A Sign of Old Age?

I knew the contents of the letter before I even opened the envelope from my primary care physician. I knew it wasn't a bill from my appointment two weeks earlier. Or test results from the week earlier. I knew it was a good-bye letter.

This is the fifth such notification I have received in the past 18 months. First, it was the dentist. A man I used to go to church with, who I have been seeing for about a quarter of a century. He was moving away and taking his part of the practice with him.

About a year ago it was my OB/GYN. His retirement was not a surprise because he had already scaled back from doing obstetrics to only regular gynecological appointments. "Let the young doctors handle the middle of the night calls," he said.

Then came the message from my endocrinologist. My Adi. The doctor who talked me off a metaphorical cliff more than once after receiving bloodwork that was less than stellar. She always has a solution of what to try next. She gave so much notice that not only did I have time for a couple of more appointments, a retirement party with over a hundred people planning to attend. She is that well-loved.

Then the eye doctor with an end of the year email saying he was selling the practice. No chance for an in-person good-bye. His staff was surprised how quickly he left. No chance for a retirement party.

The latest letter came this week. Two weeks ago, I complained to her that most of my medical team was retiring. She didn't bat an eye or give me a hint that she was next. In hindsight, I'm surprised she ordered bloodwork since she won't be around to read it.

The hunt is on for new members for what I call Team Jacquie. The OB/GYN was part of a larger practice, so I've tried someone else. I don't even remember her name. The eye doctor sold to someone who has all my paper records. May as well try there. The dentist sold to someone. When I make my appointment, I know what building to go to, but there is such a revolving door since he retired, I have not bothered to get to know the names of the hygienists or dentists. If I wasn't so lazy, I'd find someone new. Same is true of the PCP.

Adi is going to be the hardest one to replace. She ran a solo practice. Did not take insurance, but the trade-off was very long appointments for what I would have to pay towards a deductible anyway. She always answered texts and emails with a smile and no extra fees. I wish her all the best, because I know she wishes all of us all the best. 

Time to find doctors younger than I am. Doctors who plan to keep working a couple of more decades. Hopefully ones who are just as compassionate as the ones they are replacing.

The Recent UK Election

A couple of weeks ago Don and I saw "Cable Street: A New Musical" off-Broadway at 59e59. The show is about the 1936 uprising against Oswald Mosely and the fascists in a working-class London neighborhood. It is the kind of show that lends itself to talking about politics. It is easy to assume that everyone in the audience is either pro-democracy or at least smart enough not to disagree with the message that fascism is bad, democracy is good.

We got to talking to a British couple at the small theater. Their daughter, Lu, is the costume designer for Cable Street. I've taken to following her on Instagram, where I am learning just how much goes into deciding what actors should wear on stage.

After the show the mum said she is worried about the May 7th election and asked if we could send good thoughts. I asked who she wanted to win, and she replied with "anyone but the Reform party." If you followed the UK elections, you know the Reform party won many seats ousting members of the Labour and Conservative parties. Technically there are 13 parties represented in their government, but these were the main two. From the little bit of research I did, the Reform party is akin to our MAGA party.

I sent Lu a message to pass on to her mum. I'm here for her. I am also disheartened to hear these candidates have their grip on her country. Unlike the well-meaning people who tried to console me as I was crying in Australia in November 2024, I won't even pretend it will all be fine. I've seen how destructive the opposition can be, and how hard it will be to get on the other side of it.

May saner heads prevail soon.

May we learn from the past and do better faster.

Mullica Hills Library Presentation

In 2023 and 2024 I have been digging at Red Bank National Park's Fort Mercer, directly across the Delaware River from Fort Mifflin. I tend to not think too much about the history of the site when I'm on an archaeological dig. Instead, I am living in the moment, following the protocols of the dig site, getting excited about the finds, and just having fun. It is not until later when I have a chance to step back and understand the history, and how these finds are connected to the greater picture. Sometimes the finds confirm the narrative. Sometimes it uncovers something completely unexpected.

Earlier in the week when I  automatically turned NPR on in my car, I hear the familiar voices of Jen and Wade talking about Fort Mercer. It was a treat listening to 250 year old history unfold as I drove to Planet Fitness. All felt right with the world.

