I stood on the bank of the
The rat traps were covered by snow. One had to wonder if a rat would actually be happy to find refuge in one of those large plastic containers from this frozen ground; much like wrinkled toes which curled to conserve heat beneath the skin of a shoe. The dead straw blades which pierced the polished white bone, were as far as you could see; like an Eastern version of tumbleweed frozen by damp drafts of water that caught them instantaneously mooring them to their foundation. Still, the shit stains on the benches remained. After all the storms and snow, they lingered- sore on the eyes.
Behind the park and the nearby historic houses was a mountain. It was one of the many which seemed to present obstacles in winter weather. It’s lining a large mass of trees filled the land. The leaves had long gone and they stood like the sparse grey hair on an old man’s head. It wasn’t difficult to see the natural contours of land over the town, because the river had ground deep into the bedrock from it’s beginnings at the Falls to it’s emersion into the Atlantic Ocean, walls of stone in spots up and down the river. When you think only four hundred years ago, Henry Hudson saw the same stone markers you realize how mortal we are.
To the Right, stood the
To the left stood a contemporary building complex, similar to one common in tropical regions. It was a surreal image which stood like a two dimensional model against the blue of clear sky. It’s geometric patterns were obviously a mathematical trigger to which early settlers could not construct. Given the homes against the landscape of the river, the new “settlement” felt out of place in Nyack. True, all towns and cities merge to embrace both old and new; in this moment of loneliness it seemed wrong, yet right.
There are times when nature is supposed to bring back well-being, cure deep seeded ills within a body, ills one can’t put their finger on, ones which can only be diagnosed by a local psychologist. Thoreau had
At Bryant Park in
Today, in the cold of a swollen ice filled river, there’s peace. Today is the inauguration of Barack Obama, our new president, with which there’s hope. Here I find the bridge, between old and new- here it is…. direct from the park.
For Christmas I received a wonderful poster from my parents. It was a variety of quotes on life. I’ve had difficulty with hanging it on the back of my office door, because it keeps falling off. Nevertheless, I do read from it.
I wanted to send a quote out there which I really like. It’s by the poet Henry David Thoreau, one of my favorites. I don’t think it could be any less than perfect.
“However mean your life is, meet it and live it: do not shun it and call it hard names. Cultivate poverty like a garden herb, like sage. Do not trouble yourself much to get new things, whether clothes or friends. Things do not change, we change. Sell your clothes and keep your thoughts.”
It’s all a state of mind people. What we have in our minds, is what we die with- make them good, make them enjoyable, and when the pain becomes to much to bear, sleep close to them because in the end, they’ll see you through. SVR
Have yourselves a great day.
I’ve come to age some bread… stuff is FANTASTIC when it’s fresh, but it ages quickly. This past weekend I went out and bought it- FRESH. It included olive loaf and sundried tomato bread because of company we had staying over. Since then this bread as become hard as a rock.
I’ve been saving it for the birds. My grandmother in Liverpool used to feed the birds with left overs from every meal. During war time, food was very difficult to come by and every scrap wasn’t wasted. My father told me they’d get Catsup and make tomato soup from it. Although the war ended in 1945, they remained on food rations till 1950 or a little after that.
I presume as a kid, this is why I was forced to clean my plate. I once told my Dad I couldn’t eat string beans, and by God he wouldn’t accept it…. until I threw them up… he told me I was excused from eating them further.
I continue to try not to waste food by throwing it in the garbage. I remember when I worked in a restaurant as a teenager the dishwashers used to take the half eaten meats and left overs, put them in a pail and feed the racoons and opposums with it. It’s like the great saying goes, one man’s junk (or garbage) is another man’s treasure. Food is a treasure.
I was told French toast was something which emerged during WWII as the result of stale bread. The French would bathe stale bread in a solution of milk and egg to soften the bread, then they’d bake it. I’d imagine it must be like putting water into “space” food to revive something which seems impossible to eat. In India, curry was the result of trying to mask stale meat, which because of the heat- would age quickly.
