Happy (Almost) 4th of July!

It just occurred to me that I signed up to blog for the Sistahs this week. I've been busy reading and editing chapters from the next two books that will be published by Apprentice Shop. Both books are part of the 25 Women You Should Know Series.

The lives of these women are just fascinating. They've accomplished many firsts (such as Maria Mitchell, the first woman astronomer) and fought for equal rights (such as Lucretia Mott).

Through their skills, they changed attitudes--as Dorothea Lange did with her photographs and Dolores Huerta did with the United Farm Workers.

Tomorrow we celebrate our country's independence. We'll think about the Revolutionary War years and the signing of the Declaration of Independence. We'll watch parades and fireworks displays. Maybe, we should also take Abigail Adams' advice, too, and "Remember the ladies."

We often speak of America's founding fathers, but our country's had some pretty great "moms" as well.

Killing Time at Logan

I'm reading Twilight by Stephenie Meyer. Mickey, a former student of mine entering 8th grade in the fall, said it was the best book she'd ever read. Ever. She loved it so much that she slowed down the pace of her reading because she didn't want it to end. So when I found myself with an hour to kill in the Cell Phone Waiting Lot at Logan Airport yesterday, I reached into my World's Greatest Teacher tote bag and pulled out the copy of Twilight I've been dragging around for the last month.

At first, I was distracted by all the "-ly" words. Quickly, sheepishly, gruffly, immediately, unwillingly, brightly, precariously, convincingly, hopefully, finally, gradually, tentatively, apprehensively, vaguely, excessively, devastatingly, quickly, critically, reluctantly, surreptitiously, inconspicuously, occasionally, loudly, carefully, exceptionally, quickly, appreciatively. Did I mention quickly? Things happen quickly in Meyer-world. A lot.

Okay, so the writing isn't anything to write home about. What about the characters? Bella annoyed me, and Edward's intensity was laughable.

I decided to stop reading like a writer, and start reading like a girl caught between 7th and 8th grade. I gave my inner critic the rest of the day off. I read past the adverbs and forced myself into Bella's head. My 13-year old self loved this book. I found Edward leap-frogging over Paul McCartney and Davy Jones to land at the top of my adolescent dream-boyfriend list.

That said, there are so many great books out there and so little time to get through them, I'm not sure if I'm going to finish this one or not. I know my 13-year old self wouldn't have closed the book before reaching the end. I can't say the same for my 53-year old self.

Research Rule #1: Don't Believe Everything You Read on the Internet

I've learned to check and double-check information gleaned from the internet. If somebody forwards an email touting the cancer cure Johns Hopkins has been hiding, I'll check the content at both Johns Hopkins and Snopes before spreading the good news. If I learn something brand spanking new about a research subject, I'll make certain the source is unimpeachable, and that I can reliably validate that information.

There are some things, however, that I do not question. If I read on the Fandango website that I can catch a showing of Iron Man at the Ioka Theater at 8 p.m., I'm going to believe it. And if I read on the Rebecca Nurse Homestead website that the hours starting June 15th include Thursdays from 10 a.m. to 4:30 p.m., I'll believe that, too. Silly me.

When I arrived at the homestead to sift through the remnants of Rebecca's life, it was closed. The two cars parked outside Rebecca's door lead me to believe somebody must be there, but my repeated knocks and calls of hello-oo went unanswered. I tried phoning the office on my cell, but got little satisfaction from the tinny voice on the answering machine. I left a slightly miffed message, then began roaming the homestead, snapping pictures.

Several clapboards had been replaced and not yet painted, the untreated wood slashing the home's red facade. A kitchen garden was unfolding outside the doorstep, it's neat little rows of corn just about knee high. Except for the two cars parked in the dooryard, I suspect things looked pretty much the same through Rebecca's eyes as they did through mine.

I wandered out to the cemetery where Rebecca's monument dominates the surrounding headstones. A second largish monument sits close to Rebecca's. It lists the names of the people who stood at her trial publicly testifying to her exemplary Christian character, brave souls all.

A pile of Putnams were buried over on the far side of the cemetery, direct descendants of the Putnams who accused Rebecca of witchcraft. How could such a revolting development not leave poor Rebecca eternally rolling in her grave?

As my visit wore on, my slight miffedness melted away. I was happy for the solitude and the chance to walk in Rebecca's footsteps. So what if I didn't get to go through the house? I had the run of the rest of the homestead. And I didn't have to pay $6.50 for the privilege.

Procrastination Vacation, Part Deux

The procrastination vacation continues with a field trip! I figure if I'm not going to be writing anyway, I may as well do something that advances the cause. I'm turning my attention to Rebecca Nurse and heading down to Danvers, MA to do a bit of research at the Rebecca Nurse Homestead. I lived on the North Shore years ago in both Danvers and Beverly, so I feel like I'm going home.

I actually visited the Rebecca Nurse Homestead when I was a kid, but I mustn't have been paying much attention. I remember very little about the homestead other than its centerpiece was a big old saltbox affair of a house. I also remember hoping to see a bedwarmer, like the haunted one flying around in an episode of Bewitched filmed at the House of Seven Gables in nearby Salem. Maybe because I used to live on the North Shore, or maybe because I completely loved Bewitched, I remember every last detail about that episode.

Which leads me back to writing. I want to write a Rebecca Nurse chapter for Women of the Bay State: 25 Massachusetts Women You Should Know which my young readers will remember into old age. It shouldn't be that difficult, considering how remarkable Rebecca's life was. It'll be even easier if the bedwarmers start flying around the homestead later today.

Shhh! Don't Tell!

I hope my executive editor doesn't see this. I'm supposed to be working on the final draft of Isabella Stewart Gardner for Women of the Bay State: 25 Massachusetts Women You Should Know, but somehow find myself between rounds of Chuzzle. I've decided to make it official and take a one-hour procrastination vacation.

It's not that I don't find Isabella fascinating. I do. Unburdened by the daily grind of keeping body and soul together, she did things only people with scads of money and a great sense of style can do. She had two diamonds fastened to springs and wore them like antennae. She traveled the world buying up Rembrandts, Botticellis, Titians, and Vermeers. She built an Italian-inspired palace on the Fenway in Boston to house her magnificent collection.

I bet Isabella never took a procrastination vacation.