I had already planned to drive to Mullica Hills Library to hear Jen talk about the history of Red Bank. Jen's day job is a college professor. She gave her presentation with the confidence of someone who captures the attention of teenagers and young adults. She spoke to the silent, mostly geriatric standing room only crowd as if she was giving a TED Talk on a topic she knew as well as she knows her own. Perhaps better.

The stories from Red Bank were divided into four parts:

• Pacifists
• Erasures
• Lost Mass Burial
• Violence Recorded

As Jen was speaking, I had flashbacks to her sharing these stories with me either in 2023 or 2024. The words were not new to me. What was new was that I brought a pen and my notebook and took notes. Someone asked me if I was with the local paper. A common question when I'm taking notes.

Part one: Pacifists

The site was owned by the Whitall Family. Conservative Quakers and, therefore, pacifists, they were not at all pleased to learn their bucolic farm overlooking the Delaware River was being commandeered for the Revolutionary War. Jen did a much better job describing the scene. How the site was self sufficient for the family, including their nine children, and dozen indentured servants when in the spring of 1777 their property was seized.

Soldiers cut down their fruit trees and took whatever they wanted. All the Whitalls wanted was to lay low and wait the war out unscathed. In September 1777 Philadelphia fell to the British and the Whitall property was ideally located to fight them.

The Battle of Fort Mercer took place on October 22, 1777. It was over in 45 minutes, and killed 110 Hessian soldiers. It was chaos. The home was turned into a field hospital. Everything the family built was destroyed over a war they were doing their best to hide from.

I can't imagine how they felt, how they survived.

On October 22, 1777 the war came to their property. The battle lasted a mere 45 minutes, killing 110 Hessians and a few Patriots. Hundreds more were inured. Whitall House became a field hospital.

Part two: Erasure

To me this it the most fascinating part of the story. As the famous line in Hamilton goes, "who lives, who dies, who tells your story." In the 1840s and 1850s there is a move to reimagine the Battle of Fort Mercer. The wife, Ann Cooper Whitall is rumored to have stayed behind to tend to the wounded. 

The more frustrating part of the history that was whitewashed was that the Black soldiers who fought for the Patriots were forgotten. The second and third Rhode Island regiments were fully integrated -- a rarity for the era. After fighting in Red Bank, they marched to Valley Forge where General George Washington segregate them. Their participation was all but forgotten.

William Cooper Nell, a prominent African-American journalist and abolitionist, said in his 1855 book The Colored Patriots of the American Revolution that "people are forgetting our history." In 1861 to celebrate Emancipation Day in Great Britain (which happened in 1834--decades before it happened in 1862 in the United States), the famous African-American congregation of Mother Bethel AME Church in Philadelphia organized a group outing to Red Bank. In that time period people were romanticizing the Revolutionary War and were visiting the sites of battles. This battle was part of what Dr. Jen referred to as vernacular history. a term I hope to use more often. The church brought their children to Red Bank to "celebrate colored American patriotic achievements."

She used two other phrases I noted, but did not define: mobilization of memory and memory as resistance.

Red Bank Battlefield Park was a mess when the Sons of the American Revolution, the Daughters of the American Revolution (DAR), and the Gloucester County Historical Society banded together to form it on land given by the State of New Jersey in 1906. This was the start of the Gloucester Parks Commission.

In 1905 Eugene Gregory write an op ed excited that this new park would finally be able to tell the story of the Black soldiers. He wrote a letter to the governor of New Jersey. In June 1906 the park was dedicated without a word about the Black soldiers. A Hessian, Col. Carl Ulrich von Donop, was mentioned on a plaque, but not the forgotten soldiers.

In 1927 a new display was created honoring the 150th anniversary of the battle. Charles Lindbergh flew over the event. One of the best finds was a small toy plane found during a dig. I think my find of a hand holding a flag (which is not necessarily from this day) is the best find, but I am partial.

Frank Stewart wrote THE official guidebook of The History of the Battle of Red Bank in 1927. It was still considered the most authoritative guide until the 1990's. In it he said of the rumors that African-Americans served at the Battle of Red Bank, they were "swarthy-complected Frenchmen." Whatever that means. 

