore rings on this finger, their hearts were connected.
Historian Vicki Howard points out that the belief in the "ancient" quality of the practice is most likely a modern invention.
"Double ring" ceremonies are also a modern practice, a groom's wedding band not appearing in the United States until the early 20th century.

The wedding ceremony is often followed by wedding reception or a wedding breakfast, in which the rituals may include speeches from the groom, best man, father of the bride and possibly the bride, the newlyweds' first dance as a couple, and the cutting of an elegant wedding cake.
In recent years traditions have changed to include a father-daughter dance for the bride and her father, and sometimes also a mother-son dance for the groom and his mother.

The exit from the wedding ceremony is also called the "send off", and often includes traditional practices, such as the newlyweds and the wedding party bowing and kissing the knees of the elders in Ethiopian weddings.
The send off often includes throwing rice (a symbol of prosperity and fertility) or other seeds at the newlyweds in most of the Western world, as well as for example India and Malaysia.
Despite fears of the opposite, the use of uncooked rice for this purpose is not harmful to birds.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This entry is for Thursday, July 2, 2020
Welcome to the 813th consecutive post to the blog,
existentialautotrip.com

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1.0 Lead Picture
Behind the medical scenes – Dr. Kay Kane in high fashion

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2.0 Commentary
Seventies and unpredictable showers is mediocrity.

Permitting the T to operate without dramatic changes
to control the spread of the virus is gross and culpable negligence.

A nice meal, a glass of wine, professional service is lovely.

Quincy market reopening is terrific.

No corona deaths on Tuesday is also terrific.

Permitting the T to operate without dramatic changes
to control the spread of the virus is gross and culpable negligence.

Dr. Kay Kane’s exuberance
at the response of the medical profession
to the pandemic is contagious.

Swarthmore’s decision
to continue home studies for juniors and seniors this fall is sad.

Good health is splendid.

A good book is wonderful.

My granddaughter’s online course on Female Relationships
comparing Toni Morrison’s ‘Sulla’ with Elena Ferrante’s ‘My Brilliant Friend’ is a whole lot of fun.

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4.0 Chuckles and Thoughts
A bank is a place where
they lend you an umbrella in fair weather and
ask for it back when it begins to rain.
~Robert Frost

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5.0 Mail
We love getting mail.
Send comments to domcapossela@hotmail.com

This from Dr. Kay Kane:

Dom,

The medical community continues to struggle with the new COVID re-opening rules. I was hoping to go back to my 20-year history of seeing 100 patients a week for 3 jobs. HA! HAHAHAHA!!

Earth to Kay: try one patient every 15 minutes every day of the week on 5 electronic devices and if you can add an 8th day between Sunday and Monday that would be awesome.

I remain fiercely proud of Boston's COVID response. Every person pitched in wherever/whenever needed and no expense was spared. Every patient that needed a ventilator got one, every medication deemed helpful was tried and every life that could be saved was. Thanks to the NYC learning curve, Boston passed through COVID Peak 1 as best as we could. But now our hospitals are wiped out both emotionally and financially with a backlog of patients that seems insurmountable. Even in dermatology with the careful phased re-opening, LIVE in-person visits with me are impossible.

The COVID rules mandate we can only have ONE MD and ONE patient per suite at any given time. Building/elevator-dependent that can mean 1 patient every 15 minutes to 1 per hour.

And it's head-to-toe PPE for me:

Screaming all day to be heard thru an N95 mask and plastic shield I can see 18 LIVE patients on Tuesdays at SkinCare, 9 LIVE patients on Wednesdays at Belmont, and 5 LIVE kids per month on Thursdays at Children's Hospital. Do the math: that's 28-32 patients LIVE per week meaning 68-72 cancellations. Per week. And that doesn't even address the backlog of patients with bleeding skin cancers from being completely shut down March/April/May.

"But Kay, you can do unlimited telederm" they tell me. And I do. 7 days a week non-stop to try to appease my now cancelled pissed-off families. But I hate it. No one went into medicine to juggle non-stop tech-hell: 7 passwords, timed security VPN connections, non-working patient portals, terrible wifi, weekly system updates, clumsy cameras, fuzzy videos, dropped connections, wrong phone numbers, full voicemails. And patients hate it. The interactions are distant and the doctors have to do everything from the exam to prescriptions to ordering tests to scheduling follow ups. All of this makes the once comforting patient-doctor interaction feel rushed, robotic, sterile, strained and stressful. Thank goodness I've known most of my families for decades, so we do the best we can.

Still want to do dinner with me? I'm a bundle of joy who will likely fall asleep at the table :)

Let me see where Anne & Peggy are at and get back to you.

Please stay safe & well!

Much XOX,
Kay

Blog Meister responds:
The writing is extraordinary.
Well done, Kay!
So distracted was I by the literary,
I had to read the entry a second time for the content.

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6.0 Dinner/Food/Recipes
Experimented with a chicken stew on Tuesday night.
Browned the bacon, seared the chicken pieces, removed the chicken and seared the vegetables.
Added lots of stock and wine and simmered.
Pretty good.

