The Swellesley Report

More than you really want to know about Wellesley, Mass.

Catch & release: Mr. Swellesley’s fishiest run yet

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First, thoughts and prayers to anyone who saw me running shirtless on Saturday morning. But really, I had a good excuse.

I got up before 6am to log an 11-mile run, part of my training for a half marathon in October. I would have preferred to get up a little later considering I’m up before sunrise most week days, but this was a special day: Our youngest child was heading off to college for his freshman year, and he wanted to get going by 8:30am. So rise early I did.

Once I got going I didn’t mind. The run would give me a chance to finalize in my head some words of wisdom to torture my son with on our drive to his college drop-off.

I also congratulated myself for remembering to use insect repellent, anticipating that bugs would be on the attack on this humid morning. Indeed, I pretty much held off the deer flies, mosquitoes and other biting pests.

But then a little past the 8-mile mark near Babson College’s new athletics and recreation facility, I felt a sharp pain near my left shoulder, on my upper arm. I suspected an insect had snuck under my sweaty shirt and was going to town on me. I whacked the spot a couple of times and then realized I was hitting something hard. What the heck?

I pulled off to the side (something I try never to do on my runs) and discovered the source of my pain: a fishing lure set with 2 treble hooks.

fish hook

I really didn’t think I’d ever outdo this past winter’s flying shovel running incident (Groundbreaking Wellesley story: Flying shovel hit me while I was running). But I think this qualifies.

This is no fish story

fishing lure
The lure, the shirt

 

I still don’t know how the lure clung to me. My first thought was that it must have been hanging from a tree that I brushed against. Or maybe less dramatically, we had one in our house that got mixed up in the laundry.

However it got there, it got me. As I struggled to dislodge it from my shirt and myself, the hooks dug in. The next thing I knew, a fellow runner (I regrettably failed to get her name) saw me struggling and asked if I needed help.

Self-described as “not mechanical at all,” and confirming that she was “far from being a doctor,” the woman went to work, apologizing if she ripped my shirt. Struggling to free the lure, she tentatively asked if I’d take my shirt off, to give her a better angle at the barbs. Unfortunately, one of her pulls extricated a hook from my shirt and into one of her fingers. After she freed herself from the hook, she tried a bit longer to help me and then suggested I might want to go to the doctor.

Instead, I wrapped the shirt around my left humerus like a tourniquet and ran as fast as I could for the last 3 miles. That consisted of a route mainly on the Sudbury Aqueduct, past the dump and back to my starting spot near Wellesley College.

I arrived home just at 8:30am, apologizing to Mrs. Swellesley and Swellesley Jr., for my late arrival (and being reminded of the time I got stuck on the Charles River without a paddle on an inflatable raft when I was supposed to be getting home for my niece or nephew’s christening…).

And oh yeah, can you help me get this fish hook out of my arm?

surgery wellesley
Pre-med?

 

My son, a former camp counselor with some basic medical training, switched from final packing mode to surgery mode. We headed to the downstairs bathroom, where the lighting is ER-quality. Mrs. Swellesley sterilized instruments and Swellesley Jr. cut my shirt off. After 5-10 minutes, he plucked the lure from my arm with little blood or screaming from either of us.

The affair provided one last boost of confidence to my son upon heading to college. “At least I’ve got a conversation starter,” he said, knowing he’s sure to be in for a week full of ice-breakers.

Glad I could help.

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Geese take over Severance Hill at Wellesley College…or do they?

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Severance Hill is legendary on the campus of Wellesley College. When it snows, students and townies alike use the steep slope for sledding. On a sturdy lower branch of the hill’s ancient oak tree, a swing usually appears in late spring. The Canada Geese currently grazing smack dab in the middle of the hill, however, are new.

I did a double take as I walked across campus. From a distance, the geese looked bona fide, but something was off. I’ve seen plenty of Canada Geese around the Wellesley College campus, but they’re usually either on Lake Waban or worn by fashion-conscious students sporting a winter coat label. These Severance Hill geese were different. A closer inspection revealed that the dozen waterfowl weren’t made of feathers and goose fat. These were changelings, handcrafted out of wood and painstakingly painted.