I like to think we all make do with what we’re given, and in an ideal world food would be used without waste, but we all know that’s impossible. The thing is- bread is essential. How many of you have heard, “Better be good or you’ll be on a diet of bread and water!” Well…. maybe not THAT many of you, but it does occupy space inside and fills the hole.
I’m watching a series I received for Christmas titled, “The World at War”. It was a documentary on World War II which ran on BBC in the 1970’s. In the US I remember as a kid my parents watching it. I distinctly remember the introductory music for the program- very dramatic and powerful. I thought to myself about my parents trying to teach us what it was like in Liverpool during WWII as kids- of course speaking to my brother and myself as kids. We had no clue, and only mild interest.
As an adult, it’s engrossing. The series contains some 26 episodes, extensive research, and last night I watched the producer as he explained the details of making it. It tried to give an unobstructed view, from both sides with real film footage. I found out the British Imperial War Museum had something like 200,000 miles of film (or something outrageous like that) in it’s archives, much of which was never looked at. Anyways, it’s facinating AND important.
At the time they were doing this, they’d already realized many of the survivors were starting to die off. The main leaders like Churchill, Montgomery, Roosevelt had died, and they did their best to get people tied in with the leaderships. The producer even told of one of the researchers who was able to meet with a high ranking SS official to get his take on things in the Gestapo. It was an exhausting attempt to put to light the events, the hardships and the social ramifications of the War.
I regress…. this whole blog was about bread.
Those of you who know my background, have heard me talk about WWII before. It was an unavoidable subject because of my upbringing and it’s powerful effects on my parents, which directly corelates to the raising of family- the values.
I’ve always been lucky to have strong family ties. These remain even though we’re not a stone’s throw away from each other, when we’re together… we’re TOGETHER. We still remain in touch with a few aunts and uncles in Liverpool and will always be. You know, there’s nothing to escape the sense of humor. It’s humor that makes you survive under difficult circumstances- it “lightens” the load. Perhaps, the sharp Liverpudlian wit evolved out of constant bombings and despair. Either way, it lives pretty healthy in my family.
We’re expecting severe temperature drops in the next few days. I know Illinois and Minnesota have the worst in decades, I saw one trucker had a problem with his oil freezing. The tri-state area is only getting a taste of what they have. Do remember the essentials in life: a roof over the head, food on the plate- BREAD, and big cozy blankets made of goosefeathers- oh yea, and the sense of humor doesn’t hurt either. Be well all and if you’re cold find yourself something funny to read or watch- warmth comes in many ways….
I had the most facinating conversation at the breakfast table this morning with my son, and comedian, Shane. Although he’s only eight, he has this vivid imagination, and a damn fine sense of humor to boot (I’ll take claim for that one). He told me of a pretty detailed dream he had last night. I have no idea where it came from because I’d rather not disect it, and destroy the aspect that it was entirely his creation. For me, it made a wonderfully creative experience- like that of Willy Wonka. It went something like this:
S: Dad, I had a dream last night.
D: You did? Tell me about it.
S: There were two purple hippopotamus with parachutes on their backs.
D: (Thinkin, if this ain’t a grabber- NOTHING is) Oh, yea? Where were they?
S: One was in a hot air balloon. Only one could fit in each hot air balloon, but there were a whole bunch more up in the sky with yellow hippopotamuses, they had parachutes too. And there was a magic machine which created them.
D: What kind of machine?
S: It was kind of like a big box. All the yellow ones came from that, but it created more. It made a candy corn star.
D: Wowwwwww, I candy corn star huh?
S: (Getting excited now….) and when Brianna (his sister) touched the star, it made someone come out of nowhere with a whole giant bag of candy corn that they gave us. Each one didn’t look like candy corn though. It looked like those machines that pop out the candy.
D: Pez dispensers?
S: Yea, each one was candy corn but shaped like Pez machines. I was putting a whole bunch on a chair for Brianna. She was going to make a statue out of them.
D: On the chair?
S: No, just in front of it. The statue was going to look like her.
