We didn’t know what to expect of our local polling place, a quick four minute drive from our home, when we stopped by this morning. Several cars lined the stretch of street up to the town hall, but to our surprise, no line existed. We donned our masks, went inside, handed them our registration cards and ID, used the touch screen in the polling booth, and were back in our car four minutes later. Add our names to the 21,500 early voters in our county so far. Easy peasy, life in the suburbs. Glad that’s done.
These Boston women cooked up jars/vessels/urns of their city’s famous baked beans, often eaten at Sunday breakfast in days of yore, per the British tradition. What about ye? Hast thou partaken of an English breakfast? Who wouldn’t want to start the Sabbath off with a healthy start of fried eggs, bacon, bangers, half a tomato (why?), a burnt hockey puck, and buttered toast?
Did the Irish later come in and change our whole notion of breakfast by trading beans for potatoes? The only beans consumed in my house for breakfast are refried and tucked inside a breakfast taco.
Welcome to an “old-fashioned wool-working exhibit” on the Common in Boston, where these contestants competed to win the knitting trophy. Originating in 1634, it is the oldest city park in the United States. The squares of 200 women (and the one lone fellow shown above) were pinned on a board to form the Stars and Stripes. In just one day, they created this woolen flag.
Italian teens peddle their wares for coins on the Boston streets near Quincy Market and Feneuil Hall, which opened in 1743. 1743? You Northeasterners will be much more familiar with structures that old, but for a Texan, 1743 meant my state was still Mexico. How interesting it would be to imagine your great-great-great grandparents walking the same Boston streets centuries before you, keeping the city fed during the Depression, and feeling pride in work.
Below, we see plump green cucumbers being sold by pushcart vendor Signor Passanisil, as the Customhouse Tower rises in the background.
Okay, so it’s 1932 on Milk Street in Boston, a street that has been there for over 300 years. These three bobbed-hair women marvel at the carving prowess of Carl Larsen, who fashioned this wooden Indian out of live oak. Why an androgynous youth is bowing before the altar is another issue altogether. But this is no ordinary Indian offering cigars to outdoor patrons; this is Samoset the Abenaki extrovert, best known for waltzing up to Plymouth Colony on March 16, 1621, greeting, “Whassup, Pilgrims!” and then inquiring if they had any ale on hand. Why was this odd? Well, he was the first American Indian to make contact with said Pilgrims, having learned some English from Maine fishermen. And despite what news stations would have reported, had they existed, everyone got along peaceably, and Samoset even spent the night. A week later, he returned with his buddy Squanto, who spoke better English, and more fellowship ensued, presumably with beer. This particular wooden Indian was denied the pleasure of ale, although he did get a periodic dose of boiled linseed oil poured down a hole in his head, to keep his wood from cracking.
Among all the assessment was another “ass,” Bulgarian artist Assen Peikov, who was contracted to sculpt the actress’s face for a scene in her upcoming movie, The Barefoot Contessa (not to be confused with the Food Network chef). Wonder who got to keep the bust when the movie ended?