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7. “Conflicted” podcast

Conflicted, by Dom Capossela, is a spiritual/fantasy story about a sixteen-year-old mystic-warrior conflicted internally by her self-imposed alienation from God, her spiritual wellspring, and, externally, by the forces of darkness seeking her death or ruination.

https://soundcloud.com/user-449713331/sets/conflicted-dom-capossela

The podcasts are also available on Sound Cloud, iTunes, Stitcher, Pinterest, Pocket Cast, and Facebook.
Search: dom capossela or conflicted or both

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11.0 Thumbnail
Fashion is a popular aesthetic expression at a particular time, place and in a specific context, especially in clothing, footwear, lifestyle, accessories, makeup, hairstyle, and body proportions.
Whereas a trend often connotes a peculiar aesthetic expression and often lasting shorter than a season, fashion is a distinctive and industry-supported expression traditionally tied to the fashion season and collections.
Style is an expression that lasts over many seasons and is often connected to cultural movements and social markers, symbols, class, and culture (ex. Baroque, Rococo, etc.).
According to sociologist Pierre Bourdieu, fashion connotes "the latest fashion, the latest difference."

Exclusive brands aspire for the label haute couture, but the term is technically limited to members of the Chambre Syndicale de la Haute Couture in Paris.
It is more aspirational and inspired by art, culture and movement.
It is extremely exclusive in nature.

This entry is for Wednesday, July 1, 2020
Welcome to the 813th consecutive post to the blog,
existentialautotrip.com

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1.0 Lead Picture
Sugar bag bee

Graham Wise from Brisbane, Australia - Tetragonula carbonaria

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2.0 Commentary
The weather of the next few days
will put a damper on outdoor seating:
cloudy with chance of rain.
Will bring a cheer to meteorologists since
the rain will alleviate the drought we are edging towards.
One man’s meat.

We are not going to clean ourselves of this vile virus until
we mold public transportation so it fits into the strategic plans
to conquer corona.
We must sort out our public transportation before
it becomes known as public incubation
and either kills us all or
chases us all away from it.
I listen to the morning news but do not hear anything encouraging.

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4.0 Chuckles and Thoughts
Don't ever take a fence down until
you know why it was put up.
~Robert Frost

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5.0 Mail
We love getting mail.
Send comments to domcapossela@hotmail.com

Today’s email, from Sally C, is published below in the 11.0 Thumbnails section.

Blog Meister responds: I love the things Sally writes about. This is no different.

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6.0 Dinner/Food/Recipes
With the dry-aged rib eye I ate an artichoke
according to the recipe I’ve been developing.
It was delicious.
I must publish it here.
And I will, but
not today.

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7. “Conflicted” podcast

Conflicted, by Dom Capossela, is a spiritual/fantasy story about a sixteen-year-old mystic-warrior conflicted internally by her self-imposed alienation from God, her spiritual wellspring, and, externally, by the forces of darkness seeking her death or ruination.

https://soundcloud.com/user-449713331/sets/conflicted-dom-capossela

The podcasts are also available on Sound Cloud, iTunes, Stitcher, Pinterest, Pocket Cast, and Facebook.
Search: dom capossela or conflicted or both

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11.0 Thumbnail
BILL AND THE HONEYBEES
Sally M. Chetwynd - 1 brasscastlearts@gmail.com

From Electronics To Pulling Ponies To Honeybees

My oldest brother Bill learned beekeeping while homesteading in Dover-Foxcroft, Maine. His passion had always been electronics, as a child and as a design engineer, with never the slightest interest in pastoral affairs. Homesteading nurtured in him a deep affinity for animals, which surprised all of us, including him.

He was over forty when he took on horses. Charlie, a local friend, owned pulling ponies, with which he competed at county fairs. Bill acquired a couple of ponies under Charlie’s guidance and began working with them. He heeded his seasoned neighbors, observed and interacted with his ponies to learn about their physiognomy and psychology, and came to understand how the ponies thought.

When he needed harness, the commercially available tack was so poorly made and overpriced that he said, “Hell, I could make better harness than that.” He rose to the challenge. He took apart old harness to see how it was constructed. In books that he ordered from England, he found the photographs so clear, sharp, and detailed that he was able to scale patterns for full-sized harness from them. Horsemen sat up and took notice when his ponies trotted onto the field sporting their new harness. Not only was the stuff well made, but it had a distinctly foreign look.

Business took off and soon he was making custom harness for carriage and draft horses all over the country. He designed a template of nylon strapping that he would send to a distant client. The client fitted the model to the individual horse, removed it using break-away buckles, and returned it by mail to Bill, who then made a harness that fit the horse perfectly although he never saw the animal. A horse belonging to a British customer was featured in a carriage-horse calendar one year, decked out in Bill’s harness.

Then honeybees wooed him. It wasn’t long before he invested in queens and hives and began to raise happy swarms. Not only did he learn about beekeeping from neighbors, but the bees themselves engaged in his training, teaching him valuable lessons. They became his friends.

Bill came to refer to the bees as his “ladies.” Asked how many pets he had, he’d list three or four ponies, the cats and rabbits in the current possession of his children, and six million honeybees.

Bees are unusual creatures. They know and understand a keeper. They look to him for assistance and aid to tend to their needs. They establish a symbiotic relationship with him, each benefiting the other. They recognize a keeper when they encounter one. The keeper may or may not be their own, may or may not be currently keeping bees, but that’s immaterial to the bees. Once a beekeeper, always a beekeeper.

