For Better or For Worse

On the morning of January 30, 2010, Jordan asked me if I had forgotten anything? I didn’t think so. “Well wasn’t yesterday your anniversary?”
“OMG!” I said, (because I’m very today otherwise I would have said Oh my God). And we both started to laugh. I could not believe that, after all these years, I just didn’t remember. Then she called David and said, “Hey Dad, I know something you don’t know.” Children always know something their parents don’t know, so he was not surprised until she said, “Yesterday was your anniversary.” He had the same reaction that I did. He just laughed.

Is this the good news or the bad. After 31 years together, 26 of them as a married couple, forgetting the date that you wed is unexpected. Or as Don Rickles used to say, ‘We’ve been happily married for twenty years, of course we just celebrated our golden anniversary.’ (But he said it funnier) To answer the question, good news or bad, who knows. At least we both forgot, so there were no hard feelings. But you have to ask yourself the question “why”?

Are we so busy that we don’t have time to think about one another? Is the day we got married not worth remembering. Have we been married so long that it has become just another ordinary day. Or, are we so old that we can’t remember anything? I’m not sure that any of these are the reason we forgot. It could be that we are so much in love that everyday is equally important and meaningful. I’m going with the last one.

As with most couples who have been together for years, the people you are were are not necessarily the people who you have become. And when you have been together for a long time (and it’s still terrific) you have to find ways to celebrate that, more than one day a year. Does that make any sense to you?

Whew, that was a little too close to serious for my taste. So, why am I thinking about this? Yesterday we got a “Gefilte Fish Chronicles” www.gefiltefishchronicles.com, order (1 DVD… 1 Cookbook) from Hyman Krantz. Rabbi Krantz officiated at our wedding. He was the first Rabbi at the Boonton Jewish Center, among which my family were founding members. I adored him because he taught us how to sing the Sabbath Service…. Which I can still do. And, even more importantly, because we were not easy kids and unlike so many other Rabbi’s he maintained a wonderful sense of humor about us and himself. Twenty six years ago, when we decided to make the relationship permanent, my mother wanted us to married by a Rabbi. It wasn’t important to me because Rabbi Krantz was the only one I would even consider. And, after 30 years, no one knew where he was living. But leave it to my mother: she found him, flew him to New Jersey, and reintroduced him to my wacky family on, as he said, “this auspicious occasion.”

Of course, once I had the DVD order and their telephone number, I called to say hello. We had a lovely reunion. They sounded exactly the same. In my mind, neither the Rabbi or Roz, his wife, have ever changed. They will always remain young, vital and forever attractive. They said that someone who knew they had lived in Boonton, told them they had seen “The Chronicles.” They wanted a copy so they could share sweet memories and to show at a cousins reunion over next weekend.

Sweet memories. We got married at my parent’s home. My dad was ill and we thought we would have the ceremony in their bedroom. Just immediate family. That was never going to happen. My mother moved all the furniture out of the house and put it on a truck in the driveway. She invited the whole family because there is never just “immediate.” My dad got out of bed, where he had been for two months. Our friends came from all over the country. We had a big cocktail party in New York following a fabulous breakfast buffet in New Jersey. We had a honeymoon suite at the Regency. And as a special wedding gift, had a big fat New York City parking ticket on the car because Matthew, who did us the favor of dropping us at the party, then parked it in a bus zone. We had one day together and David left for Jamaica.

Our life together has never changed. Always surrounded by beloved family and friends. Always independent but attached. And always laughs, no matter what we forget – or remember. We’re just sayin’….Iris

The Power to Stay

It's a heady place to be.
Unless you have worked on a Presidential campaign, and been close to the Candidate and their spouse, there is no way to explain  why Elizabeth Edwards would put up with what we now know is John Edwards' abhorrent behavior.  Do not think for one moment that I am making excuses for her, that’s not the case.  But when I hear Tina Brown talk about “what does it take to make someone leave their husband.  What was she thinking to stay?” my immediate reaction is “lady (Tina, not Elizabeth), you may know a great deal about many things but you haven’t got a clue about Presidential politics.”

What is important to know is that when you are a part of the inner circle,  of a Presidential campaign or Administration, you don’t think.  That might be a slight exaggeration, because you think about policy issues, political strategy, and logistics, but you don’t second guess the Principal because you believe he or she is extraordinary, and will make a difference in the world — for the better. At least you hope so.  And you respect the spouse, regardless of how whacky , because the Principal loves (likes, endures) them.

You work hard and want a victory for them and your self.  Andy Young (in his new literary exposé) says “I thought he would take care of me for the rest of my life, and he betrayed me.”  That sentence is more telling about what Presidential politics has become, than any campaign job description you can read. Although, I have been involved in nine Presidential campaigns, there was not one candidate who I thought would take care of me. It was my sincere belief that they would take care of the Nation.  Oh sure, when you work 24/7 for months and sometimes years, you hope that there is a positive result, but I can’t remember a time that I expected anyone would take care of me.
with John Kerry, 2004
There I go, digressing again.  This was supposed to be about Elizabeth and understanding, beyond the life long commitment she made to John, her health, and her children, what made her stay with him through all the public humiliation.  Running for President is a very ‘heady’ thing.  The candidate, spouse, and the inner circle (which can include strategists,  pollsters, policy wonks, sometimes advance people), begin to think they are exceptional or at the least that they deserve to be catered to and treated in some special way.  They become self important to a degree which cannot be explained as a simple personality disorder. They even print up jackets with their names embroidered on them. Mel Brooks said in the “History of the World Part One”, that “It’s Good to be King”, and that’s how this Presidential cadre begins to feel about themselves and this exhaulted position -- based on nothing but being hired to do a job.  In fact, some of the most exhaulted campaign people are seriously talent free – but that’s another blog.

Anyway, regardless of the amount of money you have, being President or even a candidate comes with an unimaginable power.  You begin to think that you are entitled to do anything you want to do.  And this entitlement often knows no bounds.  What’s the old saying,  “power corrupts...?”  It does and not only the Principal but all the people with whom they are surrounded — especially spouse.  When asked about his affair, his two hundred dollar haircuts, private planes etc., Edwards said he did it because he could.  Just that simple.  And Elizabeth also felt there were a great many “coulds”, and she wanted and enjoyed them  almost as much as John -- her vehicle to get them.
2004: with "Senior" staff
She stayed with him through the campaign and because she liked the power.  She stayed with him even after he admitted that he had been unfaithful and had a child, because she has terminal cancer and children and where else did she have to go.  She stayed with him until she understood there was no more power, glory, and any hope of his redemption.  She stayed with him until he was no longer important – and I mean that in the nicest possible way. We're just sayin'...Iris

Rustic It Shall Be

About a hundred years ago my Aunt Frieda, while discovering all kinds of treasures in antique stores in Dania, Florida (near Ft. Lauderdale) also happened upon a different kind of treasure, The Rustic Inn. The question about how she found this place was never actually answered, because in order to get there you had to drive on Route 1 until you saw Griffin Road and then you had to travel about a quarter of a mile down a dirt road. But like the end of the rainbow, it was well worth the trip.

When we started going there, (and each time we went was yet another adventure), we went for Golden Garlic Florida Crabs. They also have king crab, queen crab, dungeoness and blue crab, but the golden were our favorites. Unlike Maryland crabs, about which you must become an expert with mallet and tong before you can taste a morsel of crab, these crabs are big and meaty. You do have to do a certain amount of pounding, but when you break through, the insides and claws are sweet and juicy.

