The Elusive Cracker by Jane Tolbert

Everyone is talking about the heat. It’s nearly mid October, and the temperature is still in the upper 80s. We had hoped for a respite with cooler fall temperatures. Is climate change to blame? Or has the change in construction of our homes also affected the way in which we live?

These so-called modern homes, many of which are all electric, seem built on the premise that the outside air is not good for us. The power companies keep us cool—for a price that has an averse effect on our living expenses and, more importantly, on the environment. Our homes appear hermetically sealed. Our windows rarely open. Furthermore, features that could keep the house cooler have been removed. Our shutters do not close but are nailed on the façade for decorative purposes. Our shade trees and natural vegetation have been plowed under to develop communities with names like Castle Gardens, Monastic Oaks, the Cloisters or Caribbean Isles, all evocative of grandeur, meditation, peaceful settings or tropical breezes. Many of these new neighborhoods have replaced what has been termed the Florida cracker house.

Basically these cracker houses had roofs that facilitated air circulation. The wide verandas and overhangs provided shade and prevented the rain from blowing in. High ceilings with fans and cross ventilation kept the house at a reasonable temperature much of the day. Often shutters remained partially closed to retain the cooler morning air.


Home construction has not reflected what we know about climate change. Instead of reverting to the more traditional cracker homes, in the last 20 years many builders have constructed what Mom terms the “bonnet house” (also known as the McMansion) because the roof resembles a large hat placed over the walls. The main point is that most of these homes are hermetically sealed and exhibit few features that would make them comfortable without air conditioning.

We have reasons to modify our lifestyle and, if possible, our residences to address the depletion of natural resources and climate change. And traditional construction with open windows and wrap-around porches (and sometimes sleeping porches) also provided the possibility of communing with nature—to hear wind or rain in the trees, or even nocturnal animals. Those older homes with the wide front porches also offered yet another advantage—a chance to socialize those hot summer evenings. I have memories of sitting on a swing at my grandparents’ house in Culpeper,Va., where neighbors with their dogs would stop for a drink and the news.

Living for years in a modern, all-electric house has made me almost forget the pleasure in sitting outside or letting in fresh air. Although my windows are difficult to open, I do have a wonderful back porch on which I spent much of my days. The mornings are cool, and in the evenings, the breeze is delightful. And when the neighborhood air conditioning compressors are not running, I can hear the night sounds too.

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Anyone have a photo and a story to share? I'd love to hear from you.

Show and Tell, or When Presentations Were Fun by Jane Tolbert

Technology readiness level. Financial projections. The need, or significance, of the study. A phase II report, a white paper. . . . . Friends in academia and corporations talk about presentations they make. “Show and tell,” my sister Margaret commented, comparing those of the grownup world to those presentations we made in elementary school.

Similarities exist. Both grownup presentations and elementary school “show and tell” can be characterized by digressions, interruptions and embellishments. In Miss Ruth Cooper’s class of Anthony Seeger Campus School, second grade students exhibited traits similar to those of long-winded university professors and corporate tycoons. They interrupted: “Let me see.” Or, “I have two just like that.” Others embellished accounts: “From the beaches of Florida, I could see the waves of Hawaii.” Or, “On my tour of the White House, I got to shake hands with the president.” But overall, "show and tell" was pretty interesting and included guinea pigs, Bufferin (a neighbor’s white cat who also starred in at least one of the class theatrical productions), snacks or new toys.

One of the more unique sessions of “show and tell” was led by Margaret, who brought in a plastic bag filled with costume jewelry. Although she planned to tell about the contents of the bag, she talked more about the bag itself. This particular plastic bag had contained several pairs of men’s boxer shorts purchased by my dad, who served at the time as dean of students of the university that supervised Campus School. On other occasions, she brought in a book to share, its pages marked with my dad’s salary check, or she stood before an audience and painted a picture (shown here). When it was my turn, I searched closets and dresser drawers, and likely brought in china horse models with broken legs. And there was that one less successful attempt using a magic trick to make milk disappear so I could throw the empty container into the audience. . . .