Honeybees’ brains aren’t big enough to contain much. Individuals specialize in seeking out food sources and conveying the information to the others back in the hive with their distinctive dance. Collectively, however, they are capable of sophisticated activities. Small groups of them will organize a mission and carry it out efficiently. They connect their minds someehow, like linked components making up a whole. (Maybe this is the source of Star Trek writers’ Vulcan mind-meld.)

Bees With A Mission

A few months after they had settled in and become familiar with their new territory, Bill’s bees sent out a delegation of a dozen-plus with a message. He was working elsewhere on the property when the squadron found him. They buzzed about his head to get his attention, but he ignored
them. They landed on his boots, but again he ignored them. They landed on his beard, and he brushed them away without thought.

Determined to get his attention, they landed on his cheeks and proceeded to march up his nostrils. That did the trick. Then he knew they were trying to tell him something. He blew the emissaries out of his nose and headed for the hives, and the bees lifted from him and led him to the needy one. When he removed the top, he found that they were over-crowded. They needed a new home for a new colony. He acquired an empty hive for them and set it up. They sorted themselves out, and part of the population moved out of the old hive and set up housekeeping in the new one. This was Bill’s first inkling of the complex relationships among bees, and between bees and their keeper.

Just Deserts

The ladies were amiable, but sometimes Bill’s mistakes forced them to mete out no-nonsense discipline. Regarding one such lesson, his fellow keepers had warned him never to work with the hives early in the day. Either he forgot or he didn’t know the reason for the warning, but he found that out, soon enough.

He went out first thing one summer morning to move the hives to another area nearby. He picked one up and headed down the grassy slope toward the new location. Then he slipped on the dew, fell down, and dropped the hive.

Oh, my! Weren’t the ladies angry! Hordes of them streamed out and attacked him. Bill received not one sting, however. They only “pinged” him, ramming him with head-butts to express their displeasure.

He never made that mistake again.

Storm Doors

By the time the first storm of the season threatened, Bill knew enough to secure the hives with extra lashing so they wouldn’t be toppled. A fierce wind and rain storm blew up and battered the region for a couple of days. After it passed, he went out to see how the hives had fared.

He found that the bees had formed a barrier at each hive’s entrance. Bill knew about storm doors - a plastic disk that fits into the entrance, with an orifice big enough only for one bee at a time to pass – but had thought they were only for use during winter. Against the tempest, the bees in each hive created a storm door by locking their legs together to close the entrance against the elements. Hundreds of bees sacrificed their lives to protect their colonies and queens.

Their loss saddened Bill, for he had become very fond of these creatures, and it drove home a hard lesson. He never again neglected to install storm doors with an oncoming blow, no matter the season.

Housekeeping

Bees do not hibernate in winter. They hole up deep in their hives and feed on their honey to sustain them and to provide energy to keep the hive warm. Huddled together, they buzz their wings rapidly, which generates heat. If you knock on a hive on a winter’s day and listen, in response you will hear an increase of muffled buzzing from within.

They will take advantage of warmer winter days to clean house. As with any living beings, spending months in a crowded and confined space means the death of some residents and an accumulation of fecal matter. (Who but beekeepers would ever have cause to think about bee guano?) So, on a good day, some bees dig deep into the recesses of the hive to pull out corpses and trash, others drop the mess down to the entry-way, others stand in the entrance and push the waste out the door, and still others stand on the landing platform and push the junk off the edge to fall to the ground below.

That first winter, Bill went out on such a day and found the ladies hard at work at this task. He removed the storm door and fetched a section of coat-hanger wire with a hook at one end. The ladies became excited at his help when he began to pull the trash out with the wire. The news soon reached those working inside, and they proceeded to scour every corner of the hive. Soon they were throwing down stuff quicker than he could remove it. They had him laughing before he was done. All were quite satisfied with that day’s work.

House Guests

Bill never expected to find the ladies as friendly as they became. At day’s end, a few always tried to come into the house with him. He went to some effort every evening to dislodge them from his clothing, no matter where they hid, and he soon learned their hiding places.

The back pockets of his trousers were a favorite hideout. Invariably, one or two would crawl in there and escape his notice. When he discovered them, however, expecting them to be thoroughly squashed from having been sat upon, they would be tucked along the outer edges of the pockets, where they avoided becoming a sandwich between butt and chair.

Now and then, one would make it even farther. On more than one occasion, when Bill got up in the morning and went to change his underpants, a honeybee would rise from the folds of the briefs, somewhat drunkenly from the close, damp environment, but otherwise unharmed.

Happy Travelers

Honeybees are always in high demand by farmers needing pollination in their fields, and keepers hire out their hives several times a year, depending on the flowering season of any given crop. Bill did this often, loading his hives into the back of his station wagon and tying them down securely for travel. He covered them with fine-mesh nylon net to keep them from escaping during transport.

At least one bee always escaped the netting. She would buzz around the interior of the car, curious. Bill was concerned that she might get sucked out the open windows, it generally being warm weather of late spring and early summer, so he always brought along a spray bottle filled with a sticky sugar-water mix. As soon as he spotted a fugitive bee, he sprayed her with the sugar water, weighing her down so she couldn’t fly. This didn’t bother the bee in the least, for she’d spend the rest of the trip happily cleaning the sugar off herself.