We have made periodic visits to these hinterlands, which actually happen to be right next to the Ft. Lauderdale International Airport (This means they fly all the way to the Bahamas and maybe other parts of the Caribbean. Oh, and they also fly to the Conch Republic). Nevertheless, since we always stayed in Hallandale, it wasn’t a convenient place to go for a quick bite. But, whenever we were in the Miami area it was worth however long it took to get there.

While yesterday the meal was terrific, (we ordered two golden garlic crabs, one queen, some stone claws, a combo – and a dozen oysters), the most memorable stop was Jordan’s first trip a few years ago. She took to the mallet like a pie crust to butter. I don’t remember a time when I saw David and Jordan have more fun. By the time they had finished lunch not only were they totally covered with crab but the people at the tables next to us, were also crabarized. No one seemed to mind. When you are enjoying some great food, most people will remain good humored about what they eat. In fact people all around us really got into making their crab fly. It’s about as upscale ambience that I ever want to get.
A pack o' goldens
When I was chatting with my cousins today we were talking about our food preferences. We are genetically peasant stock. So for us a good burger at “Five Guys”, a good slice of pizza, crispy fried ‘real potatoes’, a steak at “Arthur’s” (Hoboken and Morris Plains N.J.) instead of “The Palm” and grilled fish over a nice salad (like at Leftovers in Palm Beach, or Hogfish Grill in Key West are gourmet treats. Sure, I like to get dressed up and spend hundreds of dollars on a precious restaurant (a lie), but I’m just as happy with a movie and a good tuna sandwich. Given my experiences with food around the world and in some pretty heady places (Embassies, palaces etc.) you may think that this makes no sense. It seems to me that you have to measure whatever you eat by the joy you have in preparing it, or the people with whom you share it. It is also true that I, like most of my cousins and my kids, are very clever chefs, so why would you pay for something you can make better cheaper and more conveniently – unless I am feeling lazy.

Food is a personal choice. My mother would say, “that’s what makes the world go around.” This is not necessarily true, there are scientific reasons that the world turns, (don’t tell my mother) but there is nothing more refreshing than trying a variety of foods in many different places with people you enjoy. Maybe that’s what makes the world go around. We’re just sayin’…Iris

She Had a Dream

My mother had a dream too, but hers never had the impact that Dr. King’s had – she doesn’t have the same way with words. Mom’s description of what she dreamt usually starts with “Oye.” It develops from “Oye” to “You wouldn’t believe…” When I insist I will believe, the story goes on. It seems when you get to be 89 your dreams take on a whole different tone than when you are 3 but they can be no less frightening. Zachie (who is 2 1/2) has the ability to dream before he goes to sleep. He wants to be assured that there are no ghosts, no geese, no monsters and there will be daylight when he awakes. Once you have convinced him that no ghosts will haunt him, no geese will chase him, there’s no such things as monsters, and it’s always darkest before the dawn, his sleep seems peaceful, or at least without incident.

But when you are almost three, you do not know with what horrors you will be confronted during your lifetime. And when you are 89, there is only one more difficulty with which you will have to deal — the unknown. Not being nearly three or close to 89, I have no idea about the magnitude of their imaginations. When you are young you usually haven’t survived the loss of friends or family. And although you may still be in diapers, you have not yet suffered the humiliation of loss of bladder control, or the degeneration of bone and ability. At 89 you no longer move without effort or remember without prompting. This is not a terrible thing, it is just a natural progression… so, on this “I have a dream” day, back to Mama Rose.

A few months ago Rosie had a dream that she was with her sisters (6 of them) and her brother – all of whom are gone except her twin. You may recall we send them all to Florida instead of the grave. Anyway, the dream did not frighten her, she seemed perfectly comfortable about the visit. Here’s what happened:

R: “Oye, you wouldn’t believe it but they were all here.”
I: “Who, Ma?”
R: “Who? Who do you think? The President of the United States? I’m sure he would have been here, but he was busy.”
I: “So who, Ma?
R: “Guess.”
I: “I don’t want to guess. Daddy?”
R: “No, not your father. But close. Never mind, you’ll never guess. Your Aunts and Uncle Jack. And Aunt Fritzie and Aunt Helene were wearing paper hats. Not like birthday hats, but made from newspaper. And Aunt Sophie said, ‘Fritzie what are you doing with that stupid hat on your head, it’s not even your color.’ And Aunt Sarah said, ‘so Rosie where have you been?’ And Uncle Jack said, ‘What am I doing in this dream?’ And then Aunt Betty said ‘Don’t fight, Papa will get angry.’ Papa never got angry, so I knew it must be a dream and also Aunt Sophie was right, Aunt Fritzie would never wear a paper hat like that – even if it were her color. They don’t look so healthy but it was good to see them again.”
I: “And then did they go away?”
R: “Well of course, did you think they were going to wait for you to show up?”
I: “Was it like a nightmare Ma?”
R: “What, you think your family is a nightmare?”
I: “Of course not, I just wondered if you were frightened? If you are frightened?”
R: “Because I’m going to die, you mean? Like they were calling me, ‘Rosie please come, Rosie we miss you.’ No, it wasn’t like that. It was nice to see them. And I’m not afraid to die, I’m afraid you’ll bury me here, all the way on the other side of the country.”
I: “That’s not going to happen. You know you’ll be right next to Daddy in that cemetery in 'Gubutska's Yure," where we always have to sit in traffic."
R: “OK, good, then it was just a dream. I just had a dream last night.”

We're just sayin'....Iris

Ma' Wah Kee Redux

Have you ever eaten a raisin still on the vine? Don’t lie. There is almost no one I know who has ever even seen them. Yes, they are just dried grapes—but still on the vine? What a treat. And would you have ever expected to be introduced to them in Milwaukee?

It’s a city that continues to surprise me. If it was warmer and on the East Coast, I would consider a move. These tiny morsels of total sweetness – “raisin d’etres!” were presented to us on beautifully constructed silver fruit tray which Joe Kurth, the manager of the Pfister Hotel sent to us as a welcoming gift last Friday.
raisin d'etre

As you know by a previous blog, we love the Pfister. It might be our favorite hotel anywhere in the US – and we have been to lots of hotels. I mean we love Marriott, and most Four Seasons, but in terms of history and elegance, swell photos of previous Wisconsin Governors, good service and gracious personnel, you just don’t get better than the Pfister.

We were back in Milwaukee because David opened another Bob Marley show ( from Soul Rebel) at the VP Gallery, in the historic Hardware District of the city. The gallery is owned by Bill Appleby, who is a guy with a vision and great energy. There were 700 visitors on the first night – Gallery Walk Night. And surely, more to come since it will be showing until April 2010. (You can wait until the Spring to see it). the eyes of Bob Marley

The weekend was terrific. We were joined by our good friend Tom Herman, who grew up in Milwaukee but lives in Boston. Anyway, on Saturday morning he took us on a tour of his Milwaukee. He knows more about the history of the city than the founding fathers, but they probably didn’t have as much fun as he did. It was hilarious. If you go to David Burnett’s Vimeo page, you can join us for some of those magic moments. (Not posted just yet – stay tuned.)

