It’s Father’s day and is there a reason why we celebrate this day, beyond the fact that it is good for the card industry. Yes, there are reasons and I will give you three (there are more but space is limited.)
Milton Groman, my dad. Milty was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis when he was in his twenties and my mom was pregnant with my brother (also a good dad), who is six years my junior. It was a frightening time for the entire extended family because my dad, who wanted to be a fur designer, realized that he could no longer pursue his dreams. Instead he would have to find something else to do while he watched his body degenerate. There was no cure, and in those days, no hope that anything would get better. Dad worked in the family handbag business. First as a salesperson in the New York show room. (He looked like a movie star so he made lots of sales). Then as it became harder and harder for him to get around – first one cane then two, then a walker, and finally a wheel chair, – he worked in the handbag factory as a supervisor and finally, a clerk. We always thought we needed to be grateful for the family financial support but in fact, we all needed to be grateful for the gift of my dad. Not only was he determined to be a well person, (no one ever described my dad as sick – he simply couldn’t walk).
But through all the disappointments in his life, he maintained a strong sense of self and a wonderful sense of humor. My most treasured memories are about the things we did together. Running with him on the beach. The little box of Valentine’s Day candies he brought me every year. The laughs we had watching silly TV programs and even when he spanked me. He couldn’t walk, and was losing the use of his hands, so I had to stand where he could reach me, and he had to struggle with trying to smack my tush. It was not physically painful but it was emotionally devastating and we both cried so hard, I vowed I would never be naughty again. (I was, but there was never another spanking, and we never mentioned it again.) He couldn’t take us to amusement parks or horse back riding, but he taught us patience, independence, a desire to consider it a success when we did the best we could, a determination to follow our dreams, the ability to empathize, a desire to help people who couldn’t help themselves, and most importantly, kindness and humor. Dad couldn’t, (as one doctor told us when Dad had one leg amputated) ambulate. That doctor was a moron – he couldn’t see dad as a whole person –we never saw him as anything else. He was a wonderful dad, and granddad, lucid and entertaining, til the day he died. He has been gone for 24 years and I still miss him every day.
David Burnett, Jordan’s dad. All you have to know is that during the Gulf War in 1991, David decided not to go and instead stayed home a built a doll house that Jordan, (a mere 5 years old), just had to have. He tells that story when people ask him if he has any pictures of the Gulf. Not that anyone has any pictures of the first Gulf war, and truthfully, the only good that came out of that war was Jordan’s doll house, but he made that decision because first, he has always been devoted to her. And second, she didn’t want him to be in any danger. They have always had a special relationship. She adores him and thinks he may be the funniest person she has ever met. They speak the same language, they often finish each other’s sentences and she (unlike her mother) is willing to listen to his “Salt Lake Stories”, no matter how many times he tells them – they are not short stories. When Jordan moved to LA she needed to have her car so they drove across the country. They were on the road for 8 days, they were in an enclosed space, neither of them felt well (in addition to which she gets car sick), there was no kicking and screaming, no, “don’t make me stop this car”, in fact, they never had a cross word. We had a family rule that no one could be away for more than three weeks, so even when she was in college, we were never apart for more than five or six weeks. They wanted to spend some quality time together before she moved. Before she started her life as a grown-up – sans on-site parental supervision. Father/Daughter relationships are often complicated and always have a permanent impact on the child. David has always been there for her. He has imparted her with unconditional love, a sense of self, inner strength and a personal comfort level that no amount of money could buy. She is a lucky girl.
Seth Jacobson, Zak and Rosie Jean’s Dad. The first time I saw Seth with his children I was truly amazed by the amount of love and patience he demonstrated. Seth, whose parents divorced when he was six, has always been cautious about any overt/public expression of affection. But not anymore. He is simply brimming with adoration for his beautiful kids. Yes, they are adorable, but it goes well beyond physical beauty. He is deeply and passionately proud of every achievement, whether it involves a puzzle, a painting, playing an instrument, finishing a meal, overcoming some distress, or even sharing a joke. It’s wonderful to see it. Last night they put a tent up in their new backyard. (Seth always had the “fort” gene.) They built a little campground and hung a sign that said, “Welcome to Camp Jacobson”. Hanging out with the children is what he wants to do when he has a choice about the way he spends his free time. How lucky he is to have learned that his family is a priority – most of us don’t find that out until we’re are listing regrets. And they are truly lucky children to have parents who love them unconditionally, who like them without apology, and for whom they will always be first on any list of his accomplishments. We’re just sayin’…. Iris
Sunday, June 20, 2010
FREELENS and me...
Culture wherever it lurks: a young violinist busker in Hamburg
a Hamburg streetThis past week I was in Germany attending a wonderful photo conference, sponsored by the FREELENS group, which is the biggest German press photographers advocate group. There were hundreds of attendees, from young and undiscovered tyros, to the likes of Thomas Hoepker, one of the long time greats.
a little PR wherever it happens, not a bad thing, reallyThe meeting was in a large fairgrounds built a decade ago for an international fair in Hannover. The name of the place in German is Hannover Messe, but it’s anything but a mess. A huge construct of several dozen large buildings, each of which feels very modern, and extremely user friendly. There are toilets all over the place which, as you know, can be the essential defining character of gathering spaces. [I had the delightful and challenging diversion, at a river front eaterie in Hamburg of -- having paid my 70 cent entry fee to pee, trying to figure out how to get OUT of the Men's room. As it happens, the place is ringed with Subway style turnstiles, and you have to know to Press the RED Button in order to go out the way you came in.]
But more importantly they had the ability to lay out some sixty photographic essays, chosen from hundreds submitted, by young photographers from all around the world. Several of the large buildings were filled with the shows, including a ¼ mile long “sky walk,” all of which made for easy viewing. I visited Hannover the first & only time previously, exactly 42 years to the day, before. Having just graduated from college, I was en route with a college friend, to pick up a brand new Volkswagen Squareback, a great little car, at the VW plant in Wolfsburg. Hannover was the airport we flew in to, and I distinctly remember attending a tiny little carnival like fair then, a few small rides, wurst grilled on the fire, and most memorably, a shooting gallery where successful shots on target released a small amount of schnapps into a very public glass which the shooter would then be allowed/forced to drink. I think I may still be feeling the after effects four decades later.
I spoke at the conference on Wednesday night -- it was live streamed around the world on that interweb thing they recently invented, and I was told that in a day or two, it will be available for viewing for those of you who fall into the category of “can’t bear to miss it.” (I will post a link when it goes up.) I’m told I was inspirational, fabulous, and English. For some reason, not that I have ever spoken German very well, but it’s the one language that I feel the most difficulty trying to chitchat in … with my limited vocabulary. After a few days, I finally get to where I can order a krakauer wurst mit senf (Possibly the greatest fastfood item ever created… a fabulous “super hot dog” wurst with masterful German mustard: ahhhh heavenly.) I think my true fortune as a millionaire would be assured if I could just figure out a way to import 500 sausages a day (you cant use the ones that have all the U.S. FDA stuff mandated) .. sell them in a proper grilling cart on 54th street in New York – the kind that New York magazine rates as “Don’t Miss This!”
the grill scene
Maybe it’s a world wide occurrence, but I had one of those “what about ME” moments my first morning in Hamburg (the closest international airport.) I needed to get a SIM card for my little French bought Samsung fone (bought it last year when I was in, naturally, France) and went to a small “CallShop” across the street from my hotel. The Hotel? That’s another story altogether, but suffice to say that what you see on the Interweb isn’t always what it looks like in person. In short, when I walked out of my illuminated auberge called the Lumen,
the window of the Lumen(first hotel I ever stayed in named for a Luna-Pro light meter) I had my choice, right and left, of two quality Sex Shoppes with XXX movies (32 channels!)
They were surrounded by a host of quite good Turkish restaurants (better, Im sure if you go with someone they know.) But at the CallShop, the young Turkish fellow (he spoke 4 or 5 languages) told me what I needed to speak and connect, and I handed him my fone. Had to Unlock it (5 Euros), Buy a card (10 Euros), and extra Time (15 Euros) And while they cracked the fone I waited patiently marveling at the gigantic array and assortment of available phones. During that 15 minutes, (and here is the amazing part I think) at least 4 different people.. a woman witb a young son, several post adolescents, and a pair of 20 somethings came in. All of them had iPhones. iPHONES!!! You kidding me.? These phones sell for 500 Euros new, or 200-300 Euros for a used one (lots of folks keep upgrading.) And many of these users look like they might have a part time job at best. OK… perhaps making a snappy judgement like this is a bit too quick, but let’s face it. iPHones? Amazing. And me, wandering through Deutschland with my little flip (a la 1999) Samsung. Those are the kind of things which just make you feel the power of the whole globalization thing, whatever the hell it really is.
And not only were the wurst amazing, but the young photogs were a great group, and the three days in Hannover flew by. The niftiest piece of gear to make an appearance at the festival was a polo shirt, with a wonderful bit of writing on the back:
the German version (bigger, glossier, heavier, cooler?.. of SOUL REBEL was on sale..It became a huge hit, at least with me. Kind of sums things up, doesn’t it, at least if you’re a member of the photo trade. In this age of so many people trashing photographers, and we’re standing our ground. The ground may be giving way to a giant sink hole.. we’ll have to get back to you on that one. But meanwhile, grab the camera, and see if you can make the transformation. You might just BE a photographer…. You never know. We’re just sayin’… David
another Hamburg moment (as always, click an image to see it full size)
Here's to Old Pals
The lyrics… “I’m always doing laundry, because there are a lot of dirty clothes.” …sung to the tune of “I’m Always Chasing Rainbows.” There I was, singing in the communal basement laundry room about this tedious chore, when what should appear but an entire family, clearly having an adventure. The kids were running wild chasing cockroaches and emptying the trash. The father was involved in a book and paid no attention to them. The mother was clueless. There was no chance that she knew how or what to discipline. I thought about protecting the washers and dryers from the attack of the little people in 4C, but I changed my mind because I was distracted by an older woman ironing in the corner.
Am I simply complaining about the difficulty of my life, or is this another rant about misbehaving children? Neither. This is a blob about a multitude of topics because once again, I have been lax about writing. Among those topics are children and pets and friendships that outlast time, change, and trouble.