At present, everyone cringes at the thought of yet another presentation with numerous PowerPoint slides crammed with chart junk, lengthy agendas and action items that will never be followed. The grownup world would be wise to capture the spirit of those earlier “show and tell” sessions. Although many of today’s presentations would involve sharing a gadget—an iPhone, a digital photo frame or MacBook Air--Margaret said she would still bring her bicycle and her greyhound Fay. As for me, I will have to see what I can find.

La Rue Bijou - The Pear King

NOTE: The typographic pear image is from Robert Justin Goldstein's book, Censorship of Political Caricature in Nineteenth-Century France, 1989. The inkwell portraying Louis-Philippe belongs to me.

Increasingly, activists and dissidents are turning to the new media (blogs, FaceBook, Twitter) to lead grass-roots protest movements often because the mainstream media are government controlled. The “net” is accessible to a diverse crowd, and information delivery takes place in real time. What a change from those earlier days. It took the content of Martin Luther’s Ninety-Five Theses (1517) approximately a month to travel Europe and 17th-century subscription-based newspapers approximately one week to arrive at their destination. How did earlier citizens question official policies in a period of censorship and the Inquisition?

Since the advent of movable type (in the 1450s), journalists and scientists have used the press to criticize. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, officials of the church and state responded by implementing increasingly stringent laws to suppress divergent views in religion, medicine, and astronomy to name a few. There were enough examples of burnings at the stake (Giordano Bruno who wrote a heliocentric and infinite world) and imprisonment or censorship (Galileo who claimed he had proof of the heliocentric world) to make writers cautious. In sixteenth-century France, newspaper copy was submitted to officials prior to publication. In the 17th century, Cardinal Richelieu penned some of the news stories carried by journalist Théophraste Renaudot to ensure the favorable portrayal of French policies. To evade pre-pre-publication screening, some writers used rhetorical strategies such as a retraction (e.g., I am outlining this pernicious theory to make you aware of its dangers). Some writers (including Galileo, the priest Marin Mersenne, and journalist Renaudot in his published conferences proceedings) presented information in the form of a dialogue between three individuals, representing divergent positions characterized by rational, neutral, or specious reasoning. Often these evasive writings seemed reminiscent of a verbal sparring match, pitting the wit of the writer against the intellect of the official. Others used convoluted reasoning, or they relied on a long-winded, verbose style to overwhelm censors and make the author’s position unclear. Still others attributed new points of view or radical theories to the Ancients. Sometimes two different versions of a text appeared—one targeting the censors and the other, a public of savvy readers.





Source: http://blogs.princeton.edu/graphicarts/2009/02/charles_philipons_la_caricatur.html

One of the more creative ways of communicating antigovernment critiques took place in 19th-century France. By this time, the press had been given varying degrees of constitutional protection in the late 18th century. But freedom of the press vacillated with politics and often failed to protect caricature because officials contended these images could create derision and scorn in the public eye. And French kings, who created regimes of abuse and displayed gout-ridden or jowled physiques, became popular targets. In a series of caricatures, Louis Philipon, editor of Le Charivari, represented King Louis-Philippe as a pear in the 1830s. When Philipon faced imprisonment and fines, he protested by using the shape of a pear to print the text of the censorship decree issued by the king.

These earlier activists, limited to the print medium, used creative approaches, approximating verbal or visual repartees to spar with officials. Just think of what they would have done if they had access to blogs or FaceBook. They could post satirical messages on a Louis-Philippe FaceBook fan club. . . . They could use blogs to counter any “whitewashing” that originated with royalist supporters. While pre-internet officials had hard copy with which to contend, with numerous outlets and the potential for real-time communication, perhaps today’s “censors” face a more difficult task.



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Quality of Life by Jane Tolbert

For many years, my parents handed us envelopes, which were labeled “quality of life” and filled with a wad of cash. Their families had known the Depression, and for them, quality of life meant the ability to purchase something frivolous such as shoes or bouquets of cut flowers rather than the more mundane groceries and necessities. My grandparents had also given us rolled up dollars and handfuls of coins each time we visited. No one could really afford to give us this “quality of life.” But they did, and they appeared generous.