The day only got better and in the afternoon we were joined by Barbara and Cal Lawton. It was really cold, but we ventured out to a revival of the Milwaukee PBS radio show, “Hotel Milwaukee”. The show was on for eight years then off for eight years, and like “Prairie Home Companion” the script is folksy but the show also provides a venue for new local talented musicians. The event was a fundraiser for an Americorps program called City Year. Pam Percy, the producer did a remarkable job and it was quite successful. After the show ended people stayed to drink and dance but we were famished so we went to one of our favorite local places, Buckley’s – which has great food in an intimate setting. (The desserts, especially the cheese cake were sensational.)

We were so full when we got up this morning that breakfast was out of the question. So we all gathered near the fireplace in the hotel lobby for coffee and, since Barbara and Cal also got a fruit and cheese platter – to munch on that. We just sat around talking about silly stuff and reading the NYTimes (also silly stuff). What a pleasant way to spend the morning. Sorry, Tina, we DID run off with your TIMES puzzle.
Barbara and Tina (pre "TIMES" theft)
After not having breakfast, we were off to the Milwaukee airport (named after General Mitchell – quick, does anyone know who he was, and what he was known for?) where we knew we could ‘recombobulate’ without any stress. What is remarkable about this airport is that even in these times of terrorist threats, when negative over-reaction often takes the place of common sense, this airport still has a sense of humor and treats people like they are welcome customers, dare I say guests, rather than part of a conspiracy. It is an experience to which you look forward, rather than dread. Newark and Detroit could really take a lesson from Milwaukee.

The flight was fine (those Midwest chocolate chip cookies are THE best)

and we looked forward to a quiet night of football (Go Jets!) and the Golden Globes. All in all, we should all have more weekends like this. We’re just sayin’…. Iris

Which is Worse?

which is worse--or a new name


There was a chance that I was going to write about a New Year and family and changes, but in the realm of change—I changed my mind.  There’s just too much good gossip in the political world, and I’m all about piling on. 

Which one of the following do you think is the most appalling?  Revelations about Elizabeth Edwards as bitch or an out of touch Majority Leader, Harry Reid, who has said over and over , (well maybe just over), that  he has apologized to the President and everyone who was within the sound of his voice. Or how about reports that the newly released Richard Nixon papers confirm his hatred for the  media and what he called the “Kennedy culture”.  This included nasty comments about Lincoln Center, which he thought was a horrible monstrosity.  And modern art in embassies which he considered “incredibly atrocious”. 

There is no pressure here but in case you are trying to answer the question, it’s not even close.  No, I’m not going to provide you with a definitive answer.  My job is to inspire and entertain not to educate, but let’s do a quick analysis— in other words, my take. 

Richard Nixon is dead.  I know this for a fact, even though he didn’t lie in State in the Capital, and we couldn’t put a stake through his heart to make sure he was gone.  There is no new news here.  It’s simply a rehashing of everything we already knew.  It reminds me of the time Amb. Harriman called me because she wanted advice about how to respond to questions about a “tell all” book about her life.  First of all, I was crazy about Pamela Harriman.  She was wonderfully generous, hard working and fun to be with, so I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.  (Also I had a gorgeous suite in the Residence in Paris whenever I visited—staying in her favor had many rewards.)  At the same time, I thought it was important to keep things in perspective.  I advised her to say nothing.  No comments whatsoever, because whatever she said would make news.  Additionally, I knew that there wasn’t going to be much interest in which dead guys she slept with hundreds of years before. 

Harry Reid has no personality.  He is certainly not my idea of a leader—Majority or otherwise.  His voice is without expression or power and his demeanor, merely mush meandering, and I mean that in the nicest possible way. My guess is that Harry simply didn’t know the term “Negro” was no longer PC.  My mother doesn’t remember that either – no matter how many times I remind her.  It’s not necessarily a racist thing (it can be), it’s an age thing.  When Harry was growing up he probably called Black people “Negroes” .  He probably didn’t see many people who were different than he, so he is simply unpractised and out of touch.  His other statement, “Obama won because he was light skinned”  is probably no worse than saying he is  handsome, a hunk, and very sexy.  But race is still a touchy subject and truthfully even in 2010, one we are still not allowed to touch. 

Moving on, to Elizabeth Edwards who behaved badly on the campaign trail—and with regard to campaign political policy in general.  The cover of New York Magazine shouts about “The shocking untold you-can’t-make- it-up story of the fall of John Edwards."  Huh?  I haven’t yet read the new John Heilmann nad Mark Halperin book “Game Change”.  There is almost nothing in the excerpt that hasn’t been revealed in some public forum.  In fact, when asked why he conducted himself in such a hideous manner, (having the affair with the videographer in front of his wife and staff), he said “Because I could.”   Everyone knew that Elizabeth was determined to continue the campaign, regardless of her health or her husband’s behavior.  And although she was the wounded party, no one ever accused her of being “nice”.  The candidate's wife is never “nice”,  It’s just not a First Lady quality.  So again, there’s nothing new here, although there is certainly a great deal more of what we already knew.  It is salacious and gossipy and amusing, and like any piece of non-fiction with these qualities, worth buying.   My question is, since most of the media were aware of all this, were they just waiting until he was nominated to discuss it with the public. 

As I said, I’m not going to tell you which I think wins the contest, but what is worth considering is why any discussion, about any of these stories is worth the time it takes to talk about them.  We're just sayin'...Iris

Which Lang Syne?

On Saturday, when we went to our favorite new Dim Sum restaurant in NY (Marks Duck House remains our favorite in the world), we asked if we might see the dinner menu. We have been searching for a place where we could enjoy a Peking Duck (and why isn’t it called a Beijing duck?) And we thought, since Marks has excellent Dim Sum and an amazing Peking duck, this might be the same with Jing Fong. We tried to figure out who of the 20 male hosts to question (there is a hierarchy of service people in this fine eating establishment). Male hosts wear dark suits, and do things like translate the food on carts and handle the money. Waiters wear yellow jackets and bring you drinks and items from the menu. The women on carts wear something similar but are clearly not as important. We think they might be working on commission – they get something for every dish you buy. We think this because a bewildered father and two grown sons sitting next to us, had no idea what was going on in this vast chaotic place. All they knew was that some woman pushing a cart had insisted they try chicken feet, tripe in some sauce and meat dumplings. I called one of the guys in suits over and remedied that situation. Anyway, the host said, “No,” we couldn’t see the dinner menu. Really? I thought. What could possibly be on the evening menu that couldn’t be shared in the afternoon. The mystery continues. Anyway, it’s a great place as long as you get there by 12:30, don’t mind sharing a table with strangers (we love this), and are fairly aggressive about what you like and don’t like.

Moving on, or back – because I really didn’t share our New Years with you. We were invited (for $75 a person) to have dinner at the Boat House at Central Park with about 40 people, most of whom we did not know. This may sound less than inviting but it was great fun and totally without stress. (Especially after years of preparing a party for about 20). The food was unexpectedly good, (especially after years of cooking for at least 20.) The wine was pretty reasonable, (if not as inexpensive as my house). Even the people we did not know were fun – Thanks to Lulu and Francesca who did the guest list. But the best thing, other than making it to midnight with no trouble (I was still eating my entrée at 11:50), was that there were fireworks on the Central Park Reservoir, a minute after 12am.
The fireworks were not big like July 4th in DC or those on the Hudson in NY. But they were beautiful and elegant, My favorite fireworks are those that either make the sky glitter or look like ice falling from a winter tree. There were plenty of those. And then there were the red ones that look like burning embers and blue that make me think of Hannukah and the gold that shine so bright it hurts your eyes. And there was very little smoke to detract from the dreamlike aura of the light. They went on for about 20 minutes. Long enough to enjoy but not so long they got boring. The whole presentation was magical.