When you are a young teen or an old teen (teen is important because you have little or no baggage), you make friends fast and easily, and often lose touch with them when your life changes. Sometimes, however, the connection was so powerful that they made an indelible mark on your life, and from time to time you wonder about who and where they are now. Which brings us to my next story. You may recall that a few months ago I wrote a blob about my life as a teen “down the Jersey Shore”. Even if you don’t, I did, and the two people who had great impact on my teen life were Vicki and Davey [Editor’s note: that would be a different, though no less fabulous Davey than this reporter] –for very different reasons. I reunited with Davey in 1976 but often wondered about Vicki. (The first time I met her she was ironing in the corner of the basement, in the house where she worked as a mother’s helper… this was pre- the “chicness” of being an ‘au pair’ – hence, the woman ironing in the corner of our laundry room took me back. Whew, I knew I could make that connect for you.) Until three days ago, thanks to the world of the web, she found the blob and tracked us down. Anyway, long-time pal Joyce (who introduced us,) and I went to see her and she is still a fabulous babe. Totally unchanged by life or love. “Every guy I went out with loved me, but insisted I change. Except Jack”. To whom she has been married for many, many, many years. She has kids and grandkids, she bought a car on e-bay, and she remains as silly as we were in the 60’s. What very good news. We all loved seeing each other and I feel we will build on what we had, to have even more – adventures and life together.
Then there’s Jordan’s new dog Ernie. She loves the dog and he loves her – but dogs love anyone who pays only minimal attention –which she does not. She is on that dog like a cheap suit. She simply hangs all over him. For this I blame myself. Having a pet you can touch is a new experience for her. The only other pet she had was a gold fish that we won at a fair and that died while we were on our way home and made a stop for Chinese food. When I realized the fish was dead I said, “Honey. The fish has died and is floating on the top of the bowl. We will need to get rid of it.”. And she said, “I don’t care if it’s dead. I’m keeping it anyway. Fish don’t do that much and I won’t have to feed it.” Anyway, I am delighted that she has this new love in her life and I think I probably, as her Aunt Soozie suggested, I should have let her express her affection for a pet long ago.
You never know who is going to make a difference in your life. For example, I love the time I spend in NY because I have wonderful family around. While I have always spent time with my cousins Honey, Rosalie, and big Sheila (it’s an age rather than size description), I never spent any extended time with little Sheila, until I started to spend time in the Big Apple. We have stuff we love to do together—simple things, like walks and discovering places we have never been. When I am stressed because of work or whatever, I find a good dose of Sheila does wonders for my mood.
How lucky am I, to have reunited with a wonderful friend, to have children that can think beyond themselves, and to have family who I know will always be there for me. Sometimes we need to pause and take a look at the gifts that we have been given, and whether we say thank God, or thank you Dad, or a personal thank you (you credit yourself with your good fortune), a thank you to whomever is clearly in order. We’re just sayin’… Iris
Am I simply complaining about the difficulty of my life, or is this another rant about misbehaving children? Neither. This is a blob about a multitude of topics because once again, I have been lax about writing. Among those topics are children and pets and friendships that outlast time, change, and trouble.
When you are a young teen or an old teen (teen is important because you have little or no baggage), you make friends fast and easily, and often lose touch with them when your life changes. Sometimes, however, the connection was so powerful that they made an indelible mark on your life, and from time to time you wonder about who and where they are now. Which brings us to my next story. You may recall that a few months ago I wrote a blob about my life as a teen “down the Jersey Shore”. Even if you don’t, I did, and the two people who had great impact on my teen life were Vicki and Davey [Editor’s note: that would be a different, though no less fabulous Davey than this reporter] –for very different reasons. I reunited with Davey in 1976 but often wondered about Vicki. (The first time I met her she was ironing in the corner of the basement, in the house where she worked as a mother’s helper… this was pre- the “chicness” of being an ‘au pair’ – hence, the woman ironing in the corner of our laundry room took me back. Whew, I knew I could make that connect for you.) Until three days ago, thanks to the world of the web, she found the blob and tracked us down. Anyway, long-time pal Joyce (who introduced us,) and I went to see her and she is still a fabulous babe. Totally unchanged by life or love. “Every guy I went out with loved me, but insisted I change. Except Jack”. To whom she has been married for many, many, many years. She has kids and grandkids, she bought a car on e-bay, and she remains as silly as we were in the 60’s. What very good news. We all loved seeing each other and I feel we will build on what we had, to have even more – adventures and life together.
Then there’s Jordan’s new dog Ernie. She loves the dog and he loves her – but dogs love anyone who pays only minimal attention –which she does not. She is on that dog like a cheap suit. She simply hangs all over him. For this I blame myself. Having a pet you can touch is a new experience for her. The only other pet she had was a gold fish that we won at a fair and that died while we were on our way home and made a stop for Chinese food. When I realized the fish was dead I said, “Honey. The fish has died and is floating on the top of the bowl. We will need to get rid of it.”. And she said, “I don’t care if it’s dead. I’m keeping it anyway. Fish don’t do that much and I won’t have to feed it.” Anyway, I am delighted that she has this new love in her life and I think I probably, as her Aunt Soozie suggested, I should have let her express her affection for a pet long ago.
You never know who is going to make a difference in your life. For example, I love the time I spend in NY because I have wonderful family around. While I have always spent time with my cousins Honey, Rosalie, and big Sheila (it’s an age rather than size description), I never spent any extended time with little Sheila, until I started to spend time in the Big Apple. We have stuff we love to do together—simple things, like walks and discovering places we have never been. When I am stressed because of work or whatever, I find a good dose of Sheila does wonders for my mood.
How lucky am I, to have reunited with a wonderful friend, to have children that can think beyond themselves, and to have family who I know will always be there for me. Sometimes we need to pause and take a look at the gifts that we have been given, and whether we say thank God, or thank you Dad, or a personal thank you (you credit yourself with your good fortune), a thank you to whomever is clearly in order. We’re just sayin’… Iris
Saturday, June 12, 2010
It's About Looking
It’s hard to get the temper of a time, and really understand what the world is about. We look around and it’s kind of obvious that we live in a “connected” world, full of all kinds of amazing techno goodies which supposedly let us live a new kind of life, one that is still being invented and reworked literally every day. Yet, what really are we living? What, beyond the whiz bang amazement of being able to GOOGLE almost anything, has this series of so called advancements given us? Nearly everywhere you go, at least in cities, it’s hard to find people who are just observing, enjoying, or participating. Everyone is fiddling with their mobile device (you can’t really just call them phones anymore), texting and messaging wildly, virtually unaware of the world that is actually around them. Whatever might once have passed for “elevator” conversation (I am from Salt Lake City, and I speak to strangers on elevators… the ones who are ready to hit the ALARM button when I do so…) is now replaced by a deeply intense study of fingertip tapping on iPhones and other mobile goodies. No one looks around anymore. Even if there isn’t much to see, looking around remains a valid preoccupation, even if you aren’t a photographer. Heads are down, looking at baby screens. People seem to feel obliged to write SOMETHING, even if it’s meaningless, simply because they can. Nothing represents the idiocy of our time like a comment (wholly unnecessary, really) like “Ha ha ha” on a Facebook or Myspace entry. The first time “simply because they can” became an issue in the photo community was in the early 1980s when the National Geographic, having just purchased a new visual layout computer of some kind, no doubt the size of a Volkswagen, wanted to use a certain photo of the pyramids on the cover. But the layout wasn’t right for that picture, so they simply moved the pyramid until it fit into the layout. It was quite the hue and cry when the Godfather of modern photojournalism rejiggered what had been a ‘truthful’ photograph to fit their cover, “simply because they COULD.” Since then, the world of journalism and photography has been rocked to the core by those who alter images for a political or creative reason, just because they can. Admittedly if you are an illustrator, or painter, and this is your own self expression, what you choose to do is fair game. But if you are a journalist, allegedly trying to ‘tell the truth’ about a moment in time, changing things takes on a very different meaning. The veracity and believability of journalists everywhere dives each time there is a scandal about adding smoke to a bombing (Lebanon), changing the whole color of a scene from yuk to serene (a million cases) and the like. At this point we have nearly bullshat our way out of the public consciousness as vendors of truth. But it remains the great debate.. how much alteration is too much? When a picture is changed in its essentials, that is too much but the dotted line is often very hard to see.
a family of tourists, NY, looking.
Yet, in this time of too much stuff, and not enough ideas, how do we relate to what’s gone before us. Would Ike loved to have had GPS systems so his paratroopers would have landed where they were supposed to on D-Day?
I’m sure he would have loved it. Would our parents have wanted us to have cell phones so they could know where the hell we were on a Friday night (cruising State St. in the yellow Plymouth)… actually I think not. Because instead of being our pals, they were our parents. They kind of laid out guidelines, a few basic rules, and assumed we would try and figure out how to live with/up to them, instead of strolling down the avenue hand in hand with us, as we have so often done with our kids. Frankly, in an age when there are a lot of great kids out there (some of which are actually ours…) it’s tough NOT to be their friend. Really tough. But I hope that inspite those desires to pal up with them, we have also imparted a little of the “parenting” which parents used to handle. I know we are all in a different place. When you look at the Mickey Rooney films of the 1930s, the pictures of the folks supposedly his “parents” look like today’s great-grand parents. I guess that our having been over fed, and over cared for has given us a little edge in that regard, but I’m not completely sure. Sixty may be the new forty, but it doesn’t mean that the wisdom which used to be owned by our parents and grand parents all flowed to us. We are, remember, the generation that came up with the colossally stupid concept of “zero tolerance,” the idea which proves to children that, absolutely, adults are complete idiots unable to make measured, judicial, and intelligent decisions.