Canada geese, Wellesley College
Wellesley College seniors took part in a little fowl play last night on Severance Hill.

I asked a couple of passing students what it was all about. “I think it’s part of a senior thesis project,” said one. Oh. An art installation. Well, that would be laudable, I thought, but wouldn’t it be more fun if it were an end-of-year prank?

The front-desk staff at the Davis Museum cleared things up for me, and all it took was a quick look at a dorm’s Instagram account. There, a bold group claimed credit saying, “We ventured to Sev Green in an act of unity to prank Tower Court in the most epic of epic pranks…I hope you look up and smile as you are reminded of our time together.”

Well played, Wellesley College Class of 2019. You totally had me fooled.

Wonder what the Wellesley High School seniors will come up with this year.

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Time for Mrs. Swellesley to pay up at Wellesley Free Library

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Just last week I was on the Wellesley Free Library‘s list of Ten Most-Wanted fugitive patrons, and deservedly so. I’d checked out three books and lost them all. (If you must know, they were Bowlaway, by Elizabeth McCracken; On the Same Page, by N.D. Galland; and  Sapiens: a Brief History of Humankind, by Yuval Noah Harari.) Not a single one of them made it from my car to the house. Instead, all of them ended up in the used books area at the Wellesley Recycling and Disposal Facility. A Facebook commenter was incredulous. “I don’t understand – people bring their library books to the dump? Who the heck does that?”

Another commenter came to my rescue with the simple words, “It was a mistake.” Thank you for recognizing that, N.R.

Wellesley Free Library
Wellesley Free Library Director Jamie Jurgensen, right, accepts a check from Mrs. Swellesley for a lost library book.

That mistake brought me to a dark place where I teetered on the edge of rescinded library privileges. But before that scenario could move from nightmare to reality, I appealed to The Swellesley Report readership, and my call was answered. Thanks to our sharp-eyed readers, Bowlaway and On the Same Page were found at the RDF and returned to the library. There was just one more lost book to be found. I prayed for an Amazing Grace ending to the story as I renewed Sapiens. The renewal period ended, and there was still no sign of the non-fiction trade paperback. I tried to get more time, but the online system informed me that someone else was waiting to read about a brief history of humankind. The appeals process exhausted, I admitted defeat and wrote a check for the $23 cost of the book. It was an expensive consequence, but at least I’m back to a clean slate. For now. If you’ve been following this story, you know that I’m what might be called a challenging library patron. That means I lose books at a clip of around one a year. I’m not proud.

We had a good question from a reader who has felt my pain: “When I lose a book, why can’t I order one on Amazon and bring it in as the replacement book? Why do I have to pay full retail price to the WFL to resolve the issue? It’s frustrating when I know that I can get it cheaper but am not allowed to.”

According to Elise MacLennan, the library’s Assistant Director, “The cost of replacing a book can be divided into two categories: time and materials. Librarians and support staff are involved. First question – should we even replace it with the exact same thing? Perhaps there is a new edition or a newer book with better information. Librarians decide. Then every item goes through prep for borrowing, which includes cataloging, labeling, covering, etc. Each type of material has a different process.”

On the lam

During my time as a fugitive, I brazenly visited the library anyway. We felons are like that, always returning to the scene of our crimes. I would go in just to visit the shelves where the lost books used to live. I wanted to see if the librarians left those spaces empty, the way the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum curators leave an empty frame to mark the spot where Rembrandt’s The Storm on the Sea of Galilee hung before it was stolen in 1990.

Turns out Wellesley librarians aren’t as dramatic as all that. They simply shelve books as they always do, in straight and even rows, leaving no gaps to mark the tragic disappearance of books.

Now that I’m back in the good graces of the library, I feel so unburdened. All it took was a little checkbook penance to get my record all tidied up. I didn’t have to hire a lawyer. No one measured me for an orange jumpsuit. There will be no time-consuming visits with a parole officer.

Wellesley library card
Mrs. Swellesley’s fancy new library card.