When the time came to sing Auld Lang Syne the traditional Scottish New Years’ ballad, that has never made any sense to me. Here are a few verses, if you figure it out let me know (the funnier, the better):

Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind ?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and days of auld lang syne ?

CHORUS:
For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we'll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

And surely you'll buy your pint cup !
and surely I'll buy mine !
And we'll take a cup o' kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

CHORUS
We two have run about the slopes,
and picked the daisies fine ;
But we've wandered many a weary foot,
since auld lang syne.

Originally, I thought I’d say no to the invitation but as the clock passed midnight, and there was lot’s of singing, kissing, and hugging, and an entire table populated by people wearing lit up fiberoptic deally-boppers, I knew this was the beginning of a remarkable New Year. We’re just sayin’…. Iris

Another Missed Opportunity

It seems we live in a world of missed opportunity. It was said of Yassir Arafat, that he never missed an opportunity to miss an opportunity, and while he may have been the prince of “miss,” the folks who decide security policy at airports, and the broader struggle to get a grip on terrorism, must be right behind. Ever since the 9/11 attacks over nine years ago, there has been an oscillating sense of what security is. We go from Orange to Red, to Yellow, and there isn’t one American in a hundred who could tell you what the differences are between the different color levels. (Including me.) Yet, as the supposed clamp downs occur, with some regularity, in the ongoing attempts to fight the last threat instead of the next, travelers are treated like dumb beasts, told what to do and how to do it, and essentially given zero encouragement to be part of the solution. In fact, to the contrary, the whole security structure is designed to attempt to intimidate the traveling public, seemingly unmindful of the fact that people whose mission it is to create havoc tend not be actually follow the ridiculous rules for the rest of us. It’s as if the only thing that matters is that the people who actually have some respect for the rule of law are the only ones the rules apply to. The bad guys kind of do their thing, playing by their own skewed set of rules.

There was a time right after 9/11 when the vast majority of the world was sympathetic to what had happened here, and had we had the tiniest sense of smarts, we could have leveraged that good will to our own, and that of the civilized world’s betterment. But the administration went crazy with organizational ideas run amok (to bring all the security agencies under one banner: Homeland Security, where they would be able to continue to not speak to each other), and above all – the absolute greatest missed opportunity in my opinion, to treat each and every passenger like a potential felon. They attempted, and have pretty much succeeded, to cow the traveling public to endure some of the most ridiculous screening procedures ever devised. Not only was the government unable to maintain a long term sense of cooperation and sympathy from other countries, but treating our own citizens as if each was a terrorist in waiting, we managed to fritter away the greatest potential power within the country: the righteous strength of the people at large. We were all supposed to shut our traps, and say “yessir” when subjected to these inefficient searches, and in doing so, we gave up the one thing which really could have made air travel in this country safe again. The ability of the people who had the most to lose – the flying public – to get involved.

There were a few reports in late September 2001, as air travel began to start up again with regularity, of pilots beseeching the passengers on their planes to maintain a certain vigilance, and that if something untoward were to happen, that they, the passengers were in fact the only real line of defense. Who, more than the flying public, wants a plane to arrive without incident? Certainly no one wearing a blue uniform and working for an hourly wage. For those folks it remains a job. Some are, yes, more committed to their task than others, but in the end, every change made by the TSA has been an attempt to keep something which already happened from perhaps occurring again. I’m sure there are a few things which have not been made public, which have helped in the search of stability in the air. But for the most part, the desire of the traveling public to be a part of, a major part of the formula, has been totally squandered. We like to think we are a country of greatness, though a little stroll through the America of Walmart malls might make you reconsider that. We watch Band of Brothers, and Saving Private Ryan, and we appreciate the sacrifice and strength of that Greatest Generation. We know about the troops who endured the battles of Khe Sanh and Hamburger Hill. And now, because the government, neither the Bush Administration nor the Obama Administration, has no faith in that same public, no faith in the people, no faith in what it was that once made this country great, we have to fly on airplanes with no blankets on our laps, no magazines, no ipods, no nothing. They turn off the little maps which show where the plane is. They cut off the movies and the internet. And like meek lambs, having waited innumerable hours for delayed flights, people say the stupidest things like “as long as it’s for our security, I don’t mind the wait.” Yeah, those are really the attitudes of the people who parachuted into Ste. Mere Eglise, and withstood a siege at Khe Sanh. I haven’t had to fly in the last couple of weeks, and am glad of it, because I know that the ridiculous attempts at fighting the last fight are only worse than before.

On a trip to China two years ago, a young man went a little bananas, and I awoke from a mild sleep to see a half dozen passengers restraining him, holding him down and getting him cuffed. They weren’t air marshals. They were just folks. The kind of folks you want to travel with. The kind of folks who take charge. The kind of folks who don’t whine, but just DO. The ones we think of what might have once been the kind of people we called Americans, people who just do the right thing because it’s the right thing.

When you get on a plane, you should be able to look around, find a few like minded folks, and almost without any words exchanged, know that if the shit hits the fan, they are the people you can rely on to try and bring things under control. We have spent so much time and effort delegating responsibility to everyone else, be it school boards, the police, the mall cops, or TSA, that we’ve forgotten how to get involved when something goes wrong. It’s time to get over it. The only that will save air passengers if something goes down are the anger and and righteous action of right-thinking people, not a TSA person in blue, who is now five hundred miles away. It’s not too late for the President to actually address the people, and ask for our help, not just our acquiescence. People are ready to be involved. This is the single greated untapped resource of the last decade. People know that in the end, they have to stand up for themselves. In a world where it has taken twice as long as the whole of World War II just to try and figure out what the 9/11 Memorial should look like, the chances of any rational behaviour by the government is probably too much to hope for. But in the end, my money will be on the beefy guy in row 13 who once played college football, the biker in row 24, and the lawyer who goes to the gym every day in row 18. When push comes to shove that will be the only team we have. Don’t let that power and strength just waste away. Let’s try and take care of ourselves. We’re just sayin’….David

As We Enter 2010

Dear Friends,

We have been remiss by not writing as much, or at all for the last few weeks. Our lives have been so chaotic with my attempted change in career, and David’s busy book schedule. Thank God, Bob Marley will never die, at least not in the visual sense.

Anyway, we wanted, as so many of our Christmas card friends do, share what we and our family have accomplished in 2009. We’re not used to doing this so please ‘bare’ with us, (in the revealing sense) while we share what our lives have been over the past year.

As the year began and we finished our mail order lobster, David and I, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. And then, Jordan Kai went on the road with “Seussical”, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. We had a new grandchild, Rosie, blah blah blah blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah blah blah And our grandson Zachary remains terrific, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah very exciting blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah Seth and Joyce, are great living in Plymouth – too far for everyday visits. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. David published another book called “44 Days”. blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah Iris blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah was Associate Producer on “Hurricane” blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah ;blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah And we don’t want to forget. blah blah blah blah blah blah blah Bob Marley blah blah blah blah blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah

WerejustSayin.blogspot.com sends love and thanks, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah.

Laps, Laps and More Laps

So much news for this, the end of a most interesting year. Sean Goldman is back with his dad. For whatever the reason, I was terribly disturbed by the whole story. (Some would say I’m terribly disturbed without the help of a story, but that’s not the point). For divorced or separated parents, who do or did not, have full time access to their kids, this whole episode was too much of a reminder of the pain of that absence. Not that all parents who live without their kids are totally denied a relationship (like with Sean – who at this point can barely speak English), but it’s just never easy to explain all the why’s – especially at holiday time.