This morning, while waiting for a few 8x10 prints to be made in 11 minutes at my friendly neighborhood drug store (top THAT, 1964!!) I perused the magazine stand. It remains filled with many publications, most having to do with food, clothes, coolness, or celebrities, and which picture budgets (yes, if you have THE pic of Lindsay drinking a margarita in France, you could sell it for a hundred grand!) have depleted those of the news magazines which I have been a part of for so many years. In that newsrack were two special pubs which caught my eye. One from “the editors of TIME” and one from “the editors of LIFE”… both being compilations of photographs from, and a tribute to, World War II. There were some amazing pictures made in WWII, without question. And unlike todays mad-cap digital world, where you can easily shoot a few hundred pics in a stroll across town (“because you CAN”…) the pictures from the War were done by photographers with very limited resources. If they carried a big Speed Graphic, they were limited to the number of holders they could carry, and the amount of film they could pack. If they had a Rolleiflex, or other “small camera,” they had to shoot sparingly, and above all, owing to a lack of tele lenses, get CLOSE to the subject before shooting. But when you look at the magazines, you see page after page of memorable images. And why, in 2010 do you think Time-Life decided to come out with two specials, using nearly identical material? I can’t say for sure but my guess is that they feel the same ennui, worry, and melancholy we all do about these modern times. We remain caught up in two south Asian wars, neither of which is able to have the kind of results which General MacArthur would have called “unconditional surrender.” In fact today’s paper talks of how Karzai believes the west can’t win in Afghanistan, and wants to start back channel talks with the Taliban. Anyone who has read a bit of history (…”the great game…”) and even paid attention in the 1980s when the Soviets got their lickings there, would have thought twice or thrice about trying to tame that country. It’s tough to defeat an enemy who can live on a scrap of meat or a few carrots, because that is what he knows, when your own guys, as wonderful and smart as they are, require such a heavy rear-area support system. Do we really want to commit the next generation of young American kids to fighting in those hills, another decade or two? Ought there not be another way? That doubt, that worry, that wondering, very different from what our parents’ generation felt about WWII, is slowly seeping across the country, at a time when few besides the families of the soldiers themselves, have any direct or personal stake in the outcome. We see the bumper stickers… and yes, everyone “Supports the Troops.” But what does that really mean? To think nice thoughts about them as you hop into the elevator with your iPhone, and text a drinking buddy about dinner plans tonight? There is a lot of support like that, which never really translates into supporting anything except a personal sense of being glad you’re NOT the one being shot at. In looking through the WWII mags, it’s clear to me that this mining of nostalgia is something which we all feel a kinship for. We WANT 2010 to be like 1945. Victorious, and full of great and worthy efforts by our people, yielding an end to a conflict which tears at the soul of the country. But how do we get there? Nothing that you can do with a smartphone will make that world any better. Yet that is where we lie. Bathing in the products of amazing technology, which in so many ways do nothing except create their own means to a solitary end, we fiddle with our thumbs to write inane messages which in the end, even without the sound and fury, signify not very much.
Wrap around that the Gulf Oil spill, where not only is there very little clear information available (in spite of the 24/7 babble and “Live Leak Cams.” but you see a large company (BP) keeping journalists off public beaches, enforced by local sheriffs, because they don’t want the publicity. Is that the kind of counry the heroes of WWII fought for? I just don’t think so. I’m not sure we’ll get out of this funk anytime soon. No one in Washington, either Congressional or Executive seems to be acting much like a grown up (in the “classical” sense of the word.) It’s no one’s fault, either, that the spill happened, or that the response is not up to the task. And when the kind of folks who stepped up in the 1940s and created the tools needed to win, do so now, they are pooh-poohed away and told ‘it’ s under control.’
It’s been difficult for any of us not on the Gulf to understand what the real rubber-meets-the-road effects are. But I nominate a brilliant AP photographer, Charlie Riedel, for this year’s Pulitzer Prize. I know it’s only June, but truly, until Charlie’s pictures came out a week ago, people were wondering just what in the hell the big deal was with the oil spill. In a few frames he has shown that, and more. I can’t recall any pictures in recent memory which have so touched so many people. As of today there are over 3200 comments on the Boston Globe site, alone. The power of the still image remains with us, as long as we are looking. Yes, just looking. And whether it’s a black and white of a soldier in 1944, or an oil drenched pelican in 2010, there is simply no way that you can turn your eyes away. We’re just sayin’… David
cr: Charlie Riedel/AP
a family of tourists, NY, looking.
Yet, in this time of too much stuff, and not enough ideas, how do we relate to what’s gone before us. Would Ike loved to have had GPS systems so his paratroopers would have landed where they were supposed to on D-Day?
I’m sure he would have loved it. Would our parents have wanted us to have cell phones so they could know where the hell we were on a Friday night (cruising State St. in the yellow Plymouth)… actually I think not. Because instead of being our pals, they were our parents. They kind of laid out guidelines, a few basic rules, and assumed we would try and figure out how to live with/up to them, instead of strolling down the avenue hand in hand with us, as we have so often done with our kids. Frankly, in an age when there are a lot of great kids out there (some of which are actually ours…) it’s tough NOT to be their friend. Really tough. But I hope that inspite those desires to pal up with them, we have also imparted a little of the “parenting” which parents used to handle. I know we are all in a different place. When you look at the Mickey Rooney films of the 1930s, the pictures of the folks supposedly his “parents” look like today’s great-grand parents. I guess that our having been over fed, and over cared for has given us a little edge in that regard, but I’m not completely sure. Sixty may be the new forty, but it doesn’t mean that the wisdom which used to be owned by our parents and grand parents all flowed to us. We are, remember, the generation that came up with the colossally stupid concept of “zero tolerance,” the idea which proves to children that, absolutely, adults are complete idiots unable to make measured, judicial, and intelligent decisions.
This morning, while waiting for a few 8x10 prints to be made in 11 minutes at my friendly neighborhood drug store (top THAT, 1964!!) I perused the magazine stand. It remains filled with many publications, most having to do with food, clothes, coolness, or celebrities, and which picture budgets (yes, if you have THE pic of Lindsay drinking a margarita in France, you could sell it for a hundred grand!) have depleted those of the news magazines which I have been a part of for so many years. In that newsrack were two special pubs which caught my eye. One from “the editors of TIME” and one from “the editors of LIFE”… both being compilations of photographs from, and a tribute to, World War II. There were some amazing pictures made in WWII, without question. And unlike todays mad-cap digital world, where you can easily shoot a few hundred pics in a stroll across town (“because you CAN”…) the pictures from the War were done by photographers with very limited resources. If they carried a big Speed Graphic, they were limited to the number of holders they could carry, and the amount of film they could pack. If they had a Rolleiflex, or other “small camera,” they had to shoot sparingly, and above all, owing to a lack of tele lenses, get CLOSE to the subject before shooting. But when you look at the magazines, you see page after page of memorable images. And why, in 2010 do you think Time-Life decided to come out with two specials, using nearly identical material? I can’t say for sure but my guess is that they feel the same ennui, worry, and melancholy we all do about these modern times. We remain caught up in two south Asian wars, neither of which is able to have the kind of results which General MacArthur would have called “unconditional surrender.” In fact today’s paper talks of how Karzai believes the west can’t win in Afghanistan, and wants to start back channel talks with the Taliban. Anyone who has read a bit of history (…”the great game…”) and even paid attention in the 1980s when the Soviets got their lickings there, would have thought twice or thrice about trying to tame that country. It’s tough to defeat an enemy who can live on a scrap of meat or a few carrots, because that is what he knows, when your own guys, as wonderful and smart as they are, require such a heavy rear-area support system. Do we really want to commit the next generation of young American kids to fighting in those hills, another decade or two? Ought there not be another way? That doubt, that worry, that wondering, very different from what our parents’ generation felt about WWII, is slowly seeping across the country, at a time when few besides the families of the soldiers themselves, have any direct or personal stake in the outcome. We see the bumper stickers… and yes, everyone “Supports the Troops.” But what does that really mean? To think nice thoughts about them as you hop into the elevator with your iPhone, and text a drinking buddy about dinner plans tonight? There is a lot of support like that, which never really translates into supporting anything except a personal sense of being glad you’re NOT the one being shot at. In looking through the WWII mags, it’s clear to me that this mining of nostalgia is something which we all feel a kinship for. We WANT 2010 to be like 1945. Victorious, and full of great and worthy efforts by our people, yielding an end to a conflict which tears at the soul of the country. But how do we get there? Nothing that you can do with a smartphone will make that world any better. Yet that is where we lie. Bathing in the products of amazing technology, which in so many ways do nothing except create their own means to a solitary end, we fiddle with our thumbs to write inane messages which in the end, even without the sound and fury, signify not very much.
Wrap around that the Gulf Oil spill, where not only is there very little clear information available (in spite of the 24/7 babble and “Live Leak Cams.” but you see a large company (BP) keeping journalists off public beaches, enforced by local sheriffs, because they don’t want the publicity. Is that the kind of counry the heroes of WWII fought for? I just don’t think so. I’m not sure we’ll get out of this funk anytime soon. No one in Washington, either Congressional or Executive seems to be acting much like a grown up (in the “classical” sense of the word.) It’s no one’s fault, either, that the spill happened, or that the response is not up to the task. And when the kind of folks who stepped up in the 1940s and created the tools needed to win, do so now, they are pooh-poohed away and told ‘it’ s under control.’
It’s been difficult for any of us not on the Gulf to understand what the real rubber-meets-the-road effects are. But I nominate a brilliant AP photographer, Charlie Riedel, for this year’s Pulitzer Prize. I know it’s only June, but truly, until Charlie’s pictures came out a week ago, people were wondering just what in the hell the big deal was with the oil spill. In a few frames he has shown that, and more. I can’t recall any pictures in recent memory which have so touched so many people. As of today there are over 3200 comments on the Boston Globe site, alone. The power of the still image remains with us, as long as we are looking. Yes, just looking. And whether it’s a black and white of a soldier in 1944, or an oil drenched pelican in 2010, there is simply no way that you can turn your eyes away. We’re just sayin’… David
cr: Charlie Riedel/AP
Wednesday, June 09, 2010
Where is the Outrage?