Another find from the archaeological site was a pin found with the words Patriotic Order of the Sons of the American Revolution. Whitewashing. The only Patriots were white and male. The 1920s were a dicey time in Red Bank history, the KKK was active in nearby Woodbury.

Part three: Mass Hessian Burial

My friend, Dan, was there when the Hessians were found. As Jen has repeatedly said, she never would have invited the public if they had any idea they would find dead bodies. As is the case on most dig sites (at least anecdotally), the best finds happen in the last hour of the last day. I'll spare the details of what they found. Just imagine a battle and imagine the other side did the cleaning up. The state forensic archaeologists were brought in to make sure they were old bones (finding a musket ball lodged in a leg bone was the big clue it was old). Some DNA samples were taken, but no direct ancestors have have located (at least not yet). 

Part four: Evidence Recorded

John Burlingame recorded the battle on one side of a powder horn. It was hidden in plain sight for many years as he recorded a scene from Valley Forge on the other side of the powder horn. That side was on display at Valley Forge. It is currently part of a private collection. Picture at the end of this post.

Click HERE to register to hear Jen's talk via Zoom at the Genealogical Society of New Jersey.

A couple of exciting things are happening this summer at Red Bank.

Public archaeology is back! Register HERE. 

The powder horn will be making a one day appearance at Red Bank on June 24th. Visit their website for more details. 

New signage is coming this fall which will talk about the role of Black soldiers, and identifying Red Bank as a part of New Jersey's Black Heritage Trail.

* Mistakes in this post are due to my poor note taking and not Jen's research skills.

May Day "Workers over Billionairs" Protest

I am tired of protesting. 

I am tired of following the news and learning about how everyday a certain someone and his goons have sunk to a new low. This week was accusing Democrats of hate speech and being the reason behind the "assassination attempt" at the White House Correspondents Dinner followed by the gutting of the Voter Rights Act.

I am so ready for a change in administration and for us to start rebuilding instead of tearing apart. We cannot survive another three years of all this.

The May Day protests were to encourage people to not go to school or work, and not to purchase anything. Unlike the No Kings Day protests, standing up with signs was not the main focus on May 1. Still, about 40 of us gathered for an hour on the I-95 overpass of Route 206. Nationally over 500 events were created, plus more internationally representing 93 unions in 41 countries. May 1 is a big holiday on the global stage. It is a day off in France and in other countries.

I used my "Be Strong and of Good Courage" sign from before. Seems to fit most situations.

The forty protestors in Lawrenceville were all my basic demographic (WASP), skewing older than me. They seem to be a nice group of people dedicated to wanting to do something, anything to stop feeling helpless.

So we gather and stand. We talk about what Heather Cox Richardson, Joanne Freeman, and others have to say.

I met Beth who is in charge of the Lawrence Community Activists. I complimented her on always starting her messages with hope. We need hope. We need to know we are making a difference. I hope she knows her hard work is appreciated. We look as non-threatening as they come.

As the weather warms it will become easier to keep protesting. It was nice being able to walk to the protest wearing capris and an RBG t-shirt. However, I also recognize that this time of year life gets even busier. As I told one woman who apologized for not getting out in months because she had knee surgery and needed time to recover, individually we can't do it all, but together we can.

Without hope it is hard to keep going. Let's try to keep hope strong.

My Bologna Has a First Name it is O-S-C-A-R

If you are of a certain age, you now have an earworm bouncing around your head. 

You are welcome!

On Wednesday I spotted the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile outside Wegmans. I snapped a quick picture and didn't think much of it.

Then I saw on FaceBook that the Wienermobile would be on display at the Marrazzos in West Windsor and Princeton on Thursday and Friday afternoons. Friends went to see it in West Windsor and posted really cute pictures. I opted to go to Princeton to see it for myself.

The Wienermobile is just as adorable in person in person as it is in pictures. Going in person I was able to poke my head inside. I was surprised to see the vehicle seats six people. The front four seats have a window, but not the two behind the door where it says Oscar Mayer. The interior has a center strip of red vinyl, with a black carpeting with geometric shapes under the seats. The red and yellow leather captain chairs are each by themself, I don't know if any incline, but you cannot stretch across two for a snooze.