D: And you were helping her build it?
S: I was putting them on the chair for her to use, but you couldn’t mold them. But it still looked like her.
D: What did the magic machine look like?
S: It was blue and grey and looked like a pretty big box (about 3′ high by 4′ long). It was neat. Oh, and there was a large purple candy corn like a circle.
D: If it was purple, how did you know it was candy corn?
S: I just knew.
D: Were all the candy corns the color of candy corns?
S: Some were and some weren’t.
D: Back to the purple Hippo. You said one went on a hot air balloon, and the other stayed on the ground. What did he do?
S: Well….. he also went on a hot air balloon that the magic machine created, but later than the other. The yellow hippos were created a lot earlier then the purple ones.
D: and the magic machine made both the hippos and the hot air balloons?
S: Yea.
At this point, my mind started retreating on this new information and formulating these grand views of a color coated world laced with Willy Wonka like machines and painted candy roads.
When my daughter was five, I was hounded by her kindergarten teacher to come in and do a little writer workshop to help create a children’s book for a contest (she knew I created two). After months of this I finally conceded. When I went in to the class of about 15 five year olds, I thought I’d do a little brainstorming.. see what ideas they could come up with. Well, if you ever do this, and the kids are enthusiasic like my crowd, you’ll walk away BLOWN AWAY. These kids were ALL over me with ideas that were out of the stratosphere AND when they got excited they moved closer. I had like three kids climbing up my legs with their ideas! Their imaginations, without having being squeezed into modern adult thoughts, behaviors, or etiquites and speaking without judgement… BAM! I was so excited by their excitement, that when we finished, I called my friend Pietro who’s this magnificent sculptor and painter (at this time age 72) and offered to go to his place drive him up to the school and drive him back. He liked the idea and volunteered to do a sculptor workshop of making paper heads (he sculpts newspaper covered by tape and paints them). WELL, he got the same reaction with the kids… this class which included my daughter was so enthusastic, it impacted everyone involved. We both walked away with probably one of the greatest experiences an adult could have.
So… if ever you’re offered to hear a child’s dream. NEVER neglect the opportunity. They think on different levels than us, not twisted by adult thought and opinions- it’s pure. Entertain them and let them speak their mind- DON’T spoil it by putting in your two cents. You might be surprized what you hear, or enlightened by the colors of a child’s world.
If I ever had an inkling I’d be somewhere down the line writing about hangers, I probably would have hung myself.
It’s come down to those silly little things which make our clothes so proudly displayed in our closet and over years we’ve accumulated all kinds. From the plastic bought ones, to the heavy duty suit and pant holders, pant buckle types and by far the most and poorly made ones were those shiny metal shitty ones you always receive when you pick up the dry cleaning.
For years now I’ve found this uncontrolable mess with half hung shirts, to big for the hanger suits, uneven ties and basic unorganization. Perhaps O.C.D. can develop after living in the wreckless life of chaos. I think I’m starting to take on the characteristics of our favorite TV detective- Monk. Anyways, an opportunity rose this past week- one which REALLY excited me: Wood hangers.
I know you’re thinkin- WHAT kinda guy could get excited about hangers? I ask myself the same. My answer is a “Simple one”.
Yes, all… I am a simple guy. It doesn’t take a lot to excite me, but when a new year comes along I think to myself, how can I better my existance? Writing about hangers??? No, that’s not it. Having a closet full of hangers?? No, that’s not it, either. ORGANIZATION… that’s it. Grabbing a sturdy hanger from the closet on which to put a washed shirt. It’s really comedic if ya ask me. Never in my existance did it occur to me my life would come down to a simple hanger.
Ya see, there’s something about the wood smell. I went to the Martin Guitar factory last year and if you could smell the scent of these freshly sanded wood guitars… it would have made ya go ape. No, these don’t smell like wood, the scent has far gone beneath coats of polyurethane, BUT it does bring a kinda natural existance- a recyclable piece of material should I grow tired, or run out of money, I could burn them and be warmed by the bonfire of wood and metal (I certainly couldn’t burn a guitar!).