The most wonderful thing happened today. Karen Sullivan called to say she was in NY. Karen and her husband Paul have been my friends for at least 100 years. We met during the McGovern campaign. They were field operatives and I was part of the advance team. Usually the twain doesn’t meet – but not in this case. I met Paul when I invaded some state, (that’s what advance people used to do when they had brains and decision making power and no cell phones – unlike today when all they need is a checklist because they never make political decisions), in which he was the field director. It was hate at first site, which had nothing to do with us as personally, it’s just Field and Advance people are never supposed to get along. After a few intense nose to nose moments about who was in charge, we both started to laugh and decided we were too much alike and simply too adorable to be enemies. I met Karen soon after and every four years since 1972, we worked together in Presidential politics. They would travel from their gorgeous home in Hawaii to work in some campaign hovel (for months or years at a time), and there they would stay until after the election. Every four years we would find one another and figure out some crazy scheme for the campaign… something that would make us laugh regardless of the political situation. Anyway, I adore Karen and Paul and we have remained dearest friends despite the passage of time, but when I see them it always takes me back to a different, better time.
Which brings me to the point of this blob. Here’s what I don’t get …. Where are the kids who should be on the street protesting about all the things that will have an impact on their lives. Aren’t they tired of being lied to by corporations who are killing the environment, people with disposable income, who have destroyed the economy, and yes, even their own government… but I’m not going there today. Maybe protesting cannot begin to address the lasting effects of the BP spill. It’s not easy to understand why (given their record of cost savings over safety,) anyone believed BP when they said “a drilling accident like the one that happened can never happen.” Or when they minimized the number of gallons that leaked into the Gulf , or they are denying that there are pools of water resting underneath what they intend to do when the oil works it’s way to New Jersey and maybe all the way to Maine. And what happens when and if there is, God forbid, a hurricane.
Sure there are protests about the role the World Bank plays in perpetrating the economic conditions of the third world, but there are always too many lunatics and too many messages. Those protesters haven’t learned what we learned about how to remedy social injustice and seeing through the lies. At protests today, everyone is lumped together. Whether the issue is about the environment, gay rights, breast cancer, or the economy – every leader of every organization has to have their say. There is no unity and no focus about one issue at a time. And so it’s easy to dismiss protests as minimal and to which no one, (who can make a difference) should pay attention.
It’s no longer about moral core or good products. It’s about the best way to sell bad products to an unsuspecting consumer. Take BP, for example, what we do know is that once again, a corporation is spending more time and money on public relations than figuring out how to tell the truth. Their commercials on the air are all about how concerned that are, and how they know it is their obligation to inform the public about the crisis. Bull Doody! Their obligation is to correct the disaster and spend the money necessary to clean up their mess. They are never going to tell us the truth, but if they didn’t pay dividends to their shareholders, or took cuts in their corporate salaries, at least that would be a legitimate action. It would say, "I am not going to benefit while there are people whose lives and business we have ruined." We want to remain the oil company with a “green” heart so we will do whatever is necessary to clean up the mess and put lives back together.
And where is the government of the people by the people and for the people? The President says it’s not his job to yell at the oil companies, or the insurance companies, or the banks. It is his job to try to figure out how to deal with the situation. Maybe not but I disagree. It is his job to demonstrate real concern and to lead. That’s not a walk on an oil ruined beach, or an evening with celebrities at the White House. But no one can teach someone to lead or to be honestly outraged. We expected more involvement from Obama, the community organizer. But didn’t we expect a more emotional answer than, “there are better ways than the death penalty if my wife were raped and murdered” from Presidential candidate Dukakis. We wanted to know he would care – he would rip out the sucker's heart.
Which brings me back to the Sullivans. They spent a lifetime working and advocating for causes and political leaders who would make a positive difference in the lives of our children and their children. We were noisy and we were united. We actually believed that somewhere out there, was such a leader. Maybe there is, but it is disappointing that it just hasn’t happened yet. We;re just sayin'....Iris
Which brings me to the point of this blob. Here’s what I don’t get …. Where are the kids who should be on the street protesting about all the things that will have an impact on their lives. Aren’t they tired of being lied to by corporations who are killing the environment, people with disposable income, who have destroyed the economy, and yes, even their own government… but I’m not going there today. Maybe protesting cannot begin to address the lasting effects of the BP spill. It’s not easy to understand why (given their record of cost savings over safety,) anyone believed BP when they said “a drilling accident like the one that happened can never happen.” Or when they minimized the number of gallons that leaked into the Gulf , or they are denying that there are pools of water resting underneath what they intend to do when the oil works it’s way to New Jersey and maybe all the way to Maine. And what happens when and if there is, God forbid, a hurricane.
Sure there are protests about the role the World Bank plays in perpetrating the economic conditions of the third world, but there are always too many lunatics and too many messages. Those protesters haven’t learned what we learned about how to remedy social injustice and seeing through the lies. At protests today, everyone is lumped together. Whether the issue is about the environment, gay rights, breast cancer, or the economy – every leader of every organization has to have their say. There is no unity and no focus about one issue at a time. And so it’s easy to dismiss protests as minimal and to which no one, (who can make a difference) should pay attention.
It’s no longer about moral core or good products. It’s about the best way to sell bad products to an unsuspecting consumer. Take BP, for example, what we do know is that once again, a corporation is spending more time and money on public relations than figuring out how to tell the truth. Their commercials on the air are all about how concerned that are, and how they know it is their obligation to inform the public about the crisis. Bull Doody! Their obligation is to correct the disaster and spend the money necessary to clean up their mess. They are never going to tell us the truth, but if they didn’t pay dividends to their shareholders, or took cuts in their corporate salaries, at least that would be a legitimate action. It would say, "I am not going to benefit while there are people whose lives and business we have ruined." We want to remain the oil company with a “green” heart so we will do whatever is necessary to clean up the mess and put lives back together.
And where is the government of the people by the people and for the people? The President says it’s not his job to yell at the oil companies, or the insurance companies, or the banks. It is his job to try to figure out how to deal with the situation. Maybe not but I disagree. It is his job to demonstrate real concern and to lead. That’s not a walk on an oil ruined beach, or an evening with celebrities at the White House. But no one can teach someone to lead or to be honestly outraged. We expected more involvement from Obama, the community organizer. But didn’t we expect a more emotional answer than, “there are better ways than the death penalty if my wife were raped and murdered” from Presidential candidate Dukakis. We wanted to know he would care – he would rip out the sucker's heart.
Which brings me back to the Sullivans. They spent a lifetime working and advocating for causes and political leaders who would make a positive difference in the lives of our children and their children. We were noisy and we were united. We actually believed that somewhere out there, was such a leader. Maybe there is, but it is disappointing that it just hasn’t happened yet. We;re just sayin'....Iris
Wednesday, June 02, 2010
Second Things Second
First things first, as they say when they (whoever they is), thinks that second simply won’t do. Tipper and Al. Tipper and Al. Tipper and Al. My oh my oh my oh. (Is that too many oh’s?). Here are the questions that should be answered. After all, we were practically family – or at least we did go to the family Christmas party so doesn’t that mean that we are owed some explanation? Maybe not, so it means we will have to speculate—at which, let’s face it, we are quite accomplished.
Question number one: Why would you bother to get divorced after 40 years unless there was someone else in your life by whom you were pregnant.
Question number two: Is getting rich and living in places where only celebrities live mean you a.) start to believe you are one. b.) think you have to live like one (despite your commitment to a simple environmentally healthy life style). c.) all the weight you gain goes to your brain as well as your tuchas.
Question number three: Is it possible to stay friends with someone of whom you can’t stand the sight? (Otherwise why not just carry on instead of dividing the property?)
Question number four: If you stay friends, do you celebrate all the holidays together en famille, thereby preventing relationships with other people because that would seriously piss off the other friend who may not have found a new playmate.
It is unclear why this seemingly perfect relationship fell apart. Some would call it an unfortunate disaster. Whoever those people are would be wrong. Forty successful years together (let’s say it was only 38 because they had to take a couple of years to make this monumental decision) cannot be called a disaster. So what does all this mean?
Maybe it means that they were and are just sick of one another. It could be that simple. Or maybe they, like the rest of us, could not stand one more video of “the kiss”. You remember the one that went on and on and on and made everyone in the USA over 30 feel uncomfortable, and everyone under 30 totally grossed out.
All of this is to say I am saddened by their separation. It was nice to have one public couple genuinely committed to one another – not just to power or fame. As my mother would say, “nothing is forever -- what was, was, and everyone should stay out of their business.”
the last dawn on the ship...
With that in mind, David and I did spend almost a month together – in a confined space—and we didn’t kill one another. What is still amazing is just how much Burnett enjoyed the month at sea. So much that almost everything we see or do he somehow relates to the trip. Take for example one of his latest e-mails, and thank you Harpers for the list idea.
128 The number of times we have explained the seating arrangements at Allan and Diane’s wedding
62 The number of references to La Veranda and Compass Rose in the last 7 days (restaurants on the ship)
34 The number of people we have tried to explain the concept of "enrichment lecturer"
73 The number of times we've said "well, maybe once or twice a year, but not more"
985 The number of e-mails we have had with people we met on the ship.
539 The number of people/friends we had in common with at least one other shipmate.
(Case in Point:
August 1968: Diane and Allen's Wedding... Table 16: at left, sitting: Iris (and Allan); at right, standing, Jim (now of northern California) and new pal... they hadn't seen each other in 41 years! )
And there are more numbers involving continuing coincidences -- maybe its that romantic desire for oenophilic perfection.. (and i have no idea what that means!)/.
We miss so much about that wonderful month. It’s been a week since we left the ship and what we have found is that the time sure flies when … well it just flies.
Question number one: Why would you bother to get divorced after 40 years unless there was someone else in your life by whom you were pregnant.
Question number two: Is getting rich and living in places where only celebrities live mean you a.) start to believe you are one. b.) think you have to live like one (despite your commitment to a simple environmentally healthy life style). c.) all the weight you gain goes to your brain as well as your tuchas.
Question number three: Is it possible to stay friends with someone of whom you can’t stand the sight? (Otherwise why not just carry on instead of dividing the property?)
Question number four: If you stay friends, do you celebrate all the holidays together en famille, thereby preventing relationships with other people because that would seriously piss off the other friend who may not have found a new playmate.
It is unclear why this seemingly perfect relationship fell apart. Some would call it an unfortunate disaster. Whoever those people are would be wrong. Forty successful years together (let’s say it was only 38 because they had to take a couple of years to make this monumental decision) cannot be called a disaster. So what does all this mean?