I just realized other than the photo above, I did not any pictures of the interior, so I am using Christine's photos: 

The young people who travel with the Wienermobiles are called hotdoggers. They are so enthusiastic. One tried to give me the history of Oscar Mayer dating back to the 19th century, which is on their website. Some were grilling hot dogs to hand out; others are snapping pictures of tourists. I do see that the Wienermobile tradition began in 1988. I did not bring a notebook, nor did I pay attention to the spiel, so I was pleased to see it online. Instead, I waited until there was a gap in the line and asked the hotdogger to take my picture as if I owned it. 

I thought about reaching out to a friend to share the experience with me, but I opted to pop over alone and keep it brief. I still wanted to go to the May Day Protest at 4 pm, go for a run since it was a nice day, and see Aimee in her Gospel Choir Concert at the high school. 

I learned later I should have asked to hear the horn. Evidently it plays the O-S-C-A-R jingle. I smile just thinking about it. Angela said when she asked on Thursday, she was told the horn is not working. Next time I see the Wienermobile I'll be sure to ask about the horn. May it be fixed by then.

Newlin Grist Mill

A teeny tiny update about archaeology at Newlin Grist Mill. After taking a week off due to weather and busy schedules, we met up again this past Wednesday. I was early for once because I first dropped Don off at Philadelphia International Airport for his flight to Omaha, Nebraska. While it is nice to arrive at the start, it turns the 75-minute (which already feels long) drive into a 105-minute one. Traffic is just that much worse driving through Center City on I-95.

I was the first to arrive this week. Mike, who is usually very quiet, immediately teased me for getting there so early then launched into a monologue about how much he wants a car like my convertible, but is disappointed they stopped making them in 2008. 

Me, too, Mike. Me, too. 

We were a small crew this week. Ed was back, as was Mike. Matt, and his 20-something back, is a welcome addition to the team. Keith said a board member recently donated empty bird seed containers. They are square and smaller than the usual round Home Depot contractor buckets. We are optimistic that the new size will be easier to lift out of the test units.

Keith measured test unit 8, and I dutifully drew a site plan and a level plan. Even though he taught us how to do this last year, there is nothing like doing it on the site to have the information sink in. Meanwhile, Ed, Matt, and Mike began digging in test unit 9.

In the upper most level (level 1) we found an assortment of buttons, and an Indian Head penny circa 1883. There were also the usual building materials, and some bones left over from a long-ago dinner, but they don't warrant as many photos these days. 

The drive is long. Gas prices are rising. We often stop working by 1 or 2 so Keith can do other parts of his job, and because he doesn't want to wear any of us out physically. That is a great incentive for arriving closer to 9:30 than to 10. I will try to keep that in mind this Wednesday.

This is one of the few places in my life where I feel I truly belong. When I asked how the public archaeology day went and was told they had nine volunteers, I replied "so you didn't miss me," meaning they had enough coverage. Keith answered without a hint of sarcasm or derision "we were fine, but of course we missed you" in a way that I knew he and the guys enjoy having me around. 

Another Two Show Day

Recently I shared it has been a long time since we've seen two shows in one day, other than seeing both parts of Harry Potter in London that is. Back in January we saw Cable Street: A New Musical about the 1936 uprising against Oswald Mosely and the Fascists. In the programme it said they were heading to New York City, so of course I asked where and when exactly. That's how we learned about 59e59, an Off-Broadway playhouse located on 59th Street. We became members so we could purchase tickets early plus receive some other benefits.

Opening day included both a matinee and evening performance. We chose the Sunday evening performance knowing it would leave the possibility of buying tickets to a matinee in a different theater.

We made brunch reservations at Pastis in New York City's meatpacking district. This is a splurge usually only made for my birthday due to stumbling upon them on my actual birthday in September 2020. Though more than we normally pay for a meal, Don agrees not to cringe when he sees the bill, their quiche is mouthwateringly delicious, and now that COVID is over, we sit indoors and feel as if we are in a Parisian bistro. As we waited for our table, we learn this is the type of place that notes your dining preferences, which might explain how we've been in the same part of the restaurant multiple times. 

