This Mural is Racist?

In a small alley off of the Church Street Marketplace in Burlington, Vermont, you will find a mural painted on a wall entitled "Everyone Loves a Parade." The mural depicts several actual people in the group, and has been there for a number of years.

Recently, a local individual complained that the mural was "racist" because it did not depict any "people of color". While that individual is entitled to an opinion, it's not one I support. To me, the mural would be racist if it included a person or people of color and depicted them in a negative or demeaning way. To me, people who take direct action, such as uttering racial slurs, distribute flyers demeaning or insulting people of color, deny service to these people, or other similar actions, are racist. 

Is this artist, who is expressing his vision, and not doing anything one way or another related to people of color, being racist? By the same extension of this logic, Da Vinci's painting of The Last Supper is racist. So is Michelangelo's painting of the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Paintings of groups of people by Rembrandt and Renoir would also be racist. All of Norman Rockwell's paintings (except one: The Porter from 1947) would be racist. Even Disney's Seven Dwarves would be racist because neither Grumpy nor  any of the other dwarves is a person of color. The fact that an artist does not include a person or people of color in his or her work does not, in my mind, make it racist.

Does the fact that I happen to like the mural make me a racist? While I can, at times, be very opinionated and judgmental, I prefer to judge people by their character and by their behavior, rather than by the color of their skin and to view art by what it contains, rather then by what it does not. 

For those out there who, because of my views, would believe me to be racist, my response is to quote His Dudeness:

Meeting Wendell Gilley

I doubt that many of you have ever heard of Wendell Gilley. If you happened to live in Southwest Harbor, Maine, on Mount Desert Island, many years ago, and were in need of a plumber, you called Wendell Gilley.
Born in 1904, Gilley started out as a plumber in the 1920's. In his spare time, he started carving birds as a hobby. Starting in 1931, he entered into a business arrangement with Abercrombie and Fitch to supply carvings of small birds, which he sold for $5. His most famous, and probably largest work, was the eagle for the Wannamaker's Department Store in Philadelphia.
Eventually, Gilley's career as a plumber tapered off, and he turned to bird carving full-time. He had a shop just off of the main street in Southwest Harbor overlooking the harbor, and it was there that I met him in 1980.
My father had been a minister in Southwest Harbor and, when he moved with the family to Pennsylvania in the early 1960's, his farewell gift from the church was a carving by Wendell Gilley, which I own today.

The piece depicts a seagull landing on (or taking off from) a piece of driftwood. The gull is carved from wood and hand-painted, and the legs are made from lead (Gilley had collected old lead weights that had been used for balancing tires and melted them down to cast the legs, which were then painted). The piece sits in my office at home.

In 1980, it was before my father had given me the seagull carving, and I wanted to own a Wendell Gilley carving. I have made about thirty trips back to Mount Desert Island since moving away and, on this particular trip, I stopped by the Gilley workshop. He was sitting in the shop working on a carving, while there were probably a couple dozen other carvings in various stages of completion laying around. I introduced myself, and told him I was interested in buying one of his carvings. I also mentioned that I had lived in Southwest Harbor with my family years ago and that my father owned one of his carvings.

He asked about my family, and I told him about my father having been the minister at the Congregational Church on High Road. His comment, if you can imagine someone talking in a distinct Yankee accent, was "Ayuh. I knew your father. Never went to his church, but I knew your father." He then went on to tell me that he had several orders for pieces, and that the wait to get to mine would be about two years. Two years is a long time, and I wasn't sure I wanted to go down that road. I thanked him for the opportunity to meet him and for his time, and left.

In 1981, The Wendell Gilley Museum opened in Southwest Harbor. Wendell Gilley died in 1983 and, although his workshop was not preserved, the museum houses some of his works as well as works by other wildlife carvers.

I have been in contact with the museum and, as part of my estate planning, I am going to donate the seagull carving to the museum later this year, on my next trip back to MDI. Hopefully visitors to the museum will enjoy being able to see this piece, as well as many others created by Gilley and other talented artists.

The Accidental Stoner

The other night, my youngest daughter called. She and her dog, Nikki, were visiting her boyfriend at his house when it suddenly seemed like Nikki was having a medical emergency. 

According to my daughter, Nikki was having trouble with her balance and walking with her hind legs, was drooling, one side of her face was drooping, and she was peeing on the floor (she was housebroken and would not do this if she was OK). It sounded like Nikki was having a stroke.