Maybe it means that they were and are just sick of one another. It could be that simple. Or maybe they, like the rest of us, could not stand one more video of “the kiss”. You remember the one that went on and on and on and made everyone in the USA over 30 feel uncomfortable, and everyone under 30 totally grossed out.
All of this is to say I am saddened by their separation. It was nice to have one public couple genuinely committed to one another – not just to power or fame. As my mother would say, “nothing is forever -- what was, was, and everyone should stay out of their business.”
the last dawn on the ship...With that in mind, David and I did spend almost a month together – in a confined space—and we didn’t kill one another. What is still amazing is just how much Burnett enjoyed the month at sea. So much that almost everything we see or do he somehow relates to the trip. Take for example one of his latest e-mails, and thank you Harpers for the list idea.
128 The number of times we have explained the seating arrangements at Allan and Diane’s wedding
62 The number of references to La Veranda and Compass Rose in the last 7 days (restaurants on the ship)
34 The number of people we have tried to explain the concept of "enrichment lecturer"
73 The number of times we've said "well, maybe once or twice a year, but not more"
985 The number of e-mails we have had with people we met on the ship.
539 The number of people/friends we had in common with at least one other shipmate.
(Case in Point:
August 1968: Diane and Allen's Wedding... Table 16: at left, sitting: Iris (and Allan); at right, standing, Jim (now of northern California) and new pal... they hadn't seen each other in 41 years! )
And there are more numbers involving continuing coincidences -- maybe its that romantic desire for oenophilic perfection.. (and i have no idea what that means!)/.
We miss so much about that wonderful month. It’s been a week since we left the ship and what we have found is that the time sure flies when … well it just flies.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
The Baggage of Baggage
Isn’t it interesting to see how your packing a suitcase over the years has changed. It wasn’t long ago that I could travel in a little pink bag about the size of a small backpack. It is hard to remember what went into that bag, but I know I was gone for weeks at a time and, with the exception of formal attire, I always had what I needed.
There were also years when I packed a small suitcase (when you work in an international government agency a suitcase is much more seemly than a little pink bag), and filled it with clothing that was black and could be rolled. There was an occasional T-shirt included in case we had access to a fitness facility, and maybe one or two colorful (but never wrinkle-able) shirts and usually a black dress that could be dressed up or down.
Drinks at the Stars Lounge, aboard the Navigator ... "elegant casual..."
When I was traveling with my boss, Joe Duffey, the Director of the once existant USIA, I never took more than I could carry. He however packed numbers of giant suitcases and filled them with books and papers, as well as clothing. When his wife traveled with us, she packed only a large bag but the combined load was so large that when we rode the fast train from Tokyo to Kyoto, I made everyone practice getting off the train quickly so we could exit with baggage before off before the doors closed. They close in what seems like less than a minute on those fast trains. I mentioned my concerns about over-packing to Joe as we were schlepping all our luggage from a small plane in the Swiss Alps, to a large plane in France. Need I say that there were no accommodations made to transfer us from one part of the airport to a departure point easily two miles from the site of our arrival. Joe agreed that he needed to think small. So he packed the same amount but in 7 or 8 smaller bags. Never mind, we had such fun it was never an issue.
We’ve just returned from a three week cruise on the Regent Navigator. It was absolutely phenomenal – the best way to travel long distances without any stress. (Exactly 5421 miles in 20 days.) When I packed for the trip I packed more than I have ever packed for any trip –personal or business. It was unclear what ‘elegant casual’ meant, and I didn’t want to embarrass Dr. Burnett, lecturer extraordinaire. Anyway, as soon we boarded the plane to go to Ft. Lauderdale, I realized I had made a mistake. There was, much like the airport adventure from the Swiss Alps, just too much for any two people without luggage sherpas to carry. It was too late to unpack and ship everything home, so I decided I would wear everything I brought. This was easy because “elegant casual” means you can wear anything but jeans, as long as you look nice. A shirt with a collar is indispensable. A most reasonable way to accommodate those sailors who no longer want to drip with diamonds every evening. And a wonderful way for me to make use of all the rags I own. And it was fun to dress up.
Yesterday, when we unpacked from the trip (and yes, I did have to ship a box of gifts I simply couldn’t carry), I had a kabitka, (which is, literally, a small canvas-topped Russian wagon, but I use it synonymously for ‘epiphany’—don’t ask). Anyway, my kabitka was about why we seem to pack four times what we did in the past. Admittedly, I overpacked, but forget clothing – I knew what I didn’t need, just not in a timely manner. It’s the medication and the hair products. Seriously, and I’m not exaggerating, I packed a medium size suitcase (one that would ordinarily hold two weeks worth of clothing) with hair crap, technology (a phone, computer, iPod, Kindle, a mechanism to listen to my books on tape), and daily medication. It was unbelievable. It just kept coming and coming. It seemed like endless amounts of stuff I never used 10 years ago. How did that happen? I can still pack a month’s worth of black stretchy clothing in one bag. But I can not leave home without at least another bag filled with stuff that previously didn’t exist as an essential.
Oh well. I still haven’t talked specifically about our adventure, but even Burnett was able to relax. We’re just sayin’…Iris
There were also years when I packed a small suitcase (when you work in an international government agency a suitcase is much more seemly than a little pink bag), and filled it with clothing that was black and could be rolled. There was an occasional T-shirt included in case we had access to a fitness facility, and maybe one or two colorful (but never wrinkle-able) shirts and usually a black dress that could be dressed up or down.
Drinks at the Stars Lounge, aboard the Navigator ... "elegant casual..."When I was traveling with my boss, Joe Duffey, the Director of the once existant USIA, I never took more than I could carry. He however packed numbers of giant suitcases and filled them with books and papers, as well as clothing. When his wife traveled with us, she packed only a large bag but the combined load was so large that when we rode the fast train from Tokyo to Kyoto, I made everyone practice getting off the train quickly so we could exit with baggage before off before the doors closed. They close in what seems like less than a minute on those fast trains. I mentioned my concerns about over-packing to Joe as we were schlepping all our luggage from a small plane in the Swiss Alps, to a large plane in France. Need I say that there were no accommodations made to transfer us from one part of the airport to a departure point easily two miles from the site of our arrival. Joe agreed that he needed to think small. So he packed the same amount but in 7 or 8 smaller bags. Never mind, we had such fun it was never an issue.
We’ve just returned from a three week cruise on the Regent Navigator. It was absolutely phenomenal – the best way to travel long distances without any stress. (Exactly 5421 miles in 20 days.) When I packed for the trip I packed more than I have ever packed for any trip –personal or business. It was unclear what ‘elegant casual’ meant, and I didn’t want to embarrass Dr. Burnett, lecturer extraordinaire. Anyway, as soon we boarded the plane to go to Ft. Lauderdale, I realized I had made a mistake. There was, much like the airport adventure from the Swiss Alps, just too much for any two people without luggage sherpas to carry. It was too late to unpack and ship everything home, so I decided I would wear everything I brought. This was easy because “elegant casual” means you can wear anything but jeans, as long as you look nice. A shirt with a collar is indispensable. A most reasonable way to accommodate those sailors who no longer want to drip with diamonds every evening. And a wonderful way for me to make use of all the rags I own. And it was fun to dress up.
Yesterday, when we unpacked from the trip (and yes, I did have to ship a box of gifts I simply couldn’t carry), I had a kabitka, (which is, literally, a small canvas-topped Russian wagon, but I use it synonymously for ‘epiphany’—don’t ask). Anyway, my kabitka was about why we seem to pack four times what we did in the past. Admittedly, I overpacked, but forget clothing – I knew what I didn’t need, just not in a timely manner. It’s the medication and the hair products. Seriously, and I’m not exaggerating, I packed a medium size suitcase (one that would ordinarily hold two weeks worth of clothing) with hair crap, technology (a phone, computer, iPod, Kindle, a mechanism to listen to my books on tape), and daily medication. It was unbelievable. It just kept coming and coming. It seemed like endless amounts of stuff I never used 10 years ago. How did that happen? I can still pack a month’s worth of black stretchy clothing in one bag. But I can not leave home without at least another bag filled with stuff that previously didn’t exist as an essential.
Oh well. I still haven’t talked specifically about our adventure, but even Burnett was able to relax. We’re just sayin’…Iris
Saturday, May 29, 2010
and Into Port...Finally
What a difference a day makes –24 little hours. Actually twelve hours – but 24 is much more musical. As I mentioned a few days ago, it was so hot, my sweat had sweat. Then, like magic, we were back in the good ole USA and it was cold. We were not in Alaska. We’re talking San Diego.
Jordan and Jack came, from L.A. to San Diego to visit us on the ship. They brought bathing suits. It was so cold there was no water in the pool. This did not deter them. They went in the hot tub and then froze when they tried to get out. While Jordan needed to be wrapped like a taco, Jack is used to the temperature in Kerry’s pool so he did alright.
It was a great day, spent mostly eating and drinking and scouting around the ship (there are a lot of decks to cover.) They arrived at 1:30 so we had burgers on deck. Then they relaxed with drinks on the pool deck. Next stop, cocktails in the Seven Seas, and then dinner at the Sevens. Yes, we waddled out about 10:30 and they had to leave the ship because otherwise it was leaving with them. They met all the cruise friends, and the Captain and I think had a good time—even though it was with parents.
Jack, Jordan, DB and assorted stogiesWe arrived in San Francisco, passing under the Golden Gate at about 5am, and were invited to watch the arrival on the Bridge with the Captain. It was actually thrilling, but so foggy we couldn’t see the bridge save for a hint of a pylon, wrapped in fudge thick fog, but we did see Alcatraz, the coast, the seaport and the Bay Bridge. Hard to believe so much time has passed so quickly.
the Bay Bridge... at baySo as not to suffer an enormous and immediate shocking withdrawal, from friends and food, we had lunch with Jon and Anne at Pier 39 on the Embarqadero, which by the way, gave us two hours of free parking. We think it could be the first time ever that someone actually USED one of those Tourist booklets, the coupon good for parking for two hours. (Hey, $14 is $14) Had a great lunch of lots of crab and assorted seafood, (we hadn’t eaten in at least a half hour), bid them a teary goodbye (not really because we’ll see them next week) and made our way to Palo Alto, to visit with David’s mom.