We had a couple of ideas for how to spend the next seven hours, but the sudden drop in the temperature was not conducive to taking the ferry back to Roosevelt Island to continue the exploring we did a couple of weeks earlier. We turned to both the Theatr and TodayTix apps to find a reasonably priced show we wanted to see and decided on The Fear of 13 with Adrien Brody and Tessa Thompson at 3 pm. Since the show performs without an intermission, we figured that would leave us just enough time to eat dinner before the 7 pm curtain eleven street and several avenues away.

The Fear of 13 is based on a true story about Nick who was arrested for a crime he did commit but was then convicted for a crime he did not do. He served 22 years on death row in Pennsylvania. Today he is a free man who has seen the show. I first heard about it from a Facebook story of a man who was invited by the real Nick to watch the show with him from the balcony of the James Earl Jones theater. That must have been quite the experience! Nick was the first prisoner in Pennsylvania to be exonerated once DNA evidence was allowed. The play is as powerful and gripping as you would expect. It earned the standing ovation at the end. All audience members had to put a sticker over their cell phone cameras before being allowed in the theater -- a step down from when we saw Liberation in the same theater and we had to put our cell phones in pouches, like we did when we saw Take Me Out in a different theater 2023, but in this case he only strips down to his boxer shorts. Afterwards they paused for the annual Broadway Cares pass the red bucket for a good cause, in this case for AIDS. When we saw the same buckets passed after seeing Hamilton, the call was for the current home of the Orphan's Asylum Society (now called the Graham Windham) that Eliza Hamilton founded. With that in mind, I was hoping the cause would be the Innocence Project since the organization that helped Nick earn his freedom. Perhaps Broadway Cares raises money for the same organization at each performance, and it was just lucky that that night it had a tie to Hamilton. I wish Nick all the best as he reclaims his life.

Emotionally spent from his journey, we still needed dinner. Out of desperation I googled "food near me." The top result was Black Iron Burger, a place we had eaten at before. Knowing the timing was tight, I made a reservation for 15 minutes in the future and hightailed it. While we still miss The Counter, Black Iron Burgers are really good, but not nearly as filling. The timing worked out. I had a truffle burger, and we had plenty of time, arriving before the doors opened. 

I brought my London Cable Street programme with me. As I compared the current cast with the one I saw in London, I was pleased to see they all came -- even the woman who had expressed (rightful) concerns about being able to enter the United States safely. I was glad I brought both the book and a Sharpie with me when after the show I had an opportunity to ask for autographs. Every so often I'm organized! 

I overheard the couple behind me saying in their British accents that they saw Cable Street in London. They actually saw an iteration before the Off-West End production at the Marlybone Theatre because their daughter, Lu, is the costumer. I've since started following her on Instagram and am blown away by the attention to detail she incorporated into each costume. Ever since becoming a Perry reviewer, I've learned to pay attention to the technical details.

I don't tend to see a show more than once, but I am really moved by this script and the chance to see it closer to home was too good to pass up. Talking to Lu's parents I learned it had a few tweaks since London, though I'm not 100% sure where the tweaks took place. The biggest difference was the size of the stage. Eyeballing it, the stage in NYC is half the width of the one on London. This impacted set design and choreography. It felt too crowded. Too squished. The three families represented in the Cable Street apartment building no longer have the ability to have their own space. Story wise, this works as their lives and stories intertwine, but from the audience it felt chaotic. When the entire cast was on stage I wanted to tell some to leave. The stage was further crowded by having the band at the top. My pictures don't quite do it justice. 

London curtain call

New York curtain call

We acted as "seeing eye Americans" to help our new British friends find their way back to their hotel. We remember how disorienting it is to make sure the streets are clear before crossing when they drive on the opposite side as home. It is hard to remember we still have a two-hour journey home when walking the less crowded streets on a nice Spring Day. I don't know how people commute from our neighborhood to the Big Apple. It is different now with more working from home options, but still not easy. The next day I am always grateful we are not returning and can rest.