Category: Granite Views

My new go-to is yoga. Too much hiking and not enough stretching, not to mention crouching over my keyboard, brings on unaccustomed pains. The breathing, poses and mental habits of yoga rejuvenate me. Even practiced in a drafty community rec center, yoga loosens my muscles and expands my mind.

The language is part of it. I do not mean Sanskrit, the ancient language the first yogis spoke. I mean the word patterns and translations used by my American teachers, each of whom brings their own style and experience to class. They all emphasize that practicing yoga is a personal journey. There are modifications for different bodies and room for different degrees of challenge on different days. After all, it seems, “Leg” and “Hip” and our other body parts are esteemed colleagues. It’s OK, I’m told, if “Back Body” wants to just drape in “Child’s Pose” for an hour.

The descriptive names of yoga’s poses and flows just tickle me. “Downward Dog” and “Cow-and-Cat” are well-known, the stuff of birthday card jokes. But what about “Seated Half-Fish“ or “Revolved Chair’’? I have to wonder if these sound as funny in the original. My teachers actually do refer to the final pose, lying prone on the mat in silence for a few minutes, in Sanskrit. I imagine that’s because we Americans aren’t very comfortable with death and “savasana” means “corpse.” Although there is a practice known as laughter yoga, and various animal-accompanied classes are guaranteed to make one smile (think yoga with goat, butterfly, kitten), I’m not in one of those classes. I giggle as quietly as possible at the imagery of my teachers’ words.

Physical movement is only one of the eight limbs of yoga. Breathing control, behavioral self-restraints and disciplines, withdrawal of the senses, concentration and meditation are others, culminating in liberation. A significant and growing body of research backs up what dedicated yogis have always known about the emotional and mental as well as physical benefits. Yoga reduces anxiety and depression and strengthens parts of the brain important for memory, attention, awareness, thought and language.

The pandemic has caused significant mental health challenges, particularly among younger adults, racial and ethnic minorities, essential workers and unpaid adult caregivers. Experts surveyed by the Pew Research Center predict that some of the worst stressors — economic inequality, misinformation and “tele-everything” — will persist in the new normal. At the very least, life will remain unpredictable. We can ease ourselves into position to handle it, and help others, by stretching our bodies and minds. When my hip joints are screaming as I criss-cross my legs, my teacher says, “Breathe. Sit up tall. Allow the change.” Ever so slowly my pain, thoughts, and feelings do change.

It’s a tough time to be in the world of education. Local school boards spend their time addressing parental concerns on critical race theory, mask and vaccine mandates, and in-person versus remote learning. Faculty, staff and administration offer another perspective on these topics. With all the background noise, the purpose of education easily gets overlooked, and many students are struggling in the current dynamic environment. Consider what it must be like for refugee students who have landed in this new world of learning.

Recently I spoke with Riyah Patel, founder of New American Scholars, a New Hampshire-based nonprofit that provides peer-to-peer tutoring and mentorship to refugee students. Riyah started this nonprofit last summer at the age of 15 because she herself had struggled with remote learning, finding it difficult to connect with her instructors and peers. If she was struggling, how difficult must it be for kids who have been forced from their countries and homes, landing here with scant resources?

Riyah reached out to local refugee organizations and inquired about interest in a summer tutoring program for this population. The response was overwhelming. Because she had only one tutor (herself), she limited her services to 10 students. She then connected with the Concord Public Library for space. With her parents’ help on transportation, she was up and running.

The students ranged in age from fifth grade to high school. She grouped the kids based on their skill levels and worked with them Monday through Friday over the course of the summer. Due to cultural and language barriers, combined with the online learning system, the kids felt behind and abandoned by the American school system, yet they were engaged in the tutoring process and wanted to learn and fill in the knowledge gaps. By summer’s end, all students had shown immense progress. Riyah’s vision is to expand and offer services statewide, possibly partnering with schools. Her goal is for this nonprofit to become self-sustaining and carry on for many years to come. The website is up and running (newamericanscholars.org), and she is seeking additional tutors for the coming summer.

Perhaps there is a lesson in this story for the American education system. Sometimes we must cut through the noise and get down to the business of educating students, all of them, creating learning opportunities that meet individual students where they are. There are many ways to do this, and one very passionate and motivated 15-year-old student is leading the way.