Quality of life means enjoying the simple pleasure of life when the economy is bad, unemployment is high and the next paycheck is uncertain. In today’s recession, many of us seek activities that require little investment but have a high yield of memorable experiences. This year we have given up travel to the larger dance workshops that require nights in hotels and airfares. Instead we are riding out the recession, focusing on less expensive local dances or relatively free activities.


Quality of life isn’t about extravagant pleasures but about a perspective. This past year in France, my walks enabled me to savor details—the steep hillsides of Vallauris where orange trees nestle among turn-of-the-century villas or the wide boardwalk at Juan-les-Pins overlooking the Mediterranean. Local dances on the Mediterranean cost anywhere from 1 euro for the outdoors events to 10 euros for the clubs.







Rocky coast on the Cap d'Antibes


The occasional jaunt to see the yachts at the Antibes port and a hike along the rocky edge of the exclusive Cap d’Antibes allowed me to gauge how the very wealthy were making out in the recession.

This year in Melbourne, we meet at places with no cover charges--the Cove, a beachside restaurant with great dancing on Tuesday nights, or Lou’s Blues, a bar with a small dance floors. We take turns hosting dances at our homes or may splurge on an afternoon Argentine tango workshop. Biking along waterways, planning a picnic on the beach or attending free foreign films at the local university are activities that make us focus on that extravagant feeling associated with the quality of life rather than the perception that cash is the sine qua non of the quality of life. Like those times when my dad would throw dollar bills—not hundreds and hundreds of dollars—up in the air, we attempt to emulate that tradition, or perspective, of quality of life associated with those envelopes of cash. It’s not a million dollars but it seems like it.



Crane Creek, Melbourne, Florida

Dog Days on the Riviera by Jane Tolbert

Most of us want to return to this life as a French dog—loved and pampered and stay-at-home.

I adopted my first dog when I lived in the French countryside near Grasse. The masons who worked on my house had Brittany Spaniels, which they used for companionship and for the hunt (pheasants, water birds and others). They brought their dogs to work every day. Nana climbed ladders and would sit on the chimney while her master Robert worked on the tile roof. Roger’s puppy Sophia ran through wet cement, chased lizards or chewed the seats in his Peugeot 204.





One day the masons asked if I wanted a dog. Their friend planned to get rid of his Brittany, Pink, who had committed two egregious sins—she had eaten a tiered cake, which he had prepared for a wedding, and she had spent the last hunting season hiding under his car. Pink loved pastries, and she did not like guns. She became my companion and nanny to my two kids for many years. She rode in the front seat of the car, went on family vacations in Florida and continued to scarf down pastries. She took the bus with me to Grasse (dogs rode half price). Sometimes she wandered off to the village café, the Pergola, at Pre du Lac. Usually someone brought her home.




When we moved to Melbourne Beach, Pink moved with us. She wandered down to the beach one day. Since her tags still had a French address, my dad commented that anyone who found her would have marveled at the distance a Brittany could swim.

When I later returned to France to live in the city, it seemed the growing emphasis on clean public streets and the “no poop” policy had forced people to opt for smaller dogs just because of logistics. Toy poodles, papillons, terriers and chihuahuas, now the vogue, were in boutiques, cafes and even in backpacks on scooters.



In France, with its population of nearly 62-million people and an estimated 19-million dogs, canines are an integral part of life, as much as the apértif and baguette. Even on the coldest days, shivering pooches accompany their owners to the Monday morning flea markets in Nice or for a walk on the beach. Some watch passersby from shopfront windows in Juan-les-Pins. Still others sit on their owners’ laps on the boardwalk or wait patiently outside a grocery store. One dog even had a security clearance at the research park of Sophia Antipolis. Patrons bring dogs to cafes and restaurants, and both eye the menu with a hint of gourmandise. Sugar cubes? Two orders of croissants? One large café au lait and a hot chocolate followed by a walk in the sun.

As I prepare for an early morning commute to my day job, I realize a dog’s life sounds pretty good.

Pipedream or Paradigm? by Jane Tolbert

Rails to Trails Overlook


South Rim

When we think of ideal biking locations, the Northwestern United States or Europe come to mind. But ever so slowly networks of greenways are inching across the American landscape, offering the possibility of biking on off-road paths or little-traveled highways. What might have seemed a pipedream years ago is becoming the new paradigm--a shift from the automobile-based lifestyle of recent generations to one that focuses on exercise. Let’s hope this trend continues.