It's almost GoldenIf you are going to age, I would suggest you do it at an independent living apartment complex like this one. Sure there are the usual activities, (bingo, fitness, cards, etc.), but these folks also make their own fun by having a daily morning coffee klatch, where they bring a bit of breakfast and the Hyatt provides all the coffee they can drink. Their discussions are not about health or aging. They discuss contemporary topics in a most cogent manner. There are a wide range of opinions and ages. Some very Democrat. Some very Republican. Some couples, some singles – all lucid and involved. In addition, Mom has a once a week cocktail party with her neighbors, where everyone brings a bit of food and their own wine, or drink of preference. Once again, it is time for exchange of information about friends and current topics. Yes, they are fortunate to be lucid and healthy, but I think this kind of mental exercise and interest is one reason they are not just waiting to die – as is the case in so many places where the elderly live. These folks have found a way to live independently with companionship and have fun … get me to the nearest Hyatt.
Nothing gets by these folks...We did hear about an alternative – which we are considering. It cost the same to take a cabin on a cruise ship that it does to live in an assisted living facility. Three meals or more meals a day, with entertainment. It’s nothing to sneeze about. Again, this kind of life, is not a bad option. We’re just sayin’… Iris
Friday, May 21, 2010
The Last Cruise Ship
It seems everywhere we have been on this trip, the first thing we have heard from the local populace is, “You are on the last cruise ship.” It has been like arriving in the “Twilight Zone” without knowing whether you were coming or going.
Who knew, but this is the end of cruising in Central America until next October. Or it may be that the two-for-one offers on cruising -- common amongst even the top level ships -- are precisely because the tropics ‘season’ is over. It has been incredibly hot everywhere we have been. And we’re told that the rainy season is imminent. Unless you are actually traveling on this luxury vehicle, you might think that being about to arrive or leave the “Twilight Zone,” as well as not having any idea what time or day it is, might be a bit ominous. And that is true, but not for very long because you can, at any time, pick up the trusty phone and ask a well-informed telephonist “what time is it, and where are we?” They always know.
And speaking of ominous, when we started the cruise and heard the orchestra play the theme song from the “Titanic”, we were just a bit concerned. Then we realized the entire group was Eastern European, and probably were unaware of the significance of the music. [Editor’s note: We DO believe “the heart does go on…”] Anyway, we haven’t heard it since the first day so someone must have brought it to the cruise director’s attention. It is impossible to believe that two weeks have passed since we came on board. We have enjoyed ourselves much beyond what we thought possible. And we came to the conclusion that shore-based adventures (actually called ‘excursions’) were not a necessary part of the program. Most of our time off ship has been spent finding a driver, seeing pretty or interesting scenery and then finding a great place for lunch. We keep reminding one another (and yes we are still speaking and quite affectionately), that we have traveled before, and don’t need to see every touro-highlight out there, though a few bear taking note of. In other words, we have our own definition of adventure and of late, it includes no heavy lifting. Although the pool was quite rough today and I felt like I was using the Endless Wave machine where you only swim two feet but you do it against the current. The second time I got tossed against the side of the pool I simply gave up on any idea of exercise today.
Saturday we were in Puerto Chiapas, in the southern end of Mexico. It is a fairly new cruise ship port but there is already a Walmart, a Home Depot and a Sam’s Club. Go figure. There is also an extensive marketplace where they sell everything from clothing to food to electrical appliances to mangoes. No one loves a market more than I, but this was a bit depressing because a great many people from Guatemala come to Chiapas to look for work. But they come as families so you can see the poverty by looking at the mothers and children. I don’t mean to be insensitive, but enough real world, and, as my friend Phoebe Galgiani would have said “if only they would tidy up a bit.” Moving on, before anyone is disappointed by my foolish attempt at lack of concern, no one on the ship seemed happy with the stop. Even my new pal John, an anthropology buff was disappointed by what he called, ‘newly built’ ruins (only a few centuries old, not a full millenium.) (What locals don’t do for tourists!) Day before yesterday we were in Hualtulco – where we did limited shopping and had the best seafood tacos ever assembled.
And yesterday we were in Acapulco where a shop owner plied us with the best tequila (from the largest vessel ever noted) we have ever had, and (as he had hoped), we shopped in his store.
Last night we were in Port until almost midnight and the entertainment was Mexican folklorique music, dancing, incredible amounts of food and yes, margaritas. We have met and bonded with absolutely the nicest people (young and old) you can imagine. And because it is a twenty day cruise and a small ship, we have talked to just about everyone –well David has talked to everyone but I’ve been my usual shy self. It’s been a delight just getting up, eating, exercising, finding a seat in the shade, eating, reading, playing trivia, going to tea, eating, and then having dinner, drinks and a show. I better get off soon because I’m beginning to believe I could live like this. But I might be a one person Ship of Fool. We’re just sayin’…. Iris
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Day-Oh
This morning David called the concierge to ask what time and what day it was. We had no idea if it was Friday, Saturday, or Sunday – it hardly matters. We seafaring folks mark our time by days we are at sea, and days we are in port.
The last port city was, I forget… kidding. It was Puerto Limon. It is not only the largest port in Costa Rica, it is the manicure/pedicure capital of the world. It occurs to me that this is not something about which most countries would brag – but let’s be honest. It is better than being the shooting or knifing capital. The popularity of this skill is obvious when you step off the ship and are immediately confronted by 15 or 16 little stalls (each a separate business), of women offering the nail and foot services. To be quite honest, and although I did have a pedi before I left New York, I was a bit grossed out by the enthusiasm one mani/pedi-curist had for the idea of playing with David’s toes. Needless to say, we did not participate in this activity.
The hardest thing to do is pass a stand that has native crafts – especially for children. I want to buy something for all the kids at every stop. But alas, the prices are too high and I’ve seen most of it in Chinatown. Moving on. First we decided we were not going to do any tours. We were simply going to hang around at the port towns. But there was so little to see, that we changed our minds. We hadn’t, however signed up for any tours offered by the ship – which we later found out was a pretty good idea, so we started to talk to an American who had been in Puerto Limon for 11 years and offered to take us to a few interesting places. We stopped to look at monkeys and sloths (no, not a Congressional staff person, an actual sloth!) in the rain forest – but not too far in. Then we went to the Del Monte banana factory – I eat a banana everyday so I thought it was a way to say ‘thanks.’ Then we went to the river, but did not get on a launch – for which we would have paid the native price (Daryl’s tour did not include river tours) and then we went to lunch at a terrific little restaurant that catered to locals, and a few hundred tourists that showed up. The food was tasty, but the entertainment was what the locals thought the tourists would enjoy – a rousing rendition of “Day-oh” without the benefit of Harry Belafonte’s voice or personality. Most of the luncher/tourists really got into it. There was a great deal of dancing and drinking – or maybe it would make more sense if it was drinking and dancing.
By the end of lunch we were a bit weary of the heat. We had cut a deal with him for $20 Canadian and $40 American. But when we reached the pier, it was clear that the driver (who we then realized was not actually a part of Daryl’s business), was not happy about taking the Canadian currency. Further, it was clear that they expected more of a tip, or for us to buy something illegal – about which neither was of much interest. It’s been a bit of a jolt going from springy NY weather to full blown tropical sweatiness. But that’s why we’re the tough travelers we are. Other than one night a few days ago (again… lost in time) when the ship was be-bopping through some stormy seas, its been a pleasure. David tried the patch behind the ear treatment, but its been more psychosomatic than really necessary. Like Linus’ blanket, as long as it’s there, there’s no real need for anything further.
The most enjoyable thing about the cruise, other than it’s timelessness, is/are the other passengers. The other speakers are very friendly and knowledgable and the guests are great fun – OK not everyone, but out of 500 guests and 300 crew, I bet 600 are fine. The staff is delightful as well as helpful. The food is good, as well as plentiful. And the idea of everything being included—food, drink, entertainment, and education (that’s us) should be applauded.
There are lecturers who have spent anywhere from 10 to 20 years sailing on different ships to different parts of the world – which we are probably not going to do. But it is easy to see that it could become something you could do a few times a year. And, most importantly, we haven’t killed one another, despite the enclosed living space (which is pretty vast. Our cabin would make a GREAT studio apt. in the city. In fact, we are enjoying the time together. But then what’s not to enjoy—we are totally unstressed about almost everything. Hell, we don’t even know what day it is. Oh, yes, we did show the “Gefilte Fish Chronicles” yesterday, but everyone seemed to like it – so even that worked out.
Yesterday we went through the Panama Canal—but we will regale you with those tales and pictures tomorrow. We’re just sayin’… Iris
The last port city was, I forget… kidding. It was Puerto Limon. It is not only the largest port in Costa Rica, it is the manicure/pedicure capital of the world. It occurs to me that this is not something about which most countries would brag – but let’s be honest. It is better than being the shooting or knifing capital. The popularity of this skill is obvious when you step off the ship and are immediately confronted by 15 or 16 little stalls (each a separate business), of women offering the nail and foot services. To be quite honest, and although I did have a pedi before I left New York, I was a bit grossed out by the enthusiasm one mani/pedi-curist had for the idea of playing with David’s toes. Needless to say, we did not participate in this activity.
The hardest thing to do is pass a stand that has native crafts – especially for children. I want to buy something for all the kids at every stop. But alas, the prices are too high and I’ve seen most of it in Chinatown. Moving on. First we decided we were not going to do any tours. We were simply going to hang around at the port towns. But there was so little to see, that we changed our minds. We hadn’t, however signed up for any tours offered by the ship – which we later found out was a pretty good idea, so we started to talk to an American who had been in Puerto Limon for 11 years and offered to take us to a few interesting places. We stopped to look at monkeys and sloths (no, not a Congressional staff person, an actual sloth!) in the rain forest – but not too far in. Then we went to the Del Monte banana factory – I eat a banana everyday so I thought it was a way to say ‘thanks.’ Then we went to the river, but did not get on a launch – for which we would have paid the native price (Daryl’s tour did not include river tours) and then we went to lunch at a terrific little restaurant that catered to locals, and a few hundred tourists that showed up. The food was tasty, but the entertainment was what the locals thought the tourists would enjoy – a rousing rendition of “Day-oh” without the benefit of Harry Belafonte’s voice or personality. Most of the luncher/tourists really got into it. There was a great deal of dancing and drinking – or maybe it would make more sense if it was drinking and dancing.