Perhaps more than any other time of year, New Year’s Day is when we are most conscious of the very passage of time. The sentiments of the day bid us both look back and look ahead. Janus, the Roman god of beginnings, gates, transitions, time, duality, doorways, passages, frames and endings, even lives on in the name given the first month of the year. The Scottish song many struggle to sing at midnight New Year’s Eve, “Auld Lang Syne,” carries the meaning “Long old times,” and prompts us to reflect on the times past that bring us to this time. Perhaps that is why this year I received so many “Happy New Year” text messages from old friends from whom I had not heard for many years.

This New Year has, however, brought an especial opportunity to reflect on time: Witness the many media sources that carried, in one form or another, the headline “A Second Pandemic Year.” Like the first, this second pandemic year has altered our experience and measurement of time. Yes, it has slowed things down, kept us at home or at least closer to it, but it has also given us new ways to mark its passage: ways that are linked to the pandemic. As many families gathered this holiday season, they acknowledged when last they were able to do so because of the pandemic. In addition, how many Thanksgiving dinners, holiday parties and other gatherings were canceled or at least reduced in attendance owing to a positive Covid test result? Such are the new markers of the times, along with, of course, the occasions of sickness or death of family members and loved ones.

In ancient folk traditions, mask wearers would gather and dance, a practice that developed in the 16th century into what was known as a “masque.” At such events, the wearing of a mask granted anonymity to a person, and although the designs of the masks could differ in ornamentation and style, all who were wearing them knew they had something in common despite those differences. Might we mask-wearers now be living through a modern version of a masque?

Perhaps at New Year’s Day 2023 we shall be able to look back to these long ago mask-wearing times and reflect on the masque of which we have all been a part. St. Augustine once wrote, “What then is time? If no one asks me, I know what it is. If I wish to explain it to him who asks, I do not know.” Might we know better the time this time next year?

by Fred Bramante

The subject of critical race theory (CRT) has been raised and fought over in school districts all over our country. Many parents, teachers and school board members are interested in finding a way to teach American history that includes our shortcomings. For over a year, this challenge has divided communities, often resulting in threats and even outright violence. Those arguing for a more accurate history curriculum often appear as trying to make America look bad, make white folks look bad, and instill guilt in schoolchildren. While I am no expert on CRT, I am a proud American who believes that there needs to be a way to discuss this important issue in which everybody stays at the table. I believe I have a solution. I am proposing the development of a curriculum for teaching about race and equity issues that is rooted in American pride.

I am a first-generation Italian-American whose ancestors and millions of other immigrants have been greeted by the Statue of Liberty since 1884, less than two decades after the Civil War was fought over ending slavery, with the words “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.” These words make me proud of my country and how it was rooted in principles of liberty and justice for all. That original ideal seems to play little or no role in CRT curriculum debates.

What if conversations were wrapped in America’s unending efforts to “form a more perfect union”?

I am proud that the basic concept that is America starts with “all men are created equal,” despite the fact that many of the authors of those amazing founding documents did not live up to those sacred words. But the fact that they, in essence, carved those words in stone for generations of Americans to live up to has moved the nation and the world in an ever more fair, diverse and equitable direction.

America has a long history of moving the moral universe, not only with its personal struggles over issues of racial equity but with women’s rights, LGBTQ rights and the promotion of human rights all over the world. Are America and the world where we want them to be, yet? Hell, NO! But, I, for one, am proud of America’s ongoing influence and leadership on these issues, and that’s a conversation that I believe we can have, warts included, with all of our citizens. It’s not a conversation rooted in American shame, but one rooted in American pride.

Fred Bramante is a past chairman and memtber of the New Hampshire State Board of Education. He speaks and consults on education redesign to regional, state and national organizations.

Our family has always enjoyed stories. Car rides, since the time my daughter was very young, have included listening to fables, fairy tales and fantastic fiction from the time we first heard New Hampshire-based Simon Brooks in person and then purchased his CDs. And our lives have revolved around musical theater since my daughter was enthralled by a Manchester Community Theatre Players production at age 4 and she left the auditorium filled with wonder, singing the words. Our home has been filled with song ever since!

As we watched the Harry Potter 20th Anniversary special I realized there was something different about this particular story centered on three children at the wizarding school of Hogwarts. Sure, my husband and I had seen every movie as soon as it was released. And he had read all the books. However, once our daughter was old enough to be introduced, things took on a different character.