Feral Colonies

Even after he sold his hives and moved from north-central Maine to Pennsylvania, Bill’s being as a beekeeper created an aura that bees, feral and domestic, recognize. Visiting north one time, perhaps three years after he had moved, as he walked along a salt marsh near Kittery, Maine, a delegation of honeybees approached him. Their pattern of flight and their behavior led him to understand that their hive was in trouble, but he couldn’t follow them when they flew across the salt creek. But he was impressed that they had recognized him as a keeper and had communicated with him, despite being feral. Had they been domestic, they would have approached their own keeper.

He adopted a feral colony outside his office in Pennsylvania. This colony had lived for perhaps 200 years in the rafters of an abandoned, colonial-era barn, which had recently fallen from neglect. The collapse broke open and exposed the hive, forcing abandonment. Bill noticed the colony swarming on a fallen tree outside of his office window and went out to investigate. He moved among the bees quietly, assessing the situation, and they accepted his presence. At lunchtime, he purchased a plastic tub and a few supplies at Walmart for a make-shift hive, to protect them until he could build something more suitable on the weekend. They moved in without question, grateful for their new shelter.

Bill learned a lot from the feral bees. As he interacted with them, he wondered how they carried the memory and recognition of a beekeeper across so many generations in the wild. Because of their independence, their approach to their environment was somewhat different from that of Bill’s domestic colonies. With the domestic bees, no matter the weather, Bill could remove the roof of the hive to inspect the interior, and the bees would not scold him. On the other hand, if Bill opened the roof of a feral hive on a cloudy day to peer in, the bees immediately sent out a squadron to ping him. A cloudy day threatened rain, which could endanger their colony.

Other Friendly Species

Honeybees were not the only species in the Order Hymenoptera with which Bill made friends. Where there are horses, there are flies, procreating in the dung. Where there are flies, there are wasps, hunting flies for dinner.

Bill noticed that whenever he came into the barn, he disturbed the flies resting on the ceiling. In half a breath, wasps appeared and darted back and forth, capturing the flies in mid-air. He realized that when the flies were on the ceiling, immobile, the wasps couldn’t see them, so then he grabbed the broom every time he came in and swept the ceiling, setting the flies to flying. It didn’t take long before the wasps figured out he supported their interests, and whenever he arrived, they hovered in a halo around his head until he brushed the ceiling, then snatching the flies in flight and carrying them off.

Ceiling-brushing became second nature. One day the veterinarian came to tend to an ailing horse. When Bill stepped into the barn, the wasps encircled his head, which alarmed the vet. He refused to enter, afraid of being stung. Bill laughed and assured him that they had no interest in him. He swept the ceiling, the wasps zoomed about, raiding the horde of flies, and in a moment, neither wasp nor fly was to be seen. The vet stood with his mouth open. In all his years, in and out of hundreds of barns, he had never seen the like of it.

To Be Continued

And that’s the saga of Bill and his bees, his ladies, his sweet-tempered and sweet-producing friends. No doubt he has more tales of this ilk, but he hasn’t told them to me yet. When he does, I’ll share them with you.

Sally Chetwynd

This entry is for Tuesday, June 30, 2020
Welcome to the 812th consecutive post to the blog,
existentialautotrip.com

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1.0 Lead Picture
Fernet

Luiscardo - Own work Different brands of fernet — Luiscardo - Own work

Different brands of fernet

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2.0 Commentary
Listening to the morning local news,
waiting,
for news on the T.
As our public transit gets more crowded
endangering those who take the T and
those who come in contact with
those who take the T.
what are our officials doing about this?
Waiting.

A lot of fun Sunday night:
a five-hour dinner party for five that
lasted five hours and
providing us with five thousand laughs.

In the course of the evening
two of the guests reminisced about
the Microsoft Store at the Prudential Center
and the special nature of the thirty who worked there.
To which I, first-hand, can attest.
I will sorely miss the accessibility of the training.

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4.0 Chuckles and Thoughts
The world is full of willing people;
some willing to work,
the rest willing to let them.
~Robert Frost

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5.0 Mail
We love getting mail.
Send comments to domcapossela@hotmail.com

These pieces personal but noteworthy for shoppers.

I emailed Rich Case
Meat Manager
Roche Bros.
Downtown Crossing - 121
617-456-5111
rcase@rochebros.com

my email:

Rich:
can the magician who got me veal chops get a turkey?
dom

And he responded:
I will definitely work on it. What size and when would you need it? Chances are it will be frozen but can be thawed. I will let you know.

And I:
i only need 7/8 lbs so if only large bird available i'd like to take half of it.

And he:
Got it. I'll let you know what I can pull out of my hat!

A couple of day later he came back:

I think I've found a turkey but I'm waiting for a definite answer from the manager in Bridgewater. It may take a few days to get here if he does have it. That was the only response I received from the other stores. If not, it may take a week or two before I can get one in.
I'll let you know when I find out.

And I responded:
love it

thank you richard

may i publish this response?

t's so positive and unique.

And he said:
Of course.

And several days later he sent:
The turkey had to quarantine 🤣. It will be at least another week. Sorry for the delay. I’ll keep you posted.

Blog Meister responds: That is what anyone would call personal service. The local butcher lives on.
Thank you, Richard.