Today the news was not stop terrorist attack on a Northwest flight from Holland to Detroit. As it turns out the terrorists father called the American Embassy to report that his son was probably a terrorist and at the very least should not be allowed to fly to the United States. He might also have mentioned that the kid had trained in Yemen with Muslim terrorists. Whoever took the phone call either chose to ignore the warning or didn’t take it seriously. What an Idiot, and I mean that in the nicest possible way. There are so many unanswered questions about the whole incident that no matter how many questions are answered, just like a game of ‘Whack a Mole,’ more just keep popping up.

The only good news about this whole story is that the guy attached the explosives and faulty detonator to his groin. If that isn’t poetic justice. He’ll live, but without the balls he thought he had when he determined he would blow up a plane with over 250 people.

That is not the best part of the news. Today, an incredibly stupid businessman, flying on the same flight – same flight number, same route- was taken ill in the air and locked himself in the bathroom. Why the guy didn’t tell them that he was sick, or why the crew didn’t break into the bathroom, are still unanswered questions. But neither happened and so the plane was taken to a secluded part of the airport where they discovered that the guy was sick and there was no need to have taken any of these precautions.

And speaking of incredibly stupid, The Department of Homeland Security has issued new and even more ridiculous rules for flying. For example, passengers can only carry one bag, they won’t be able to get out of their seats for the last hour of the flight and they will not be allowed to have anything on their laps for that hour. I’d like someone to explain to me how any of those rules will help to deter a terrorist. Especially since they are all a reaction to the terrorist whose father called to say don’t let him on an American airliner and some Homeland Security person screwed it up.

Everyone who has ever been involved in security (ah my hidden past), knows that making rules in reaction to a single incident is not going to prevent a different incident from occurring. No one involved in airport security is thinking about what works and what doesn’t work. How many people do you know, terrorist or otherwise who would strap an incendiary device to their “pupik” (it’s Yiddish but you get the picture). Why in the world would you forbid people to have something on their lap for an hour (unless there’s a delay and it’s more), because some idiot had explosives in his lap.

What the rules do is make the flight attendants into security officers – as if they didn’t have enough to do. The constant rewriting of rules is an inconvenience for everyone flying , that will not have an impact on any security. Business travelers who work on the plane, photographers who have cameras they don’t want stolen, and parents who are traveling with children, would like to fly, but Homeland Security, which needs a good dose of my mother’s common sense, is making it increasingly difficult, If there is an alternative to flying, people will eventually opt for that. And then what happens to the airline business? What a shame that the very people who are supposed to keep us safe, have become the enemy at the airport. How can we have any respect for a system that body searches old ladies, but ignores the warning of a parent who knows his kid is a real danger to the public. As my mother would say, “smart, smart, stupid.” We’re just sayin’…. Iris

Boxing Up on Boxing Day

One of the things we were taught in grade school, and I’m sure is no longer on anyone’s curriculum (including how to SPELL ‘curriculum’) is the fact that December 26th, is known in the UK at Boxing Day. It seems the tradition came from “collecting” boxes after Christmas, and evolved into making contributions to the poor, and other charitable efforts. In the US we don’t celebrate it as such. Instead we have the institution of the ‘after-Christmas sale,’ one which seems to have taken on almost the same cache as the Black Friday after Thanksgiving. That’s the day when store keepers lure hungry shoppers in with well advertised deals to try and kick off the shopping frenzy for the next four weeks. Today, in celebration of that grand tradition, I accompanied my wife and daughter to the 8am doors opening at Bloomindales on Third Avenue. My mother-in-law used to say “… when Bloomingdales has a Sale, its some Sale!” She, an Olympic class shopper, would be the one to know such things. The idea of 50% off an item already 20 or 30% off is enticing in the idea, though not always as rich in the follow through. I agreed to accompany the expeditionary force as the doors opened at 8am, and I figured it would probably be good for the ongoing development of my character. We actually arrived inside at 8:08am, no lines visible from the street, and being that Bloomies is so cavernous, there were virtually no signs of the hellacious Penney’s or Walmart-esque crowds which are constantly portrayed on 5pm local news shows.

I have to admit that the concept of saving $45 on a $170 Ralph Lauren tie ALMOST gets my attention. (Apparently Men’s wear doesn’t operate on the same discount levels as Women’s.) But its still leaving you with a $125 piece of neckwear. Thus, the phrase “oh, I’ll take three…” didn’t get uttered this morning. Yet I have to admit that the sheer logistics of running a sale like this.. a block square store in New York (plus all the other Bloomies stores around the country) – prepping the prices tags, figuring what will and won’t be actually slashed, and keeping some semblance of order, is truly a great triumph of management and marketing. So, while I didn’t buy anything of substance in the store today, I admit there is a tinge of admiration of the mere fact that they are able to carry it off. There must be 100.000 items for sale in the store, and keeping track of all of them, even with the luxury of inventory programs on computers, is a real challenge. (For more, please check – and I’m not making this up – the RFID Journal.)

Yet, walking back onto Third Avenue, on this somewhat lazy gray and languid Saturday morning, was like a little trip back into the past. There were, as far as I could see – down to the low forties, no cars on the Avenue. Nothing that would bear a resemblance to the madcap horn-driven traffic of just 48 hours ago. The city is still amazing when you can find it in those little moments of traffic reverie. You could stand in the middle of the street for a whole minute and risk neither life nor limb. Our New York base is in the shadow of the Lipstick Building, an ovalesque structure which takes up the block between 53 and 54th streets.

Red finish, shaped, indeed, like a lipstick tube, it is a singular building. And last spring it was better known, for a few weeks, as the headquarters of Bernie Madoff’s financial empire. It’s the building where he put together the scams which ripped off thousands of people. For more than a week, news crews were posted outside the building on a stake out (the most tedious and difficult kind of assignment) to try and get a glimpse of the great swindler, himself. I remember the first day I heard Madoff’s name mentioned in the same sentence as “fifty billion” and assumed, like almost everyone, that it had to be a misprint. Fifty Million? Maybe. Fifty Billion? You kiddin’ me?

The Lipstick building itself has managed to maintain its poise throughout. And it remains little beacon, denoting a part of town that looks like no other. So even the though city is still reeling from the aftershock of the year’s great swindlers, there is a feeling that things will somehow move ahead. That even with all the dreary news about the economy, security, and the unfortunate state of the body politic, we may face days ahead which will enliven as much as depress. Ten years ago, having just plunged into the dot-com bubble, we thought we’d never see things recover. The spectre of Y2K, now laffable in retrospect, remained a real concern for those who knew of such things. (One major CEO, who I accompanied on a trip to China in May of 1999, was incredulous that the Chinese were taking virtually no steps to avert the disaster that the world was facing from Y2K.) On the afternoon of December 31st when we saw that Sydney had not been plunged into darkness, relief was briefly restored. But we seem to have navigated our way through the ‘aughts,’ if not entirely without incident. (Yes, I would have to say the Iraq and Afghanistan wars were ‘incidents.’) But standing in the middle of Third Avenue, you get a sense that there is power enough to make it, God forbid! To 2019, and that, essentially, it’s right around the corner. When I was a kid in school, I used to try and figure out just how old I would be at the changing of the Millenium. Born in 1946, and subtracting that from 2000 equaled 54. It seemed like a number that was bigger, broader, older than almost anyone I knew, except maybe George Washington. (I still remember the crushing moment in the 2nd grade when I learned that Washington was no longer alive.) Now, imagining that in a mere decade as we approach the TwentyTwenties, I’ll still be a young guy with silver hair, I wonder how it could all have scooted by so damn quickly. Well, we have a whole week to go before Twenty Ten, make the most of it I say, even if you can’t get everything at fifty off. We’re just sayin’….David