By the end of lunch we were a bit weary of the heat. We had cut a deal with him for $20 Canadian and $40 American. But when we reached the pier, it was clear that the driver (who we then realized was not actually a part of Daryl’s business), was not happy about taking the Canadian currency. Further, it was clear that they expected more of a tip, or for us to buy something illegal – about which neither was of much interest. It’s been a bit of a jolt going from springy NY weather to full blown tropical sweatiness. But that’s why we’re the tough travelers we are. Other than one night a few days ago (again… lost in time) when the ship was be-bopping through some stormy seas, its been a pleasure. David tried the patch behind the ear treatment, but its been more psychosomatic than really necessary. Like Linus’ blanket, as long as it’s there, there’s no real need for anything further.
The most enjoyable thing about the cruise, other than it’s timelessness, is/are the other passengers. The other speakers are very friendly and knowledgable and the guests are great fun – OK not everyone, but out of 500 guests and 300 crew, I bet 600 are fine. The staff is delightful as well as helpful. The food is good, as well as plentiful. And the idea of everything being included—food, drink, entertainment, and education (that’s us) should be applauded.
There are lecturers who have spent anywhere from 10 to 20 years sailing on different ships to different parts of the world – which we are probably not going to do. But it is easy to see that it could become something you could do a few times a year. And, most importantly, we haven’t killed one another, despite the enclosed living space (which is pretty vast. Our cabin would make a GREAT studio apt. in the city. In fact, we are enjoying the time together. But then what’s not to enjoy—we are totally unstressed about almost everything. Hell, we don’t even know what day it is. Oh, yes, we did show the “Gefilte Fish Chronicles” yesterday, but everyone seemed to like it – so even that worked out.
Yesterday we went through the Panama Canal—but we will regale you with those tales and pictures tomorrow. We’re just sayin’… Iris
As Promised, With Minor Maritime Delay
As promised, yet with minor delays.
We arrived at the ship before noon on Thursday and spent some time finding our way to the right place. The Navigator is an elegant all suites ship, with nearly as many service personnel as there are guests. Which means, of course, that not a moment goes by without someone making sure there is nothing you need—or nothing you might want. Everything from a decaf espresso/latte/ machine, to a juicer that does any kind of vegetable you may want liquefied. It is David’s job to give five lectures and our job to be as social as possible with as many guests as we can corral, at a meal, drinks, or activities.
This, as you can imagine, is no heavy lifting for the Burnetts. It is often said that we are nothing if not social. Or maybe it is said that we are nothing but social – either way this is a perfect way to spend some time. The first day was a day at sea – with the waters calm and the sun shining, David gave his first presentation. OK so it was not easy with the sun shining through every window in the venue he was assigned, but he made it work. The audience loved his stories and his humor and asked a great many questions, including “Can you show me how to work my camera.” Because he is generous with his time and talent, I believe he agreed to not only help with cameras but make sure there was scenery to shoot. If you know how David shoots (non-stop) anything he sees can be a picture. As he says, “the best camera to use is the one you have with you.”
When we throw a "block party," we throw a Block Party!
One of the big surprises for us was the number of WWII vets that are on board. Some people would think of this particular group as a little elderly, but because of David’s heroes from the passion for anything WWII, he sees it as an opportunity to get to know these warriors from another time. Cruising is something most of these passengers do on a regular basis. They like this smaller more intimate ship even though the pool is small, the fitness facilities include only a few critical machines, and the casino is limited. But nothing ever seems crowded – so we think it must be a lot better than having to deal with monster facilities on a monster ship, and 8000 people. Also, 130 of the passengers are from Great Britain. It’s a mighty interesting group of experienced travelers. Oh, and there is a 12 year old, who being the only child on the ship, seems to wander around looking for some kind of youthful entertainment. But the staff is kind and attentive, and short of manufacturing another child, they seem to do the best they can.
Activities (other than the casino, eating and drinking) range from fitness classes to lecturers to bingo. And alas, there is plenty of time alone together. We have never spent this much time together in a confined space. We did go to Italy for a month but had, Doug and Joyce and Jordan with us. So this is a whole new kind of adventure. If we make it past the Panama Canal and dock in Costa Rica without having killed each other, we figure we’ll be just fine.
In the meantime, it’s another one of those holidays (Mother’s Day) invented to sell greeting cards. Someone in Kansas City must have known someone on Capital Hill because Hallmark does just fine the three or ten times a year when we celebrate some holiday that marks an occasion in which everyone must participate. My mother always said, “every day is mother’s day”. I couldn’t imagine why but if she thought so – we went with it. No, that’s not exactly true, I get why. If you try to be a good mother and are rewarded with happy children, it is something to celebrate every day.
Back to sailing the seven seas. Yesterday we went snorkeling in Grand Cayman. It was fine. Not like I remember it from 30 years ago, when the coral was as colorful as the parrot fish, but there were nice fish and an adorable ship wreck. David didn’t take any spectacular underwater pictures because he forgot his underwater camera and admits he was too cheap to buy another. Tomorrow we dock in Costa Rica. The big decision was whether to go on a tour or try and find our own way. We decided to go it alone. If we get kidnapped make sure they offer the villains a great deal of money so we finally assess our worth. David is doing another lecture and book signing on Tuesday and there is a good possibility that we will be able to share the “Gefilte Fish Chronicles” with the other guests.
David wants all potential robbers to know, 1. we have nothing of value and 2. the house and apartment are being looked after by people with guns. Hopefully, you will enjoy the pictures and David will share his thoughts as well. Tonight we host a block party in the hallway of our suite…. A woman’s work is never done. We’re just sayin’… Iris
We arrived at the ship before noon on Thursday and spent some time finding our way to the right place. The Navigator is an elegant all suites ship, with nearly as many service personnel as there are guests. Which means, of course, that not a moment goes by without someone making sure there is nothing you need—or nothing you might want. Everything from a decaf espresso/latte/ machine, to a juicer that does any kind of vegetable you may want liquefied. It is David’s job to give five lectures and our job to be as social as possible with as many guests as we can corral, at a meal, drinks, or activities.
This, as you can imagine, is no heavy lifting for the Burnetts. It is often said that we are nothing if not social. Or maybe it is said that we are nothing but social – either way this is a perfect way to spend some time. The first day was a day at sea – with the waters calm and the sun shining, David gave his first presentation. OK so it was not easy with the sun shining through every window in the venue he was assigned, but he made it work. The audience loved his stories and his humor and asked a great many questions, including “Can you show me how to work my camera.” Because he is generous with his time and talent, I believe he agreed to not only help with cameras but make sure there was scenery to shoot. If you know how David shoots (non-stop) anything he sees can be a picture. As he says, “the best camera to use is the one you have with you.”
When we throw a "block party," we throw a Block Party!One of the big surprises for us was the number of WWII vets that are on board. Some people would think of this particular group as a little elderly, but because of David’s heroes from the passion for anything WWII, he sees it as an opportunity to get to know these warriors from another time. Cruising is something most of these passengers do on a regular basis. They like this smaller more intimate ship even though the pool is small, the fitness facilities include only a few critical machines, and the casino is limited. But nothing ever seems crowded – so we think it must be a lot better than having to deal with monster facilities on a monster ship, and 8000 people. Also, 130 of the passengers are from Great Britain. It’s a mighty interesting group of experienced travelers. Oh, and there is a 12 year old, who being the only child on the ship, seems to wander around looking for some kind of youthful entertainment. But the staff is kind and attentive, and short of manufacturing another child, they seem to do the best they can.
Activities (other than the casino, eating and drinking) range from fitness classes to lecturers to bingo. And alas, there is plenty of time alone together. We have never spent this much time together in a confined space. We did go to Italy for a month but had, Doug and Joyce and Jordan with us. So this is a whole new kind of adventure. If we make it past the Panama Canal and dock in Costa Rica without having killed each other, we figure we’ll be just fine.
In the meantime, it’s another one of those holidays (Mother’s Day) invented to sell greeting cards. Someone in Kansas City must have known someone on Capital Hill because Hallmark does just fine the three or ten times a year when we celebrate some holiday that marks an occasion in which everyone must participate. My mother always said, “every day is mother’s day”. I couldn’t imagine why but if she thought so – we went with it. No, that’s not exactly true, I get why. If you try to be a good mother and are rewarded with happy children, it is something to celebrate every day.
Back to sailing the seven seas. Yesterday we went snorkeling in Grand Cayman. It was fine. Not like I remember it from 30 years ago, when the coral was as colorful as the parrot fish, but there were nice fish and an adorable ship wreck. David didn’t take any spectacular underwater pictures because he forgot his underwater camera and admits he was too cheap to buy another. Tomorrow we dock in Costa Rica. The big decision was whether to go on a tour or try and find our own way. We decided to go it alone. If we get kidnapped make sure they offer the villains a great deal of money so we finally assess our worth. David is doing another lecture and book signing on Tuesday and there is a good possibility that we will be able to share the “Gefilte Fish Chronicles” with the other guests.
David wants all potential robbers to know, 1. we have nothing of value and 2. the house and apartment are being looked after by people with guns. Hopefully, you will enjoy the pictures and David will share his thoughts as well. Tonight we host a block party in the hallway of our suite…. A woman’s work is never done. We’re just sayin’… Iris
Friday, April 30, 2010
How sTip*2u9sd are We??