A large retail store has recently gone out of business like many others in this horrible economy. The store was packed with merchandise and as the company lowered it’s prices on their goods to sell them off, there became an overabundant supply of good strong hangers. I’d priced them before in regular stores like Bed, Bath and Beyond and ruled them out until I found these gorgeous sturdy commercial hangers were selling 5 for a dollar. They were all beautiful pine, some stained to a walnut flavor- the rich looking kind. Well, I couldn’t resist.
I bought a few at first, just to try them out. They were goooooooood. All the jackets hung perfectly and wouldn’t ya know they matched the hard wood floors (uh oh, more of that OCD thing happenin…..)
Well, since the store is in it’s last days, they have boxes and boxes of these things. I thought to myself- “Hey, self- we’re in a new place… what better time to get your shit together than in a new place, in a new year! You better go back and get more before someone thinks of doing the same!”
Yesterday afternoon, I bought about 60 hangers AND it’s wasn’t enough….. I did the hall closet first. The one everyone who comes over sees. DAMN, did it look good! Then I did the downstairs with the dark wood ones cause of the carpet… AGAIN, I impressed myself. All the sudden, I’m rippin out clothes throwin down hangers, redoing all the closets to make them perfect. Perhaps I’m getting “mentally challenged”, but any interior designer would have been impressed. Last night, I went back and bought 120.. oh, I’m ailing…..
There it was uniformity! All there. It was sooooo gorgeous, like a beautiful cactus flower emerging from it’s bud in a desert sky.
I’m an obsessive guy- I admit to this fully. When I’m dedicated to a project, and form my own pressure bubble I’m there entirely! All the sudden yesterday, years of unease came in a wave of purchasing coat hangers. I mean, it could have been like unearthing a treasure chest of jewels for me! I could picture myself tossing all shapes and color variations of wood coat hangers in the air and holding my arms over my head to keep from getting it bashed in. It was joyous, it was marvelous… BUT… I’m still not done. The obsession is pounding me as I write to you. I have 3 closets left… and 7 days. That’s when the store closes for good.
My concious speaking - Steve, what if one of those wholesalers realizes the opportunity they have at picking up these hangers for practically nothing… you’ll have nothing… you better get moving.. Damn you, concious!!! See you later all- gotta buy hangers!
For Christmas I received a beautiful book on Vincent Van Gogh. I started to read it and stopped to write this passage, an exerpt, from Letter 309 to Theo, his brother. He kept constant contact with his brother and his whole career could be summed up with these very discript letters. He believed there is a connection between painting and literature, so in doing, he wrote his brother constantly to whom his support was constantly given.
The extract of this letter can parallel the reasons I do what I do and it stopped me in my tracks, to capitalize on this moment of inspiration. It says it all, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who has these feelings. Read it for yourselves and take it for what it is. We all have something to give.
“I not only began drawing relatively late, but in addition I may well not have so very many years of life ahead of me (…) As far as the time that remains for my work is concerned, I believe that without being premature I can assume that this body of mine will still keep going, despite everything , for a certain number of years yet- say, between six and ten. I feel all the more able to assume this since at present there is not yet a proper ‘despite everything’ in my life (…) I do not intend to spare myself or pay much heed to moods or problems- it is a matter of some indifference to me whether I have a longer or a shorter life, and in any case physical mollycoddling such as a doctor can accomplish up to a point is not to my taste.”
“So I am continuing in my life of ignorance, though there is one thing I do know: within a few years I must accomplish work of a certain order; I do not need to be in too much of a hurry, because no good comes of that- but I must go on working calmly and quietly, with as great a regularity and composure as possible, and as much to the point as possible; the world is my concern only insofar as I have a certain debt and obligation, so to speak- because I have been wandering about this world these thirty years (ok, for me a little longer…) - to leave a certain something in memory of me behind, drawings or paintings, out of gratitude- not made in order to gratify some fashion or other but to express an honest human feeling. That work, then, is my objective (…)”