Traditions, and Our Lives

Apparently, Sean is going to go home with his dad. It is unclear what happens now, but the Brazilian Supreme Court ruled in favor of David Goldman. Here’s what I don’t get. Right after they made the decision, why didn’t daddy Goldman get in a car with Rep. Chris Smith, drive directly to the kidnappers home, and take the child. The scenario would be something like; they drive up in an American Embassy vehicle. (This is important because the major reason the Brazilian’s ruled for Goldman was because the United States threatened sanctions which would have an adverse impact on their economy.) Then they all get out of the car and knock on the door. I would suggest Chris and the Ambassador lead the way. Then David approaches and says, I know this is confusing for you Sean, but we’re getting on a plane and going back to New Jersey, your home. We have a lifetime for me to explain all of this, but I love you and ultimately it is right for us to start this New Year together. And because it’s Christmas, not only will we thank God but I’ll buy you big expensive presents. I like the idea of bribes.

The holidays seem never to be easy for families. Whether it’s too much tension, too much stress or the idea that people who are related but don’t necessarily like one another, feel forced to be together. Ultimately, it is not always a time to reunite in a positive way. We, like so many other families, always celebrated the holidays in traditional ways. In other words, we had traditions. For example, we always celebrated Thanksgiving in New Jersey with my brother's family, friends and mom. The tradition began with dinner at the Reservoir Tavern the night before Thanksgiving. Then, on Thanksgiving the kids would make a gingerbread house and I would cook with my sister-in-law. We would always get a Honey Baked ham for Seth, and we would cook a delicious turkey, mashed potatoes (usually purple), green beans with cream of mushroom soup and French’s fried onions, a squash soufflé and stuffing. After dinner other friends would join us for dessert and coffee. For the last few years, Before mom moved, she would get sick and we would spend the rest of the night in the hospital—that was always colorful.

We have been celebrating Christmas with the same friends for more years than I would believe possible. When I was small I went by myself. Once we were grown the whole family was invited. It usually starts with dinner at the ‘’Res’ the night before Christmas Eve. On Christmas Eve we have appetizers, good wine and lasagna at the Hance’s. Christmas morn is spent with Joyce and Ron and their family. We eat, and sing and exchange silly gifts. For me, laughter, family and good friends are what the holidays are about. But things change.

Once mom moved out of her house, Seth and Joyce stopped coming and opted to spend Thanksgiving at home in Plymouth, Ma. The rest of us moved Thanksgiving out to Bainbridge, Washington so we would still be with mom. We usually celebrated the week before the actual date because it was easier to travel that week.. It was always fun, we still miss not having Joyce and Seth and now their kids celebrate with us but things change.

Last year, because we had already celebrated Thanksgiving (and David was somewhere working), Jordan and I had a lovely meal at the York Grill. The restaurant was booked to capacity so we sat at the bar for dinner and drinks and it was most delightful. This year David was going to be gone again and Jordan decided to spend the holiday with her boyfriend and his family. I spent the afternoon with my college friends and had dinner with new friends back in the city. On Christmas, Jordan will be with us, Seth and Joyce with her family. And I know things will continue to change. Eventually, I fear David and I will be spending the Christmas with friends, sans family, and who knows what will happen with other holidays, like Passover – which is much more important to us than it is to our children. Glad we did the “Gefilte Fish Chronicles” because at least we will always have those memories.

David and I know that there is really nothing we can do if our children’s lives lead them to make decisions that do not include us for family celebrations. Seth has his own fabulous family and their own traditions, and Jordan has someone she loves who also has traditions. Part of it may be that we have accommodated everyone’s schedules by celebrating holidays on days that were not actually the holiday. That was also colorful, and easier. But it may have led the kids to believe holidays were not important to us – as opposed to, holidays were so important we wanted to celebrate them whenever we could.

When we were kids it was traditional to eat dinner at Aunt Sophie’s every Friday night. There were no excused absences, no passes. Time passed, we grew up, Aunt Sophie sold the house and, as adults, we grew apart. Recently, the absence of ongoing old traditions and realization that the “kids” have their own lives is not as easy to deal with as we thought it would be. But life moves on. Things change, and we feel sure there will be new traditions to which we can look forward. Every holiday will be a new adventure. We’ll just leave a cell phone number in case anyone wants to text us to find out where we are. We’re just sayin’…. Iris

About Sean....

Doesn’t anyone remember Elian Gonzalez? He was the child from Cuba whose mom (without his father’s approval) took him on a small boat ride from Cuba to Miami. Their boat sank and Elian’s mom died. Elian was taken to relatives in Miami until there was a decision about what should be done with the child. The Cuban community in Miami was not about to turn him over to Castro – not to mention his father (who was a communist).
Elian and his dad, reunited
I was in the Clinton government as Chief of Staff at the USIA, when we confronted the “Elian” situation. Lula Rodriguez, who was working with me, was a close friend and confidante of Janet Reno’s (and a Cuban refugee), got a call from the Attorney General. She wanted to know what Lula thought they should do. “Send him right home. Under no circumstances should you give that family the opportunity to grandstand.” The Justice Department did not heed that sage advice. And, as predicted, the family used Elian as a symbol of their anti-Castro sentiments – for six long months.

The United States and Brazil are both subscribers to the Hague Convention. It is an international document that, among other things, prevents international kidnapping, even by a parent. Or maybe, especially by a parent. David Goldman’s wife took their son Sean, to visit her family in Brazil. It was never just a visit home. She intended to stay. But she knew her husband would never let his son go – if he knew what she intended to do. Once back in Brazil, she divorced David, remarried, and got pregnant. She died in childbirth. (If that’s not a sign from God I don’t know what else it could be).

Her new, and apparently well connected husband, decided to keep David’s child. Kind of like Elian’s Miami family did without the politics. Here’s the simple fact. The mother kidnapped the child, who must have been traumatized by losing his dad, and then his mom. The Brazilian family now says that since the boy has been with them for so many years, he should stay with them. What a bunch of crap. Unfortunately, David can’t just take him and flee. Or maybe he could, if the State Department would support the effort. Hasn’t the government made daring raids into dangerous areas to rescue hostages. Why doesn’t Chris Smith, the Representative from NJ, and human rights advocate, just walk up to their door and say, ENOUGH! It would probably be better if Hillary went with him so that the federal government (Democrats and Republicans, diplomats and legislators) appear united against this heinous injustice. It would also be good to get Bruce Springsteen to go, but that’s a pipe dream.

The President has been silent about this personal and tragic situation. I wonder how he would feel if Michelle just took the kids to somewhere without extradition, and did the same thing. OK, she wouldn’t but I’m talking about feelings, not reality. I understand that with the bombing of Yemen and all the trips to Copenhagen he must be distracted, but what if he went to Brazil and said to their President, stop this foolishness and give this American citizen back to his dad.