Ok,I am a reasonable guy. I work in the world (more or less) of journalism.. but the last 24 hours has taxed even my ability to deal with the ongoing idiocies which we have been gifted by the glitterati. This may in fact be my shortest blog entry (ought it to be a Tweet instead??) but herewith is my point:
Friday 30 April was designated "No Texting" Driving day by Oprah Winfrey.. I don't actually mind that she is encouraging folks to give up the Texting.. on a strictly rational basis, we know it takes all your wits to drive a car safely, but my personal read it the 'distracted' driving issue is this: Far more people are performing in a scary fashion due to burgers, fries and limeades than by texting. You could make a case that you should NOT talk and drive, cause every driver knows that it takes certain effort to participate in a conversation.. hands free or not, your brain is still busy. Not as busy as the freak-out mode when you spill ketchup on your tie, and drip burger drippings on your newly pressed Dockers. That's the kind of distraction which really bores into those driving skill gray cells. I believe when you drive in a stupid fashion (and we all do.. ) that in particular the ones that occur while talking on a cell phone make you worthy of being yelled at. It's just that there is no reason NOT be yelled at when you drive in an asinine fashion, so just pony up and take the bitching. And likewise, you see someone driving in an idiotic fashion, I hereby authorize you to yell at them, usually something like "put down the G-Dam phone, you twit~" Not sure it works but it makes you feel like there is a chance to spread the word about bad driving
Anyway...my point: On tv this morning you had he GMA crew all saying they were going to sign Oprah's pledge (this was after Oprah, on the fone, beseeched all to put the fone down while behind the wheel...) and George and Robin and Sam, and company all said that for today at least, they would honor the pledge. So, whats the issue? Only that NONE OF THESE PEOPLE DRIVE A FRICKEN CAR.... they re all in limos and cabs. Larry King tonight, announced that he too would sign the pledge. Ill bet Larry hasn't put his foot to pedal on anything stronger than a Golf Cart in a dozen years.
So, move ahead, says I, with all these do-gooder plans... hey I can be a do-gooder, too. But count on trying to figure out just how we can keep everything running while driving and not talking. Today, en route from one assignment to the next, I found myself with cell fone in hand. A car blew by, and I thought.. souvenir me a break, dude... but stay out of my space. I'm not texting,,
I'm Sending an eMAIL !!!
we're just sayin'... David
Friday 30 April was designated "No Texting" Driving day by Oprah Winfrey.. I don't actually mind that she is encouraging folks to give up the Texting.. on a strictly rational basis, we know it takes all your wits to drive a car safely, but my personal read it the 'distracted' driving issue is this: Far more people are performing in a scary fashion due to burgers, fries and limeades than by texting. You could make a case that you should NOT talk and drive, cause every driver knows that it takes certain effort to participate in a conversation.. hands free or not, your brain is still busy. Not as busy as the freak-out mode when you spill ketchup on your tie, and drip burger drippings on your newly pressed Dockers. That's the kind of distraction which really bores into those driving skill gray cells. I believe when you drive in a stupid fashion (and we all do.. ) that in particular the ones that occur while talking on a cell phone make you worthy of being yelled at. It's just that there is no reason NOT be yelled at when you drive in an asinine fashion, so just pony up and take the bitching. And likewise, you see someone driving in an idiotic fashion, I hereby authorize you to yell at them, usually something like "put down the G-Dam phone, you twit~" Not sure it works but it makes you feel like there is a chance to spread the word about bad driving
Anyway...my point: On tv this morning you had he GMA crew all saying they were going to sign Oprah's pledge (this was after Oprah, on the fone, beseeched all to put the fone down while behind the wheel...) and George and Robin and Sam, and company all said that for today at least, they would honor the pledge. So, whats the issue? Only that NONE OF THESE PEOPLE DRIVE A FRICKEN CAR.... they re all in limos and cabs. Larry King tonight, announced that he too would sign the pledge. Ill bet Larry hasn't put his foot to pedal on anything stronger than a Golf Cart in a dozen years.
So, move ahead, says I, with all these do-gooder plans... hey I can be a do-gooder, too. But count on trying to figure out just how we can keep everything running while driving and not talking. Today, en route from one assignment to the next, I found myself with cell fone in hand. A car blew by, and I thought.. souvenir me a break, dude... but stay out of my space. I'm not texting,,
I'm Sending an eMAIL !!!
we're just sayin'... David
Sunday, April 25, 2010
The Way It Might Have Been
And did we have a good time? You betcha. It would be terrific to remember the details. Here’s what I know.
Sometimes I feel like the old Victorian beach mansion we lived in for a summer. While I am sleeping, my body stays awake figuring out how it’s going to fall apart in the morning. It’s clear that I have been asleep, because I have been dreaming the same dream every night for the past two weeks. This dream is particularly weird and at times frightening, so I will gladly share it with people who are either weird or like to be frightened. We can only assume that if you’re still reading the blob you must be, at least, a little weird.
The dream begins in Boonton NJ, at the house in which my mother lived for 56 years. We sold the house two years ago when Mom moved to Washington State. Anyway, before we signed final papers and closed on the sale, we went into the basement and taped our four pictures in a place where no one would ever find them. (Editor’s note: I have no idea WHERE she put them.) In this way, we could remain part of the spirit of what was, for ever and ever. And that’s how the dream begins…
We (both Jeff’s family and mine and mom and dad) are at the house. It’s some kind of holiday –maybe Christmas or Thanksgiving, which we traditionally spent at the house. The house is no longer ours. We are there, unbeknown to the new owners, or anyone else we may have known. In other words, we are living in our old house, the new owners are somewhere else (we have no idea where) except I was worried that they would come and find out that, like a bad dream, we had come back, to spend who knows how long, as uninvited guests. I knew we were uninvited because I was afraid they would come home and have us arrested. Jeff kept telling me not to worry, that they couldn’t have us arrested because we still belonged there. In my heart I knew it was a lie – but still we didn’t leave. Oh, and dad walking and perfectly fine –which had not been true for 45 years.
In addition to my concern about trespassing, Jordan was about nine and she was dating someone who was at least fifteen. And no matter what I did or said, she refused to listen to me. She got all dressed up (with make-up and high heals) and chose to ignore my every plea. Devin was also small and she jumped around yelling something about how she was going to get in trouble, so Seth said he would follow her on her dates to make sure she was safe. The fifteen year old, who didn’t seem to be anyone we knew, came to the house to pick Jordan up, but he had to sneak in the front door (the one we never used), so none of the neighbors would see that we were there. I have no idea how we managed to hide, but it was, after all a dream.
If I knew someone who interpreted dreams, I would ask them to help me figure out the meaning of these repetitive fantasies because the not knowing is a bit disturbing – but I don’t, so all insights (as long as they are not sexual) are welcome and appreciated.
In the meantime, (while I’m waiting for analysis) and in order to pretend that I’m not lazy and without imagination, I’ll give it a guess. Here goes: Way down deep inside, I think we shouldn’t have sold the house because in our souls we are totally New Jersey. And now we have no where to be when we visit. Of course, we don’t have anyone to visit, except mom, but she no longer lived there --that’s beside the point. It could be that I ate some bad mandel bread and it has stayed with me for the last two weeks. Or it might be my turmoil about where to live. Nonsense. What does any of that have to do with the fact that Jordan was dating at nine and more importantly, she didn’t listen to me?
Oh my, oh my, it’s too bad I don’t have a better imagination because think of all the fabulous characters with whom I might have slept over the last two weeks. Never mind, I already did that when I was young. We’re just sayin’…. Iris
Sometimes I feel like the old Victorian beach mansion we lived in for a summer. While I am sleeping, my body stays awake figuring out how it’s going to fall apart in the morning. It’s clear that I have been asleep, because I have been dreaming the same dream every night for the past two weeks. This dream is particularly weird and at times frightening, so I will gladly share it with people who are either weird or like to be frightened. We can only assume that if you’re still reading the blob you must be, at least, a little weird.
The dream begins in Boonton NJ, at the house in which my mother lived for 56 years. We sold the house two years ago when Mom moved to Washington State. Anyway, before we signed final papers and closed on the sale, we went into the basement and taped our four pictures in a place where no one would ever find them. (Editor’s note: I have no idea WHERE she put them.) In this way, we could remain part of the spirit of what was, for ever and ever. And that’s how the dream begins…
We (both Jeff’s family and mine and mom and dad) are at the house. It’s some kind of holiday –maybe Christmas or Thanksgiving, which we traditionally spent at the house. The house is no longer ours. We are there, unbeknown to the new owners, or anyone else we may have known. In other words, we are living in our old house, the new owners are somewhere else (we have no idea where) except I was worried that they would come and find out that, like a bad dream, we had come back, to spend who knows how long, as uninvited guests. I knew we were uninvited because I was afraid they would come home and have us arrested. Jeff kept telling me not to worry, that they couldn’t have us arrested because we still belonged there. In my heart I knew it was a lie – but still we didn’t leave. Oh, and dad walking and perfectly fine –which had not been true for 45 years.
In addition to my concern about trespassing, Jordan was about nine and she was dating someone who was at least fifteen. And no matter what I did or said, she refused to listen to me. She got all dressed up (with make-up and high heals) and chose to ignore my every plea. Devin was also small and she jumped around yelling something about how she was going to get in trouble, so Seth said he would follow her on her dates to make sure she was safe. The fifteen year old, who didn’t seem to be anyone we knew, came to the house to pick Jordan up, but he had to sneak in the front door (the one we never used), so none of the neighbors would see that we were there. I have no idea how we managed to hide, but it was, after all a dream.
If I knew someone who interpreted dreams, I would ask them to help me figure out the meaning of these repetitive fantasies because the not knowing is a bit disturbing – but I don’t, so all insights (as long as they are not sexual) are welcome and appreciated.
In the meantime, (while I’m waiting for analysis) and in order to pretend that I’m not lazy and without imagination, I’ll give it a guess. Here goes: Way down deep inside, I think we shouldn’t have sold the house because in our souls we are totally New Jersey. And now we have no where to be when we visit. Of course, we don’t have anyone to visit, except mom, but she no longer lived there --that’s beside the point. It could be that I ate some bad mandel bread and it has stayed with me for the last two weeks. Or it might be my turmoil about where to live. Nonsense. What does any of that have to do with the fact that Jordan was dating at nine and more importantly, she didn’t listen to me?
Oh my, oh my, it’s too bad I don’t have a better imagination because think of all the fabulous characters with whom I might have slept over the last two weeks. Never mind, I already did that when I was young. We’re just sayin’…. Iris
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