Nikki is an elderly (11 year old) beagle mix that my daughter adopted from a shelter in Quebec when she lived in Newport. She is very social and friendly (unless you happen to be a mailman or a squirrel) and is loved by everyone who meets her (with the exception of Becca's cat).

My wife advised my daughter to take Nikki to the emergency veterinary center nearby, which is open around the clock, and that we would meet her there.

When we arrived and went into the exam room, Becca and her boyfriend were there with Nikki. Nikki was definitely unsteady, had trouble standing or walking, and looked up at me with eyes that were definitely unfocused. The Vet came in and examined her. She said that the symptoms, although they could be from a stroke, were classic for marijuana, and that this should be ruled out before getting into more expensive testing. 

Holding an emesis basin under her obtained a urine specimen, which was sent for a drug screen. A few minutes later, the Vet came back and announced, "The drug screen is positive; she's wasted.".

My daughter's boyfriend shares a house with several friends. Somehow, a small amount of marijuana ended up on the floor. Nikki likes to lick the floor, because people eat snacks and crumbs fall on the floor. Apparently, this is how she ingested the marijuana.

The Vet pointed out that dogs ingesting marijuana is a fairly common occurrence at the emergency center. She also spoke about other things that dogs could not tolerate. I already knew about chocolate, but she also mentioned cookie dough, onions, and grapes.

Anyway, Nikki was given fluids and charcoal, and sent home to rest and recover. The car ride was unusually quiet. She loves rides in the car, and is usually bouncing all over, looking out multiple different windows so she doesn't miss anything. This time, she laid quietly on the seat, cuddled up against me. 

The next day, Nikki was pretty much back to normal. Going forward, hopefully the floors at the boyfriend's house will get a little more frequent attention from a vacuum cleaner. While I am hopeful that the experience would change Nikki's habits, it appears not; she is licking the floor as I am typing this.

The Family Recipe for Ice Cubes

My late father was a minister in the United Church of Christ, married for over 50 years and, to say it nicely, a sometimes complex and strange individual. In his role as a minister, he was always professional and on point and was an excellent mentor for younger, less experienced ministers. At home, though, not so much.

The household when I was growing up was not abusive or anything like that, but my older brother, younger sister and I sometimes got some mixed messages.

Among the positives I learned at home, I do not gamble (it was never anything that was even mentioned in the house), I learned not to lie to people (he told me that, if you get caught in a lie, you have no credibility; you are better off saying nothing) and, something for which I have always been grateful, he introduced me to Monty Python.

My late mother, who had been an elementary school teacher prior to retirement, put up with a lot from him over the years. It was her who gave my father his household nickname (Jackass) which she used to address him when she was running out of patience and which he recognized as a sign to back off. He, in return, occasionally referred to my mother (although never in her presence) as "The Old Squaw".

I think my father sometimes had difficulty complimenting his children. He may have said some nice things, but I just don't remember any specific example. It was he who nicknamed my sister Flatso (referring to her chest). To me, he once said, "I stuck up for you the other day. Someone said you weren't fit to eat with the pigs, and I said yes you were." Another example: Someone said you were smarter than you look. I told them you'd have to be." I guess he wanted to make sure I didn't have an inflated opinion of myself. Although that's not a bad thing, it would have been nice if he had chosen a different way to deliver the message. Since we never really sat down and had an in-depth conversation, though,this was the way it went.

While being honest was important in the family, it was sometimes a hard lesson to hold onto when one saw examples out there of people that were frequently not honest (like members of Congress and embezzlers). If you are going to be honest (or dishonest) you want to get something out of it. I have never been in jail nor want to, but it's sometimes difficult when you are young to see what being honest does for you. His answer, which is part of the title of this piece was, "If you lead a good clean life, I'll leave you the family recipe for ice cubes." I guess the lesson was that being honest wasn't going to make me rich or powerful or anything like that, but you did it because it was the right thing to do and you shouldn't do it to expect to be rewarded.

As we all grew older, my father had the opportunity to share his unique influence with future generations of the Mitchells. Many years ago, one of my two daughters (I won't tell you which one) when she was about two years old, was picking her nose. My father, being his usual helpful self, said to my daughter, "I'll give you a dollar if you find a purple one." Thanks Dad. 