My husband began by reading her the first five books. Being the Ravenclaw that I am, we followed age-appropriateness guidelines for watching the movies. As she grew, my dyslexic daughter was able to ear-read by listening to the stories herself. Soon she had completed the whole series and was listening to it again, for a second and then a third time. Listening to the stories, little by little, at bedtime, provided a comforting touchstone for my Hermione-inspired daughter, up through middle school. We lost count of how many times she heard the whole series and suspect she could place in the Guinness Book of World Records if we only knew.

The highlight of many Christmases included Potter-themed clothes, gear and games, including our Hufflepuff, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw “letter-sweater” jackets for my daughter, my husband and me, respectively, that we then wore to an interactive HP-themed Christmas show in Portsmouth! We once left a family reunion in Sarasota and drove across Florida to spend less than 36 hours at the new (second) Universal theme park and experience the train ride between parks. Most memorable was her 8-year birthday party, an all-out HP-themed extravaganza complete with a “run-through” train station wall, a sorting hat, a Quidditch game, a car in a “Whomping Willow,” adults in character — my husband was Rubeus Hagrid and I Professor McGonagall — and a trek through the Forbidden Forest to save the unicorn by all the children in their Hogwarts regalia!

We have mourned the death of Alan Rickman and other cast members. And watching the retrospective, I got misty realizing the cultural phenomenon that Harry Potter has proven to be — inspiring millions of children, youths and adults, to not lose hope, to fight for good, and to understand and trust the transformative power of love. Now that’s true magic.

As Hippo rounds out its 21st year I want to express my gratitude.

In the past 21 years, Hippo hasn’t missed an issue — that’s 1,092 issues published. This doesn’t just happen. It takes talented people, including our executive editor Amy Diaz, who is Hippo’s longest-serving employee and who contributed articles for free before we could afford to hire her. Over the past two decades she has guided Hippo in its focus on local events, food, music and art. She and her team take these subjects seriously and cover them with professionalism. And it does take a team. Amy’s team includes long-time managing editor Meghan Siegler, food reporter Matt Ingersoll, arts reporter Angie Sykeny, copy editor Lisa Parsons, music reporter Michael Witthaus, Music This Week listing coordinator Michelle Belliveau and contributors John Fladd, Jennifer Graham, Chelsea Kearin, Michele Pesula Kuegler, Dave Long, Fred Matuzewski, Jeff Mucciarone and Eric Saeger. These are the folks who cover the stories and write the columns that make Hippo so interesting each week.

The production team, led by Tristan Collins and supported by Jennifer Gingras, takes those stories and shapes them into the Hippo we’re used to reading each week. Tristan and Jennifer also build many of the ads in each issue. A lot of time and creativity goes into graphically building each issue for readers.

After every page is finished and approved, digital files of those pages are sent to a commercial printer in New Hampshire, where they print 30,000 copies (this is more than any other publication in New Hampshire) and truck them to our warehouse in Manchester. From there our distribution team, led by Doug Ladd, takes over. Over the course of three days, Doug distributes those 30,000 copies to hundreds of locations in and around Concord, Manchester, Salem and Nashua. Doug does this with the support of Dave Boggess and Stephen Valido. Rain, snow or heat, these guys are out there every week moving thousands of issues.

To pay for all this, which is free to readers but not free to make, our sales team — led by Charlene Nichols, Alyse Savage, Roxanne Macaig and Tammie Boucher — works with local businesses to place ads in each issue. It’s hard work that takes a lot of creativity and perseverance. Without that we would not be able to publish. Hippo’s advertisers pay to reach you, our reader, to let you know about the events, goods and services they are offering. We are grateful for their support. And we are grateful for readers who continue to support us by reading and by becoming sustaining Hippo members. I feel strongly that Hippo has made New Hampshire a better place to live. At the same time, New Hampshire has made Hippo better.

I’ve thought a lot over the years about what makes a place a place and what makes community. In our society we can pick up and move someplace else. What keeps us here? What is the give and take of a community? What responsibilities does the community have to us and what responsibilities do we have for the community?

Much has been made of blue states and red states, of conservatives and liberals, of those pro this and anti that. And it can seem that that defines us. That we’re nothing more than not-those-folks-over-there. Social media does a very good job of helping us find community but also isolates us from a broader community that we actually live in. As we all know, there aren’t actually blue or red states. People everywhere have all sorts of political views. Does that define them? Are they moms or dads? Are they volunteers?