In the Melbourne – Cocoa area, cyclists meet at Viera or Cocoa Village for a 25-to-35-mile loop that follows the Indian River Lagoon. Some of these roadbikers in brightly colored jerseys have such a competitive gleam in their eyes that I know this loop is not for amateurs. I’ll ride at my own pace and maybe meet them later at Ossario’s Café. I’ve trailed other cyclists who gather near Mather’s Bridge to pedal a 10-mile circuit on South Tropical Trail along the Banana River and taken a predawn ride along Riverside Drive between the Eau Gallie and Melbourne causeways.


Mather's Bridge

Biking technology has really changed since the days my sister Margaret and I shared ‘Thunderbird,’ our first bike. The massive-framed green bike had coaster brakes, streamers on the handle bars and a clattery kickstand. We got our thrills from riding with feet on the handlebars or pedaling furiously up and down neighborhood streets of Virginia. And it probably took both of us to lift the cumbersome Thunderbird to an upright position. Today, we don’t even have to stand to pedal uphill. The lightweight frames, comfortable seats and gears make bikes easy to ride.

Weekend activities are planned around meeting friends for a bike ride. In the Gainesville area, we biked the popular 16-mile Gainesville-Hawthorne Trail. Other times I have joined friends at Split Rock, the South Rim or the San Felasco Hammock, all of which provide miles of sandy paths as well as encounters with deer, bird and, if not the cougars or bear themselves, at least their paw prints.

So why isn’t everyone biking? The network of trails still needs to be linked. Portions of many bike routes contain a mixture of high- and low-congested areas and roadside debris, conditions that preclude many commuters or school kids from biking. One my favorites workouts in Melbourne is to ride the causeway bridges that link the mainland to the barrier islands. But an element of fear offsets the salubrious benefits of a cardio workout. I dodge road debris within feet of speeding pickups, towed boats or SUVs.

The combination of exercise, outdoors and chats with friends make biking somehat addictive—enough to get me out before 8 a.m. on weekends. It’s unlikely I’ll ever ride more than 15 or 20 miles, but I am looking forward to the day when I can access a greenway from my neighborhood, ride my bike and feel like a kid.

Promises, Promises by Jane Tolbert

Chapelle de la Garoupe, Cap d'Antibes


Imagine the setting. You are a captive in some dank prison in a foreign land. You vow to perform an incredible feat if you ever gain release and return home. Faced with adversity or in a moment of duress, individuals often made wild promises. Take for example the Knight of Blacas, captured by Saracens during the Crusades, who vowed that upon his release he would hang a star over the provencal village of Moustiers Sainte Marie. No one is quite certain when the actual feat took place, but the star hangs today about 690 feet in the air on a chain that spans a chasm more than 675 feet across. What was he thinking! The knight could have made a more modest vow--the restoration of a chapel or a generous financial contribution to ransom other captives. Instead, he chose a way to give thanks for his liberation that captivates our imagination to this day!

Sailors make vows and offer prayers for a safe passage on tranquil seas or deliverance from shipwreck. On the Cap d’Antibes, the small, 13-16th century Chapelle de la Garoupe has an eclectic collection of ex-votos--drawings of the Virgin Mary, paintings of flowers and ships, model ships and marble plaques. In other areas, roadside shrines to the virgin or a patron saint enable passersby to make small votive offerings.



The numerous ex-votos in chapels suggest even to the skeptic that there may be something to these offerings. . . or is there? What about those individuals who made vows but nevertheless succumbed to a crisis or perished in a dank prison? As scholars Jörg Rüpke and Richard Gordon have pointed out, “Failed vows produced no votices; the system renders its failures invisible” (Religion of the Romans, 2007, 164).

Still, school-age children may want to play it safe not only in the pre-Christmas season when they prepare their wish list for Santa but throughout their K-12 years. To complement their studious efforts and hours devoted to study, they may want to make a promise to the patron saint of homework assignments. Rumor has it that a patron saint of parking meters exists in New Orleans. Impressive! But has anyone beaten Blacas' record of the star on the chain?