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6.0 Dinner/Food/Recipes
Sunday night I served Pesto Sauce with slow-roasted chicken.
Everything came out well.

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7. “Conflicted” podcast

Conflicted, by Dom Capossela, is a spiritual/fantasy story about a sixteen-year-old mystic-warrior conflicted internally by her self-imposed alienation from God, her spiritual wellspring, and, externally, by the forces of darkness seeking her death or ruination.

https://soundcloud.com/user-449713331/sets/conflicted-dom-capossela

The podcasts are also available on Sound Cloud, iTunes, Stitcher, Pinterest, Pocket Cast, and Facebook.
Search: dom capossela or conflicted or both

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11.0 Thumbnail
Fernet is an Italian type of amaro, a bitter, aromatic spirit.
Fernet is made from a number of herbs and spices which vary according to the brand, but usually include myrrh, rhubarb, chamomile, cardamom, aloe, and especially saffron, with a base of grape distilled spirits.

Fernet is usually served as a digestif after a meal but may also be served with coffee and espresso or mixed into coffee and espresso drinks.
It typically contains 45% alcohol by volume. It may be served at room temperature or with ice.

While the Italian liqueur has a cult following in the international bartending community, it is immensely popular in Argentina.
The South American country consumes more than 75% of all fernet produced globally and because of its popularity, it has Fratelli Branca's only distillery outside of Italy.
As it is traditionally mixed with Coke, fernet has also contributed in making Argentina one of the biggest consumers of Coca-Cola in the world.
Fernet and Coke (Spanish: fernet con coca) is so ubiquitous in Argentina that it has been described as "the country's unofficial drink".

Fernet was introduced to Argentina by Italians during the Great European immigration wave to the country of the late 19th century and early 20th century.
It is particularly associated with Córdoba Province, which has been called "the world fernet capital"; almost 3 million liters are consumed there annually, representing just under 30 percent of national consumption.
National production is around 25 million liters, with 35% sold in Buenos Aires city and province.
Fernet-Branca is by far the most popular brand in the country, leading the market and reaching a "
ythical" status among Argentines.
Other popular brands include 1882, Capri, Ramazzotti and Vittone.

Fernet is commonly mixed with Coca-Cola, a mixed drink known as fernet con coca (Spanish for "fernet and Coke") or fernando.
While long available, the drink became much more popular in the mid-1980s, encouraged by advertisements of Fratelli Branca in TV stations with national scope, its popularity growing steadily ever since.
Consumption of fernet increased greatly in the first decade of the 21st century.
By the early 2010s, the popularity of relatively inexpensive fernet was so high that many bars in Buenos Aires removed it from their menus to encourage sales of more expensive drinks.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This entry is for Monday, June 29, 2020
Welcome to the 811th consecutive post to the blog,
existentialautotrip.com

______________________________________
1.0 Lead Picture
Chris, salmon, and a fly-rod.

1.1 Lead Picture
Chef Cazalis

Howard Dinin, photographer See evocative piece by Howard in 11.1 Thumbnails below in this section. — Howard Dinin, photographer

See evocative piece by Howard in **11.1 Thumbnails** below in this section.

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2.0 Commentary
I think we desperately need to turn our attention to the T.

It’s an incubator
filling with carriers of the virus,
forcing them closer and closer to each other until
avoiding infection is impossible.

It’s a snake pit with
tunnels burrowing through
miles and miles of our city
with the virus escaping into every nook and cranny
until no place will be safe.

The T is not taking the steps needed
to protect our environment,
needed to keep pace with
the studied opening of the rest of our economy.

Changes must be instituted immediately.
I have no more experience in these matters than anyone else but
that has never stopped me from venturing an opinion
that I hope will stimulate the conversation
no matter where that will take us.
Here are some shots from the hip:

1. Cars must be added to every train that can carry more.
2. Trains must run continuously during the rush hours
to alleviate the anxiety that
compels people to jam into each other.
3. Exiting and boarding passengers must be controlled with
barriers providing one-way aisles to avoid bumping.
4. Attendants must be hired
to control the number of boarding-aisle passengers allowed to pass to the train.
5. Passengers must be backed up
outside of the station
to avoid surges when the trains arrive.
6. Can passes be sold time-stamped, say ‘Valid between the hours of…’?

The T is a dragon bent on consuming all of us.
Where is St. George?

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4.0 Chuckles and Thoughts
Take care to
sell your horse
before he dies.
The art of life is
passing losses on.
~Robert Frost

________________________________________
5.0 Mail
We love getting mail.
Send comments to domcapossela@hotmail.com

This from Colleen G.
You’ll need the link but
this is a really lovely piece.
Don’t miss it.

Hi Dom,

I thought you might appreciate my latest blog entry: The Gift of Empathy.
I'm really behind on keeping up with your blog, but I hope to catch up with lots of things soon.
In the meantime, stay cool.:)

http://www.theroomtowrite.org/blog/thegiftofempathy

Have a great summer!

Cheers,

Colleen Getty
The Room to Write
781-621-3274
www.theroomtowrite.org

Blog Meister responds: Colleen, my dear, this is a really lovely piece.
well done! Love, Dom

__________________________________
6.0 Dinner/Food/Recipes
Made lamb shanks on Saturday night.
They were good.
Got good flavor from the melting pancetta,
browned the shanks thoroughly,
braised the carrots, celery, and onion,
added stock and wine,
and then simmered meats and vegetables for seventy-five minutes.
Yummy.