A child is not a thing or a possession. The Brazilian family that is holding him has no right to keep him. It’s obvious that the Brazilian Courts have no idea about justice or injustice. Someone is making some money on this. It’s time for our Justice Department, State Department and Congress to take the issue to the Hague. It would be an international embarrassment for Brazil to be dragged to this court and maybe bring enough pressure to ensure Sean’s return to his dad and to his homeland in New Jersey. We’re just sayin’… Iris

Forming Reform

Who thinks it’s OK for the insurance companies to be able to cap the cost of a devastating disease, like cancer. Who thinks that the American public will be happy about the kind of ‘reform’ that we are about to suffer. It’s always fun to look at the real definition of something and then to try and connect it with what is the reality.

According to Thesaurus.com reform is defined as “correct, rectify” with Synonyms such as: “ameliorate, amend, better, bring up to code, change one's ways, clean up, clean up one's act, convert, correct, cure, emend, go straight, improve, make amends, make over, mend, rearrange, rebuild, reclaim, reconstitute, reconstruct, redeem, refashion, regenerate, rehabilitate, remake, remedy, remodel, renew, renovate, reorganize, repair, resolve, restore, revise, revolutionize, rework, shape up, standardize, swear off, transform, turn over a new leaf, uplift.” None of these sound like what the health care bill will be.

Admittedly, I did not read the bill. I was waiting for the Republican Senators to read the 2000 pages to me as a part of their filibuster. What was I thinking? None of them can read. Well, maybe a few can read, but not all those words. All you have to know is that insurance stocks are rising. What does that say. That the insurance companies are expecting a windfall. That the insurance companies are not worried about being controlled. Or that the insurance companies are not afraid of government competition. My skepticism is probably a consequence of thinking like a progressive. You remember the progressives? We’re the people who helped to elect Obama because we believed that he would end the war and make sure people who didn’t have access to healthcare would finally not have to choose between food and medication.

The progressives have been told over and over that we are not going to like this bill. What’s to like? I’d like a list—even a short one. We have also been told that while there is no public option, and the insurance companies really don’t have to cover preexisting conditions, (wasn’t that one of the points of reform?) there will be yet another ‘fund’ to do all of that. What I now realize is that the Obama Administration, which turned health care over to the Congressional lobbyists, instead of writing their own plan, really did want to reform health care and not health insurance. I kept writing about how important words were. And people did not understand what health care meant, so how could they support changing it. But now I see that I was wrong. As long as no one understood what the Congress and the White House were reforming, the likelihood of supporting the status quo while giving lip service to ‘health reform’ was precisely what they intended to do.

Today they announced that there were enough Senate votes to pass health care reform. And so they will. But no one, including the people who wrote or mangled the bill, will understand what they have done until it is too late to see the consequences for all the people who need help (and most of those who don’t.) Then, I guess, they will have to reform the reform. That should be another 2000 pages or more. You can be sure, however, that the insurance companies will pay no penalties and suffer no hardships or God forbid, competition.

If I were the President, I would do exactly what Howard Dean suggested. Just throw the whole thing out and start over again with specific goals. Things like ‘you have to be able to read and understand the bill within an hour or two’—and that’s reading and comprehension. And how about, the health care offered to the pubic has got to be equal to the health care offered to our elected officials. Or, conversely, that the Senate/House coverage would have to mirror that which was passed for everyone else. They would never tolerate what they have now foisted upon a distracted public. The real shame is that President Obama now appears not to care about promises made, or, what was that word….. Oh yeah, Change. Some would say same old, same old. We’re just sayin’… Iris

Ma'Wah'Kee

Quite frequently, when we are minding our own business, (I know that it doesn’t happen with great frequency), some stranger will say to David, ‘”Excuse me sir, but could you take our picture?” This happened last Saturday when two young women asked David if he could shoot their picture in a Christmas decorated park in Milwaukee. He didn’t hesitate to say “yes.” The only thing is, when David shoots a picture, (of stranger or otherwise), it just takes longer than the subject expects, because he is real photographer and he wants to take a good shot. Anyway, after a great deal of fussing with an unfamiliar camera, the girls (clearly uncomfortable with this unkempt stranger), said that they had to leave. Did I forget to mention he was wearing a wool hat with the price tags still on. Anyway, David said he would take a shot with his camera and send it to them. They looked frightened by this suggestion. It’s funny when a young stranger thinks your husband is a pervert, so I jumped in and said, “go to David Burnett.com and you’ll see who took your picture.” And apparently they did because what follows is a note we got from them yesterday:

‘We are the two random girls from the Milwaukee Cathedral Square. Could you possibly send the pictures to this email address??
thanks!!!
you have a lot of talent!!'

It’s Christmas season and it feels like everything in Milwaukee twinkles. It’s a nice town. Tina and her husband moved there from Madison years ago, and found it to their liking. There is good food, lots of theater, a wealth of extraordinary architecture and the Pfister Hotel. There is also black ice, (that’s the ice that looks like just a little water on the ground and before you know it, the ground is exactly where you will find yourself), a few great restaurants, a wonderful Lt. Governor, a beautiful little park with colorful holiday lights, and some lovely people -- who will gladly give you directions whether they know how to get to wherever you’re going or not. But not worry, it’s a terrific place to walk, regardless of the time it takes to find your way to your destination.

And speaking of finding. We found our way to the auditorium where Jordan was performing. We took Tina, her children and grandchildren to see “Seussical.” Mostly, the show is targeted to children who know the Dr. Seuss, stories or the parents of children who have fond memories of the stories. We have been in audiences where there were and weren’t parents. The shows where there are teachers instead of parents are better. Quieter, more respectful of what’s happening on the stage. This audience was made up with very well behaved school children, who, among other things, knew that if they behaved, they might have another opportunity to get out of doing school work for at least half a day.
JKB and the 'roomies'
The show remains adorable and the cast equally so. Jordan’s four roommates (they have been sleeping 4 in a room , two beds, everywhere.) They have a $40 a day per diem – for food and lodging and decided to stay with us at the Pfister (we get an amazing deal and pay about $10 more than their usual Motel Six. If you haven’t ever been to the Pfister and plan a trip to that part of Wisconsin, put it on your list of things to see. It’s a gorgeous, old world European hotel. The ceilings are a combination of carved gold muted paintings. Everything wreaks of elegance. (I know wreaks is like smelly but I was going to say ooze and that was even less pleasant.) Let’s call a do over. The hotel drips with elegance. Never mind, you get the point.
a Pfister blobbing moment
The whole weekend was great fun. When we are with Tina and the kids we always have a good time. You never know when someone will call
In fact, when Jordan was a kid it was so much fun it’s where she chose to celebrate every birthday. And the good people of the county board who run the Mitchell/Milwaukee airport, have added a sense of wry humor by proclaiming the sit-down-and-get-your-stuff-together area after Airport Security, the RECOMBOBULATION Area, in honor of those of us who know all to well what Discombobulation is all about.
It was another on our list of fabulous, brief, road trips with the bonus being good friends and a sparkling holiday feel. As my mother would say “Try it, you’ll like it.” We’re just sayin’… Iris

Ode to an Old Silver Pal

Even though much of what is done in photography is very personal, very isolated, removed, in a way, from everything but the photographer’s eye and the subject, there remains still a certain camaraderie amongst those of us who practice this endeavor. If you’re working on a story of gang life in Limerick, Ireland (by Rian Dundon) or the growth of fundamentalism in Pakistan (by Yusuke Harada) you will probably find yourself in the middle of a lot of people, none of them photographers. These are the kind of stories which require a certain commitment from a photographer to plunge in, essentially letting the story unfold at each new stage and which by definition mean that you, the photographer, are working on your own. And then there are those stories, and most of us have been there, when you find yourself in a pack of photographers, each one trying to glean a moment out of a situation which might not be so obvious. But ours is a business of colleagues, and many of my own good friends are photographers. There is something collegial about our work, and whether it is sharing opinions on the new DSLR that shoots hi-def video, or the best point-and-shoot camera for taking on vacations, the banter tends to cement friendships. Maybe it’s like a lab experiment – put 10 photographers in an enclosed, confined space, shake well, and see what happens – but many good friendships have been made of lesser stuff.