At many points in human history (and in this country and state) we were first defined by our religion or our race or ethnicity. We’ve mostly gotten past that (mostly — clearly more work needs to be done when it comes to race). Do we want to move backward or sideways and be defined by who we may vote for in one election cycle?

I sure hope not. I’ve made a conscious decision to not use social media because I believe it’s harmful to its users and harmful to our community. It too easily pushes us into one group or another when we’re really more than that. It’s too easy to inflame passions with false information. It’s too easy to be part of blue America or red America.

We’re really part of a place, a community, where we share neighborhoods, roads, schools, churches, jobs and parks. That is Hippo’s main goal — to continue to connect people in our community — to bring us together and to support each other. It’s a mission I’m proud to be here to support. And I thank you for continuing to support your community and us.

Following closely the end of daylight saving time comes my recognition of just how much shorter are the passing days. Activities are now more narrowly confined to daylight hours and for some of us even the prospect of driving much after dark is less and less attractive. As soon as those realities set in for me, I begin to long for spring. Call it the foolishness of a native Californian now living for more than 50 years in New England, but truth to tell, I do feel a kinship with those peoples across time who found ways of bringing light into these darkened days.

I write this on the first Sunday of Advent, which at sunset is also the beginning of Hanukkah, the Jewish Festival of Lights. Both Christians and Jews light candles — the Advent wreath and the menorah respectively — (and again respectively) to prepare for the birth of Jesus at Christmas and to commemorate the rededication of the Second Temple.

In these days, also dark owing to the persistent lingering of the pandemic, those ancient traditions and observances carry even more significance and appeal. They can bring some sense of order to a very disordered time. How often do we hear ourselves say we hope for a return to normalcy? We are impatient for things to be set right, to have a kind of springtime in which we can carry on as we were able to do before.

In some religious traditions, symbols have such power that they actually bring about what it is they symbolize. Such are called “sacraments.” The word comes from Roman antiquity and refers to the oath a new soldier took, while grasping the Roman standard, the swearing itself making him “sacer,” “given to the gods.” In our own times as well, gestures can bring about what they symbolize: the placing of a wedding ring, for example.

I wonder if the religious ceremonies of lighting Advent candles or Hanukkah candles can be for us our individual attempts to bring order, hope and peace into our lives and those of others. We know the visual impact of hundreds, if not thousands, of individual lights held aloft at a concert. Might our own lightings be illuminative of our way — individually and collectively — into a brighter time? It would be a beginning. As the poet John O’Donohue says so beautifully, “We are never alone in our beginning as it might seem at the time, A beginning is ultimately an invitation to open toward the gifts and growth that are stored up for us.”

I find being one of my family’s elders a bit unsettling. Sure, I already embraced the gray hair. But until this year I always had someone more experienced with whom to discuss parenting, career, home ownership, the news, family history, my dreams. We didn’t necessarily think alike, but my parents and in-laws listened and shared their stories.

One thing my mother-in-law taught me was how to cook the family’s favorite Lebanese dishes. You might think she learned the recipes growing up, but her family was Portuguese, not Lebanese. Like me, she learned how to make “kibbeh” and “fatayer” after marrying into the tribe. “Kibbeh is meatloaf,” she said, “only nicer.” It’s made with ground lamb, bulgur, pine nuts and allspice. My husband and his brothers like to prove their heritage by eating their kibbeh “nayee” (raw) and telling the rest of us we’re wimps for preferring it “sineyee” (baked). Before baking, you drizzle olive oil over the loaf, draw criss-crossed lines on the surface, and poke a deep hole in the middle with your finger. When I asked why, my mother-in-law said, “Because my mother-in-law did.”

I cherish the morsels of culture that I got from my in-laws, as well as those from my own Scottish-English parents. During the pandemic, I contemplated learning to play a bagpipe, but that is a particularly inappropriate instrument to take up when family members are working at home. I content myself with humming the Skye Boat Song and being able to recognize MacDonald tartans at the Highland Games. What I really value, though, is the feeling of being part of something bigger than ourselves.

You don’t have to be related to get the benefits of intergenerational relationships. For older people, they include a sense of purpose and self-esteem. For younger people, they can provide mentorship, opportunities for meaningful service, and increased perspective and empathy. Studies show both generations are happier and more hopeful. People are now exploring how to move from the separatist practices of the last 30 years — like 55+ housing developments — to intergenerational collaborations such as residences for “grandfamilies” and community reading programs. Sara Zeff Geber, Ph.D., writing in Forbes, discusses inventive organizations such as Generations United and Seniors4Seniors. In New Hampshire, AARP age-friendly communities are re-thinking everything from health to transportation, including zoning changes that could help with one of the most significant issues for young people and businesses: workforce housing.