__________________________________
11.0 Thumbnail
Salmon is the common name for several species of ray-finned fish in the family Salmonidae.
Other fish in the same family include trout, char, grayling and whitefish.

Salmon are native to tributaries of the North Atlantic (genus Salmo) and Pacific Ocean (genus Oncorhynchus).

Many species of salmon have been introduced into non-native environments such as the Great Lakes of North America and Patagonia in South America. Salmon are intensively farmed in many parts of the world.

Typically, salmon are anadromous: they hatch in fresh water, migrate to the ocean, then return to fresh water to reproduce.
However, populations of several species are restricted to fresh water through their lives.
Folklore has it that the fish return to the exact spot where they hatched to spawn.
Tracking studies have shown this to be mostly true.
A portion of a returning salmon run may stray and spawn in different freshwater systems; the percent of straying depends on the species of salmon.
Homing behavior has been shown to depend on olfactory memory.
Salmon date back to the Neogene.

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11.1 Thumbnail

Dom

I suppose it’s a natural impulse, well it is for me, that when confronted with even someone else’s memento mori they evoke a Proustean moment, if not a stream of recollections. If allowed to, they would continue to roll, possibly unabated, taking the resulting narrative wherever it might.

I realized as soon as I saw the snapshot of you and the boys in the kitchen that you wrote to me to ask if I’d taken it, that I hadn’t. Even if it were the rare shot of mine (and, as you know, I have thousands) that I don’t immediately recall in terms of the context, the venue, the approximate chronology, and it always surprises me that I can do this – I simply take it as a sign of how important capturing images is to me, and how selective I am being, that is, even more so than I even think I am – I would recognize that I couldn’t have taken the photo just stylistically.

I mean, not the way I’d frame the picture. Not the way I’d “pose” the subjects. And, in this case, not the way I would let an image out of my hands in terms of its technical shortcomings (exposure, lighting, contrast, etc.).

But I also readily acknowledge we’re not pondering candidacy for designation as art. It is what it is, and, for you and the family certainly, has a value that transcends even the question of enduring esthetic qualities.

I looked at the photo and was pretty sure I remembered the backdrop – the stovetop, the very high stainless steel splash panels, the steel shelves – as the primary cooking station at the original Dom’s. I know you did remodeling and enlargement and re-arranging, but the age of the boys suggests that this was not too far along in the history of the place, and probably not too much progressive improvement and renovation had, as yet, taken place. I never actually “worked” in that kitchen so my memories would be from fleeting glances and rapid walk-throughs as I went about what little other business I ended up enlisted to do for you (I was in there, but in a different corner of the place, for weeks, possibly even months at a time, really enjoying myself getting to toy with the super high end stereo equipment that was installed for your background music, while I curated and collected the 10-inch professional reel-to-reel tapes that we used, but that ended up leaving me with an intimate memory of just one corner of the prep area, immediately adjacent to the passage around that corner to the bar, the domain of Max, and whoever else were your bartenders back in the day. It also afforded me the opportunity, regularly, to get all the longing distant glimpses in that I could of Pam A—, who often seemed to get posted, at least early in the evenings, to serving the trade at the small tables in the bar area that served also for waiting customers anticipating being seated for dinner. There have been worse circumstances defining the serendipity of how people get opportunities to meet, if only seemingly “by chance” and timidly at first getting to know one another… But I am dredging up recollections a bit later, around 1978-9, than what started me on this memory lane excursion.

I thought I remembered the kitchen as being in the restaurant, but then I thought, it being long enough ago, maybe I was remembering your kitchen from earlier and happier days (for me) in your apartment, the one Toni-Lee used to do her research and prepare those wonderful meals where new prospective menu items had to be tested on guinea pigs like your friends, Howie and Ann… More than three-quarters of the time, we’d show up for dinner, and begin to eat and drink, and we’d end up downstairs with you and Toni-Lee because the restaurant had gotten bombed and it was all hands, volunteers or not, on deck.

Somewhere in there, and I’m sure Ann and I were still not only a couple but also officially, and not just technically, married and together. I had already joined with you and Toni on another project, the creation and publishing of “Food,” our magazine that was way way way ahead of its time. My biggest argument with you, and I kept completely silent about it, was that you decided to give it away. I knew then (and I was already well embarked in my “professional” career as a marketer and advertising guy) and I can assure even now, if we had sold it, even for some token amount to start, it would still be going, somehow or other.

Anyway, it was the occasion of yet another deadline for our quarterly journal, and the need to create content (as we say in today’s language about “media” in its various manifestations) that we decided as we often did to exploit serendipitous conjunctions of interests and realized, thanks to one of the restaurant’s major fans and customers, a woman named Barbara Cazalis, who lived somewhere like Needham or Wayland, whatever, that we had a would-be food celebrity visitor who could be the subject of an article.

It’s only in hindsight that I can dig up and recall his first name. What I recall with utmost clarity is the portrait I did of him, sort of on the spot, and with minimal notice and almost as little equipment at my disposal. Good thing I was running a commercial photo studio at the time.