This month, however I want to write about another friend of mine. One I have known for forty years. One which has always been there for me. A friend I know I can rely on when the chips are down, and failure is not an option. And while I feel a little like this friendship sometimes seems like it’s a one way street, there is no doubt that I would stand up for and defend this friend if the challenge would arise.
The Continental Palace Hotel, Saigon
In a time of so much uncertainty, it is a joy to know you have someone to rely on. And for me, that friend, the one I became acquainted with in the first year of Richard Nixon’s term, was my 26” Halliburton aluminum travel case. In early 1969, a year in the business, and trying to complete my ‘kit’ of gear, I was always on the look out for good deals. John Olson, a friend who was working for the weekly LIFE (at 22, the youngest staff photographer they’d ever hired) was selling some of his gear, and I happily purchased a few of those goodies. It was a very different time: Hong Kong was still a cheap place to buy photo gear at unbelievable prices, and things were bought and sold even before there was an eBay to facilitate such things. John sold me a black Leica M4 with a 21mm lens for $325 (and he made money on the deal, I’m sure) and for an extra hundred, threw in a mildly beat up two-suiter aluminum suitcase (official stats 26x18x12.) I was only just beginning to own enough gear to come close to filling a case that big, but somehow I knew I’d eventually own enough gear to fill it up. In one early incarnation, I filled the case with four layers of foam, and cut out holes to fit all my cameras. (Shipping was much more secure then. It was rare that something didn’t make it to the final destination of choice.) Sadly, the foam I chose wasn’t quite firm enough for all my cameras and lenses, and when I opened the case (in Lima, I think) all the gear had schmushed down to one end, the foam rubber barely keeping the cameras apart. It looked like a pizza which has been carried home from the café in a vertical position, and when the box is opened, a giant mass of cheese has settled pillow-like all the way down on the bottom. I learned to be nicer to the case – and the contents. When packing cameras in foam, I bought the more expensive stuff for a change. Often, I’d throw cameras and clothes in together, as the aluminum outer shell of the case made it almost impervious to the crushing forces which lesser bags have succumbed to. I used the case to get my cameras to and back from Vietnam in the early 1970s. The fact that it locked with a pretty silver key gave it an added air of safety and protection. You would need real cutting tools to get inside a locked one. I eventually started buying decals on my trips, and sticking them both inside and out, little mementos of trips which came to have great meaning to me personally. It came to be a shippable version of my 70s and 80s itineraries. Like most photographers, I think, I still get those little butterflys of uncertainty as the plane flies over the fence on final. You look out the window, see the local cabs and buses scurrying on the perimeter road and wonder awaits. Nothing boosted my confidence on arriving at a foreign airport like seeing the silver Halli, rotating around the luggage carousel, beckoning me to grab it and get on with the work.
Snuggling up with the 4x5 gear
Most of us have a few old friends like that which we rely on. Dennis Brack, the great DC freelancer, has been using the same black heavy plastic shoulder bag for at least forty years. It’s not a very handsome bag, and anything but chic, but the one thing it offered, virtually no one other did: you could stand on it without either crushing it, or falling off. It let Dennis be 6’4” when he needed to be. All the difference when a little elevation was called for. I’m just back from a trip to another exotic location – Southwestern Ohio, and as I unpacked the big silver case yesterday, I slowly read over all those stickers again, and so many images came back to me. Saigon 1971, a submarine trip in the Pacific 1982, Sarajevo 1984, the Pope in Poland 1983 (where Lufthansa tried, unsuccessfully to destroy the case, and paid heavily for it!),
The Black Madonna of Czestacowa (Poland)
Tehran 1979, Ayers Rock 1981, Jamaica 1985, and the Presidential campaigns from 1976 through John McCain a year ago. It scares me to think that I’ve been married to a suitcase longer than I’ve been married to my wife, but each of them seems to understand the place of the other. And even though the Halli doesn’t cook so well, and has a demeanor devoid of the kind of humor I appreciate, when I need to pack up my stuff, and head to the airport for trip to Timbuktu, I know that it will be the one case which will get me out and back. We’re just sayin’…David

It's About the Threes

When I was a kid a friend told me that airplane crashes always come in threes, so if a plane crashed at a time I was supposed to travel I shouldn’t go. Obviously, if you gotta go, you gotta go. This meant, that when I got on a plane, after two planes crashed, within a few days of my trip, I simply prayed a lot and hoped for the best. This was not as disconcerting as when my college boyfriend took me to the airport and told me that my number wasn’t up, but – (and he would point) “you see that guy going with you, his number is.” Needless to say, I lived, but it was a sign the relationship was doomed.

Holidays always seem to be a time when people are celebrating or they are getting sick. For example, this week I found out that the grandson of one of my friends has leukemia, a treasured cousin has inoperable pancreatic cancer, and an old friend has a brain tumor.

This week there were three news stories that were equally unimportant and yet, received an overwhelming amount of media attention. First there was the White House party crasher story. Then there was the Tiger Woods, “did she try to kill him or save him” story. And last but not least, Chelsea Clinton is getting married to a nice Jewish boy. Should I send them a copy of “The Gefilte Fish Chronicles”. I know his mother must be kvelling. I mean, I know his mother and I know she must be kvelling.

What is it about the number three. Or, maybe a better question is, what is it about superstitions that make us pay attention and find significance in something like a number. In my family there were no shortage of superstitions. Although some were ridiculous, some actually seemed to make sense. (Sense may not be exactly the right word but in my family it's hard to distinguish between sense and nonsense.) Some superstitions were directed specifically at the women in the family. One of them was, “if you throw something at a pregnant woman, the mice will eat your clothes". Or, if you go down the staircase backwards, you will get your period. And, my own personal favorite, “if you have your period when you make the horse radish—it will never be hot enough.” If, on Passover when they had worked to make the horse radish unbreathable, and you could open the jar and still breathe, she would line us all up and insist we confess about being ‘clean'. (When you have your period you are not ‘clean’) Other old wives’ tales or as my grandmother called them bubemeisters seemed to be a bit more rational. For example, if you lose something, and you turn a glass upside down on the table, you will find it. (Try it, it’s amazing.)

There were also bubemeisters to which she insisted we pay attention: You never moved into a new home without first putting salt, flour, and sugar in the cabinet and a broom in the closet. And most importantly, you never did anything (like dress your children to well) or anything that would draw the attention of someone who might give you the evil eye. Now aren’t those refreshing. Especially in light of the horrible 'three' thing.

This is also the time of year when we think about things like our own mortality, what we weigh, and how to avoid fighting with our families at holiday dinners. But it should also be a time to remember that no matter how hard we try to live good lives, life is so tenuous that there is no predicting what will happen. So, I would say, err on the cautious side and stay away from black cats and broken mirrors. We’re just sayin’… Iris