As my family comes together for the holidays, I hope to keep both the old traditions and the sharing of new ideas alive. Baking fatayer — doughy, little, tri-cornered meat pies oozing a creamy yogurt sauce — ought to help.

Everyone has a story to tell. As a doctor, people share their stories with me related to their health and their lives — often about sickness, suffering and loss, and also about celebration and wonderful things. I’m a receiver of stories — and it’s an incredible honor to be entrusted with such a privilege.

Lots of people are now telling their stories on social media platforms, sharing to larger and larger audiences, where stories are often rewarded with “likes” and going “viral.” Thanks to Covid-19, we have been living through historic times that will be remembered like the Black Death of 1350 or the Spanish Flu of 1918 — “history” in the making!

A new storytelling initiative in New Hampshire offers an opportunity for all of us to tell our own stories from this unprecedented time we’re living through. Our Story: Reflections from the Pandemic and Beyond (ourstorynh.com) is a forum to create, share and collect stories across New Hampshire via multiple media and from multiple sectors of life, experience, feelings, hopes and thoughts of life during and before the pandemic and in anticipation of a post-pandemic reality.

Storytelling is transformational. Research has revealed that storytelling benefits both the person sharing and the listener. In fact, listening to other people’s stories has been shown to activate parts of the brain as though we were experiencing the events ourselves, creating a powerful connection to both the narrative and the storyteller. Stories can inspire and motivate and be uniquely memorable as they engage both head and heart. Perhaps this is why storytelling has existed in every culture across time.

What most inspired me to volunteer to help bring the Our Story NH project to fruition is its grounding in an ethical framework that intentionally centers equity. The primary goal is to create a space for self-expression, healing and an opportunity to be heard where participants tell their own stories on their own terms and where the storytellers completely own their stories. There is a therapeutic dimension to telling our stories via whatever medium we choose. Our Story NH will offer a number of ways to capture people’s experiences and personal histories including listening stations around the state as well as digital storytelling workshops. And a community council to inform and guide the project is in development — perhaps you might be interested?

For now, I invite you to share your story via the website (ourstorynh.com) — in text, audio, video, photo or artwork form. We all have stories to tell. Won’t you join us in telling yours?

More than ever, it’s important to support your local merchants. The pandemic has been hardest on small independent merchants in terms of income loss and staffing shortages. As the saying goes, the big get bigger, and the pandemic only heightened that. Though that can be good for some, it’s a net loss to us and our communities.

Local independent businesses are part of what makes our communities different from other places; they are part of the fabric of the community. Imagine no local retail, no local coffee shops, no local bars or restaurants or no local bookstores. We’d all be poorer for it not only economically but also socially. These places help bind us together the same way our schools and community organizations do. It’s important to protect that.

Though it’s not always easy, please be mindful to include local shops, local producers who sell online and local services in your gift plans.

It’s better on a few levels.

For starters more of the money you spend at local merchants ends up back in your community. A 2012 economic impact study in Andersonville, Illinois, found that for every $100 spent at a local independent business $68 remained in the local economy versus just $43 for national chains. I would venture to guess that even less of your money stays in the local economy when buying from an online retailer, such as Amazon. On top of that, I’d argue online retailers are significant users of our roads, sidewalks and bridges. Are they really contributing enough back to the local economy to help pay for their use? The folks at Civic Economics and the American Booksellers Association would say no. Check out civiceconomics.com.

Local merchants give back the community in numerous additional ways. They sponsor local sports teams and service organizations, such as Rotary. They lower prices by providing competition to chains and online retailers. They provide more choices. They can pay better wages than many of the chains. They tend to have a smaller environmental footprint than online retailers. They provide a way out of poverty for their owners. They make decisions locally based on the needs of their customers and community. They provide better customer service. They pay more taxes and fees. And they, maybe most importantly, provide much of the character of our community.

Are all local businesses or their owners perfect? Of course not. Some are stinkers. But by and large the benefits far outweigh the negatives, and they need your support. So please, this holiday season take a moment and think about how you can direct more of your spending to local businesses.