I saw your family snapshot asking me if I shot it, and it triggered a memory of the photo of Monsieur Maurice Cazalis, taken in your home kitchen. I looked it up in my portfolio, just to make sure my memory squared with the reality. And sure enough, it’s clear that the shot of you and the boys was not done in the apartment, which had exposed brick walls behind the stove (I’d still like to know how you got a permit to install a commercial range in a space designated as residential, but… stupid thing to wonder about).

Anyway, presumably you remember this guy. Really full of himself, I remember, comically so. His daughter was so proud of him. He was so proud of his restaurant, his Michelin star, his little trinkets that he festooned across his tunic.

I missed the story at the time – it wasn’t that long ago – but this guy is the same Maurice Cazalis who gained some after-the-fact notoriety (long past the time anything could be done about it) in the reverberations of the #MeToo movement. Chef and cookbook author Sara Moulton, one of Julia Child’s acolytes, and, for sure, a celebrity in her own right, with a lot of her fame, and whom I perpetually confuse with another blonde woman named Sarah (Sarah Leah Chase) associated with the Silver Palate franchise (if I’m not mistaken), and a whole host of cookbooks she wrote.

For this Sara (Ms. Moulton) there was a restaurant. There were radio appearances. She was on-air food editor for Good Morning America for a very long time. For sure she’s still promoting herself. If I’m not mistaken she appears regularly, or did until recently, with Chris Kimball, on his podcast/radio show connected with his new venture/food empire: 171 Milk Street. She’s quite savvy about the techniques and methods of cooking things the right way.

Anyway. I mentioned notoriety. It seems Moulton claimed – long after the fact – that when she agreed, some time in the late 70s, when she was chef of a popular restaurant called Cybele’s in Boston to join Chef Cazalis on a project. For whatever reason, which she doesn’t adequately explain in her account that appeared in the Huffington Post in 2018, where she made her allegations, she leaves her chef’s position to “apprentice” for two months in France, with a “famous French Chef”… one Maurice Cazalis, who had a Michelin-starred resto, quite famous, in Chartres. Part of her escapade included agreeing to travel to Paris with him, and even staying overnight in the same room (separate beds and separate baths she alleges). He was well into his 70s, and she was, possibly, still in her late 20s. Maurice Cazalis has long since departed this life, and so cannot be asked to comment, deny, or corroborate. But it’s not my memory, and therefore not for me to ponder.

I don’t know what to make of all this, or of her story. But I do still have my photo of the old alleged roué… Back in 1975 when I took it, who’d a thunk it? I certainly didn’t. I was not yet quite 30 myself.

See what you start?

Here’s the Sara Moulton story replete with detailed allegations:

https://www.huffpost.com/entry/sara-moulton-sexual-harassment_n_5a5788c2e4b05b7a92eeb834

Blog Meister responds: I love Howard’s meanderings, his ease with the language.

This entry is for
Sunday, June 28, 2020
Welcome to the 810th consecutive post to the blog,
existentialautotrip.com

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1.0 Lead Picture
Handala, the Palestinian defiance symbol

Naji al-Ali and 2 more authors - http://arab.sa.utoronto.ca/handala-l.bmp

______________________________________
2.0 Commentary
Big happenings at Microsoft: retail stores are a thing of the past.
Although shuffling will be necessary, no store staff will be unemployed.
I will be forever indebted to the staff at the store in Prudential.
My one on one daily encounters provided me with the technology I needed to develop the blog,
so important to my life rhythm;
also made some terrific personal relationships.

Add to this, the Blue Bottle café directly across from the Microsoft Store is open for takeout only, depriving me of a fun space to write the blog, and another place to make some terrific relationships, and the draw to the mall has virtually disappeared.
I will sorely miss that two-hour social/work/learning segment of my day that has sustained me for the two years prior to the pandemic.

For three years prior to this routine, the Thinking Cup cafes in the North End and on Newbury Street
were where I did my work and a bit of socializing.
The openings of the Microsoft Store and the Blue Bottle café had ended that routine.
But during the pandemic, when Blue Bottle closed, when even Starbuck’s closed,
the Thinking Cup cafes remained open.

During the pandemic I took to writing the blog immediately after breakfast,
always getting it sone before I took my trip out.
I liked this part of my new routine.
Preferred it, in fact, to writing the blog late in the morning.
I finished the blog before 10.00am and then left the apartment before 10.30am.

Without my laptop.
With my work done and not public place to sit and use the laptop, what’s the point.
Suddenly, my backpack went from a dragging-down weight to a light load.
I certainly preferred that.

I maintained the route that had been my routine:
take the T to the now-empty Prudential Center, there,
almost always saying hello to Yan, a street person, and then
walking home by way of Newbury Street.
My rationale for clinging to this route:
this pandemic will pass and
my familiar routine would continue without missing a beat.
Ha!

But leaving the Pru and walking home by way of Newbury,
I daily walked into Thinking Cup, almost always being the only customer in the café.
It’s difficult to express how important that moment was to me.
Not only did I drug out (caffeine, please) but I conversed with Nev and Brenda.
Social contact.
I have known these wonderful barista-people from before the pandemic so
this was a meeting of old friends.

I carried my very hot coffee out to the Public Garden (on the way home) and,
watching the Garden bloom from mid-March through early June, I drank it on a bench.
Then walked to Whole Foods, shopped, and went home.

Some obvious lacks from the ‘Good Old Days’ but perfectly acceptable.