As long as I was at the circulation desk handing over my check to Wellesley Free Library Director Jamie Jurgensen, I decided to complete the fresh start and get a brand-new library card because mine was ratty with curling edges and a nearly worn-out bar code. At least I think that’s why I got a new card. Maybe I couldn’t bear the idea of handing over a check and getting nothing in return. Some time in analysis with a good Freudian therapist could probably untangle this web of emotions, but who has time to lie on a couch and dredge up the unconscious? Seems easier to just leave my “losing” books issues buried and deal with the outcomes when I backslide.

For now, I’ll bask in the glow of my returned respectability, impermanent though both glow and respectability may be.

READ THE WHOLE BOOK-LOSING SAGA:

Chapter 1: Mr. Swellesley leaves library books at Wellesley RDF; Mrs. Swellesley mad as all get-out

Chapter 2: Update: readers rescue almost all Wellesley library books we left at the dump

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Sexton

You will go to see hypnotist at Wellesley HS fundraiser

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Comic hypnotist Frank Santos, Jr. uses the power of suggestion on audience volunteers.

Comic hypnotist Frank Santos, Jr. will come to Wellesley High School’s Katherine L. Babson Auditorium on Friday, March 15, 7pm, as a fundraising event for the WHS Class of 2020.

Come and be amazed when you, your friends or strangers across the room become stars of the show, as Santos makes audience members believe that they are singers, dancers, and more.  In Santos’ energetic and unique performance, the audience becomes the main attraction.

Tickets are $10 and will be sold at the door.

WHS Class of 2020 President Ryan Silverstein says, “We are raising money to help reduce the cost of Junior Boat Cruise as well as Prom and Senior Banquet. We are also raising money to make a monetary donation to a charity.”

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Not everything sparks joy in our Wellesley kitchen — Marie Kondo’s influence

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Organizational expert Marie Kondo has put me on notice, and I’m all the more joyful for it. Like the rest of America, I was aware of Kondo’s New York Times #1 bestseller The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up. Unlike the rest of America, I found her easy enough to tune out. While my friends folded their shirts into weird little tents, I moved piles of laundry from Point A to Area 5. They thanked their mismatched teaspoon sets for their service, then dropped them off at the Wellesley RDF Reusables area. I rescued those mismatched teaspoon sets from Reusables and shoved them into my utensils drawer, just in case my 1/4-teaspoon measure ever got crunched in the garbage disposal. Hey, it’s happened, and I lived in fear of a repeat.

With the advent of Kondo’s Netflix series, Tidying Up with Marie Kondo, the Japanese neatness guru has got me facing down my fears. All the teaspoons, plastic lids, and ratty dishtowels in the world aren’t going to prepare me for some end-of-world scenario or keep me solvent if the world banking system collapses. I’ve just got to live in the world as it’s presented to me at this moment and hang onto only those possessions that, as Kondo says, “spark joy.” Her message is simple: if a material object doesn’t spark joy, you should thank it for its service and let it go.

So far, my kitchen spices drawer is the most joyful place in the house. Goodbye curry, so long poppyseeds, I never loved you anyway, paprika, but thanks ever so for your service.

Marie Kondo, Wellesley inspiration
These are the spices that no longer spark joy. There they are, lined up on the kitchen windowsill for their photo-op. Next, I dumped the contents into my RDF Food Waste Program bin. After that, I tossed the containers into recycling. Thanks for your service, all.

 

The truth has set me free. I’m never going to learn how to cook with the many spices I’ve impulse-bought and then ignored. The fact is, my family didn’t really like the recipe for curry chicken, or the way the aroma hung about the house for a couple days after. “Can’t you just go to Singh’s when you’re in the mood for Indian?” my husband asked.

As for the poppy seeds, I stirred them into the lemon loaf recipe exactly once. My family objected to the extra flossing the black specks caused, and everyone voted for going back to the regular lemon loaf, no poppy seeds, thank you very much.

The nutmeg had expired in 2015, meaning it was originally ground at least a couple years before that. I do use nutmeg on the regular, but at 1/8 teaspoon per scatter in the buttermilk crumb muffins batter or as part of the apple crisp, I should stay vigilant and replace it yearly. Same with the paprika, which in theory gets sprinkled onto the devilled eggs except for the times it doesn’t, like when I hosted Bunco last month. Everyone devoured the devilled eggs sans paprika. Paprika, you may have lost a job.

