Commentary
On Sunday afternoon, Occupy Wall Street-Martha’s Vineyard held its first general assembly at Howes House in West Tisbury. The purpose of the assembly was to refine ideas generated by a previous meeting at the Martha’s Vineyard Hebrew Center and introduce Islanders to the so-called circle process, which is designed to encourage “high quality listening and a safe supportive space for all of us to share ideas,” as Chris Riger explained it.
Speeding down the roadway of life, warning signs posted along the way give us an indication of what lies ahead. One signpost in particular lies so far ahead, way off over the horizon, that we hardly pay it any heed. But it’s moving up fast, this speed bump on the highway of life.
The next episode of that reality TV show known as The GOP Bumper-Car Presidential Campaign is this Saturday, Feb. 4 — the Nevada primary. So we have to ask: Is Nevada more like America?
They said Iowa was, but then it was too white. They said New Hampshire was, but then it was too Yankee. They said South Carolina was, but then it was too Southern. They said Florida was, but then it was too Hispanic — or too Jewish.
Gannon and Benjamin Marine Railway, a well-known boatbuilding operation on Beach Road in Vineyard Haven, has a new partner. Ross Gannon and Nat Benjamin have been running the boatyard since 1980 and together have built 50 wooden boats and a far-ranging reputation in preserving the heritage of wooden boat building.
Now, Brad Abbott, who has worked day to day in the shop for nearly two years, has joined with the two in running the business.
Once upon a time, ever so long ago, there were machines called typewriters. In my Minnesota high school there was a room where many typewriters lived, a whole bunch of them. And this was where Miss Widgeon proudly taught her class on secretarial skills, an extracurricular class where young girls like myself could acquire the skills necessary to later enter the business world at remarkably low wages. This was, of course, to be expected and not questioned for a young girl in the 1940’s.
Ponce de Leon had it wrong. The fountain of youth was never bubbling away in some mangrove swamp in Florida. Rather, it rests on a hillside in winter, during the first snowfall of the year, the Tashmoo Overlook to be specific, where on Saturday all manner of children, big and small, towheaded and gray-haired, took to their sleds.
The hill is not huge, but the view is. While the snow fell, depth perception blurred until it seemed possible to launch off the hill and land somewhere halfway to the Cape.