But given the permanency of the Microsoft Store closures, I have to question whether the Pru fits into my routine anymore.
Plus the Thinking Cup outdoor café is now open.
For the last couple of days I have totally eschewed the T and walked directly from my apartment
to Newbury Street to enjoy coffee at their outdoor café,
heaven to me.
I will miss the brief ‘hello’ to the staff at Blue Bottle; and
miss seeing Yan,
but it’s a long way to the Pru and
that routine forces me onto the now-crowding T, an increasingly dangerous place unless they start adding a LOT more trains, which
they promise to do and
don’t,
not in the numbers that are needed to alleviate the unconscionable crowding.
This is the single glaring error of the Baker administration.
The T has the potential of leading us back in the pandemic.
I will gladly avoid that.

My routine now will exclude the Prudential Center.

I won’t know how I feel about that until
I’m following my new routine for a couple of weeks.
I’m now following my pre-Prudential routine, without lugging the laptop.

Without the laptop I’ve been filling my time at the café
watching the people (okay, the women) walk past and
sometimes reading ‘My Brilliant Friend’ for my granddaughter’s class.
Absorbing the warmth.

It’s not that bad.

__________________________________
4.0 Chuckles and Thoughts
I hold it to be the inalienable right of anybody
to go to hell in his own way.
~Robert Frost

________________________________________
5.0 Mail
We love getting mail.
Send comments to domcapossela@hotmail.com

These happy notes from Kali L:

Dear Dom,

I got married on Saturday June 20 with 20 or so people 6 of which were children ranging from 1-9!

What a time to be alive!

I was wondering if you have any recipes you'd like to share with us as a newlywed couple :)

Glad to read you're enjoying yourself and doing the things you so love to do-

Love,

Kali

Blog Meister responds:
What a glorious email!
You've come a long way, baby.

Yes. Yes.
Three that will provide access to hundreds.

Marinara Sauce
Aglio e olio
Slow Roast (start with the chicken; so universal, basic.)

All three of these are found within the blog.
Look up 'Pages' and then Recipes
or just select the magnifying glass
type in the recipe name and
hit enter.

So proud of you, my dear.
So happy for you.
Love, love, love

_________________________
And another from Kali L:

Dom this means so much!
I have come a long way!!!
I'm so lucky and so grateful!

Blog Meister responds:

you worked so hard and
so deserve joy.

remember the poems that you wrote for us?
take a look at them as a body and ask if
they may be compiled into a book.

And Kali L responded:
With so many people wanting a poetry collection from me...
I may have to finally sit down and write one or make one!

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11.0 Thumbnail
Handala (Arabic: حنظلة‎), also Handhala, Hanzala or Hanthala, is a prominent national symbol and personification of the Palestinian people.

The character was created in 1969 by political cartoonist Naji al-Ali, and first took its current form in 1973.
Handala became the signature of Naji al-Ali's cartoons and remains an iconic symbol of Palestinian identity and defiance.
The character has been described as "portraying war, resistance, and the Palestinian identity with astounding clarity".

The name comes from Citrullus colocynthis (Arabic: حنظل‎, romanized: Handhal), a perennial plant local to the region of Palestine which bears a bitter fruit, grows back when cut and has deep roots.

Handala's impact has continued in the decades after al-Ali's 1987 assassination;
today the character remains widely popular as a representative of the Palestinian people, and
is found on numerous walls and buildings throughout the West Bank (notably on the Israeli West Bank barrier), Gaza and other Palestinian refugee camps, and
as a popular tattoo and jewelry motif. It has also been used by movements such as Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions and the Iranian Green Movement.

Handala appeared for the first time in Al-Seyassah in Kuwait on 13 July 1969, and
first turned his back to the viewer and
clasped his hands behind his back from 1973 onwards.

Handala's age – ten-years-old – represents Naji al-Ali's age in 1948 when he was forced to leave Palestine and
would not grow up until he could return to his homeland: Al-Ali wrote that:

Handala was born 10 years old and he will always be 10 years old. It was at that age that I left my homeland.
When Handala returns, he will still be 10 years old, and then he will start growing up.

His posture, with his turned back and
clasped hands symbolize the character's "rejection at a time when
solutions are presented to us the American way" and as
"a symbol of rejection of all the present negative tides in our region."

Handala's ragged clothes and standing barefoot symbolize his allegiance to the poor.

Al-Ali described Handala as "the symbol of a just cause:

He was the arrow of the compass, pointing steadily towards Palestine.
Not just Palestine in geographical terms, but Palestine in its humanitarian sense—the symbol of a just cause, whether it is located in Egypt, Vietnam or South Africa.

Al-Ali stated in an interview prior to his assassination that:
"Handala, whom I created, will not end after I die.
I hope that this is not an exaggeration when I say that
I will continue to live in Handala, even after I die".

Current usages of the Handala motif include:

graffiti on numerous walls, buildings and souvenir shops throughout the West Bank (notably on the Israeli West Bank barrier), Gaza and other Palestinian refugee camps

A primary symbol of the Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions movement

A popular tattoo and jewellery motif

The web mascot of the Iranian green movement

In Israeli artwork, particular alongside the Israeli character Srulik

Jun 27 June 28 to July 4 2020

Jun 20 June 21 to June 27