Why, oh why, did I buy another container of red pepper flakes when I already had one? Because, as Marie Kondo would gently note, I didn’t know I already had a full container because my spices drawer was crammed too full.

Marie Kondo, Wellesley inspiration
My minimalist spices drawer. I’m so proud of my de-cluttering efforts that I’m going to swap out the Amazon cardboard-box drawer liner for something swanky from The Container Store. Marie says there’s nothing wrong with that as long as I honor my new possession by taking care of it properly.

 

I know what you’re thinking. It’s amateur hour in the Brown house and this spices drawer example proves we don’t know what real clutter is. I know because I’m Facebook friends with so many of you, and you are posting really impressive pictures of your own de-cluttering progress. I’ve seen pictures of beds piled with clothes, scarves, shoes, belts, linens, toys, books, and more. At least I think those were beds under there. Send some of your pictures to [email protected] and I’ll add them to this post.

All this talk of spice drawers is actually a huge smokescreen. My true hoarding secret? Well, I can’t even speak it aloud. The picture below says it all. Go ahead and judge me. I deserve it.

Marie Kondo, Wellesley tidy
If your email is lost somewhere in there, 1,019 apologies.

 

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At Wellesley Rec what Matt says, goes

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I always knew that the Wellesley Recreation folks were the most fun people in town. I mean seriously, the word recreation — as in fun, joie de vivre, good times — is part of their very job description. They have a good time and get the job done. Way to keep your Chin up, Rec. Thanks to sharp-eyed reader PH for this great pic.

Wellesley Recreation

 

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Beyond Wellesley: Theater review, Between Riverside and Crazy at SpeakEasy Stage

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People who live in $1,500-per-month rent-stabilized units in New York City’s Upper West Side don’t generally elicit a lot of sympathy. No matter how deep their problems run, they can never escape the undercurrent of envy from those paying three times that for a glorified closet, and a kitchen equipped with a hot plate and mini-fridge.

Speakeasy Stage, Between Riverside and Crazy
Photo credit: Speakeasy Stage

Not even if you’re a the former NYC cop and widower Pops, who was shot multiple times by a white cop and left unable to work. It was a clear-cut case of hanging out in a sketchy bar while black. The violence from that night has come to define Pops’ life, even as others beg him to settle his case with the city and move on in Stephen Adly Guirgis’ 2015 Pulitzer Prize-winning play Between Riverside and Crazy, playing at Speakeasy Stage in Boston’s South End through October 13. The action is set in a tough town where the apartment may be big, but the problems of Guirgis’ characters are even bigger.

Pop by and stay awhile

Pops, played with former-cop roughness by Tyrees Allen with a voice that growls when he’s in a good mood and spits out staccato anger when he’s not, is the lord of a manor that is slowly sliding into decay. Three young people share in/squat at his place, and they all call him some variation of “Father”.  His only actual progeny is Junior, played by Stewart Evan Smith with hangdog skulk. Junior is disappointed in himself, knows Pops is disappointed in him, and is glad his mother isn’t alive to see the petty electronics thief he’s become. Pops, for his part, is a tough taskmaster who demands a purity of motive from others that he doesn’t demand from himself.

If you’re looking for a feel-good plot and characters to cheer for as they lift themselves and others out of difficult situations, this isn’t the play for you. It’s got a set-you-on-edge kind of edginess, it pushes buttons, it tests limits in a way All in the Family used to in the 1970s. Just like in Archie Bunker’s house, you can tell the same arguments have been swirling around for years, never getting resolved but still emerging, precisely because they’ve never been resolved. Frustratingly, it seems certain characters don’t want certain issues resolved. If deep problems reach resolution, if blame is assigned and accepted, then the concept of fault becomes moot. That concept of fault is a recurring theme in the play.

Realistically, there are multiple problems the play addresses that can’t be magically solved by getting sober, by keeping the “right” sort of company, by bringing the stubborn around to the “correct” way of thinking, or by cutting a big check.

Some of the issues could have been taken care of long ago, some are rooted as deeply as race and class divides in this dark, dramatic comedy. Between Riverside and Crazy is tautly directed by Tiffany Green with deep understanding of the characters, their flaws, and their need to at least try to steer their own ships in the face of gale-force winds.

[Read more…]

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