I Coulda Piddled You a Better Looking Waterfall

In the 1920's and 1930's, John D. Rockefeller commissioned workmen to build a 30+ mile system of carriage roads on Mount Desert Island. Rockefeller disliked cars, riding in them only when necessary. He preferred horse-drawn carriages, and had the roads built so he could indulge his pleasure. The roads and much of the other land he owned on the island were later donated to Acadia National Park.

While vacationing there, my wife and I decided to hike the Hadlock Brook Loop, near Hadlock Pond in Northeast Harbor. It's a 4-mile walk, highlighted by "the highest waterfall on Mount Desert Island" (a whopping 40 feet). The carriage road passes over the brook on Waterfall Bridge, a beautiful stone structure built in 1924.

We all have had underwhelming experiences in life, and seeing this waterfall is one of mine. It had rained only one day in the previous three weeks, so the brook had hardly any water. Upon seeing the "waterfall", my reaction generated the title to this piece.

I am sure that, when fed by melting snow or days of rain, the waterfall is probably pretty impressive, even on its' small scale. That day, though, I could have done just as well by drinking a quart of water and letting nature take its' course.

Bunker's Whore

When my wife and I make our annual vacation trip to Acadia, we will go to places we have seen before or patronize restaurants or stores we have previously experienced. We also make a point of seeing or doing something we have not done on previous trips.
On the trip we just finished earlier this month, among the new experiences was a history cruise. We went on a boat out of Northeast Harbor for a narrated cruise.
One of the sights we passed is pictured above. A mile or so off of Mount Desert Island is a feature called Bunker Ledge. It is actually two ledges (often referred to as Bunker Ledge and East Bunker Ledge). One of them has the stone pyramid on it as an aid to navigation, and allegedly it was built when George Washington was President.
For those who aren't fond of referring to Bunker or East Bunker Ledge, the feature is also known as Bunker's Whore. Bunker was a common surname of some of the early settlers on the nearby Cranberry Islands. Reportedly, a Captain Bunker "took the town trollop of Southwest Harbor sailing in his sloop." While out and about, he got distracted and was "not giving his sailing his undivided attention". As a result, his vessel ran aground on the ledge. Thus the alternate name.
It is always interesting to know the history behind the choice of names for towns, mountains, bridges, lakes, etc. I also found a feature called Asshole Rock, which is between Little Cranberry Island and Baker Island, but I guess that will be a story for another time.

A Tough Dog to Keep on the Porch

The title of this piece is a quote by Hilary Clinton, describing her husband. Some may remember him as that  dope-smoking, draft-dodging, woman-chasing hillbilly who served as the 42nd President of the United States. I'm guessing that she is referring to the woman-chasing part of the description. Over the years, he allegedly had numerous affairs which, although he consistently denied them, were readily acknowledged by the female side of the relationships.
While there were numerous affairs that became public, my guess is that there are just as many, if not more, that did not. Clinton consistently denied all of the affairs, demonstrating a personal morality that is hard to describe in positive terms. If Hilary had cut the crotches out of all of his pairs of pants and thrown them out the front door, people would have understood. Instead, she has defended him and stayed in the relationship. Perhaps all of the money they managed to make after he left office, combined with the influence he wields has enabled her to just not think about it.
Being President of the United States is definitely a difficult job, and, for many, challenges that they encounter are not always well-handled. I was having a discussion with a colleague, who was ranting about how much she hated Obama. While she is a bit vague about specifics as to what she doesn't like, she is a fierce Trump supporter, and equally vague as to why. I have made it clear that I am no fan of Trump, but I mostly let his incoherent ramblings speak for themselves. I had once described George W. Bush as "Intellectually Celibate", but I think Trump has him beat. Actually, the more exposure I have to Trump, the more I grudgingly appreciate Dubya.
Getting back to Clinton, he had mixed accomplishments as President. He did very well managing the economy and reducing the deficit, but also got us involved in Somalia and Kosovo. Unfortunately for him, he will probably be best known for Monica Lewinsky and impeachment. If you have to be famous for something, this isn't it. It's also sad, though, to think that, if "serial philanderer" had been an Olympic Event, Clinton would only have been the Silver Medalist of the White House (JFK had the Gold Medal by a wide margin, and was more discrete about it).
Now that Hilary's political career is over, she and her husband can continue to focus on making obscene amounts of money from making speeches and soliciting donations for their foundation, which gives them the power of the money without paying taxes.
I don't know if Hilary is able to keep him on the porch but, if the need arises, she can always dust off the scissors.