I wish I had taken this photo. Jonathan Marsh did and it captures everything that I feel about the Puget Sound.
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I find this more amusing than my kids do
7 years ago
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Given that a polaroid photo is mentioned in the last post...
Have to have this again. Good Tuesday music.
A lot of parents would wait to torture their children...
But my philosophy is, why wait when you can have so much fun with it now?
Ali receives compliments on his teeth all the time:
And here, for the very first time, is why:
Maasi beadwork
Unearthed in my ongoing unpacking festival (yeah, one year later. Sue me):
I purchased this when we were living in Uganda in the early '70's. More on that later. I love the contrast between the ornately carved wooden frame and the necklace. I posted this for my friend Kate, who is doing all sorts of modern groovy things with beads.
Chipmunk in da house!
Well, one of the unintended results of having the back door open in this nice weather is we had a visitor yesterday. Actually since the door has been open a lot I don't know when the Munk dropped in, but the cats went on high alert yesterday. After they all went galloping upstairs and there was much scrambling and scurrying and squeaking I decided to just open the front door and wait. After about half an hour, everyone came rushing downstairs and the chipmunk got smart and bolted through the front door, cats in hot pursuit as he disappeared under my front porch.
The cats continued to scout the house for the Munk and really couldn't believe that he had beaten the odds. As all three of my cats are elderly (over 10 years old) I bet the over-under on this one.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Hunting for buried treasure
Mumsy managed to work it out so that she departed this mortal coil on Bastille Day, 2000. She loved France beyond reason, the food, the people, the architecture. It was all like catnip to her. Her grand-daughter, Lina, loves living there but finds some of the byzantine "customer service" and idiosyncratic superior attitudes infuriating. Like I did when I lived there, albeit briefly.
I think one of the most charming, endearing and goofy character traits of my mother was her absolute certainty that there was "buried treasure" all around her. She was a devoted follower of "Antiques Roadshow" and subscribed to the magazine Connaisseur. When Pops inherited Kurt and Lolo's belongings after their untimely death, her curatorial nature went into overdrive. Everything was appraised and documented; of course there were some true treasures included in the effects: a Diego Rivera painting, two lithographs by Chagall (one personally signed to Lolo by the artist himself.) Kurt's story was that they were visiting a gallery in the town of Vence where Chagall lived, looking over some lithographs to find one to send in honor of my youngest brother's (David) birth. They found two lithographs by Chagall, one of King David with his scrolls (a no brainer gift) but felt that the signatures on the lithos were rather small. At that moment (so the story goes) Chagall himself strolled in, and my uncle Kurt, negotiator extraordinaire, put it to the Master: "No signature, no sale!" Chagall whipped out a pencil and signed the King David litho with a large scrawled "Chagall" and endorsed the other one "pour Madame Mann" (my aunt.)
After this heady brush with fame, Mom was certain that "there was gold in them thar hills" and one of her many projects was documenting the worth of all these extraordinary things: antique pewter, Audubon bird and monkey prints, etc. She spent many hours pouring over books (pre-internet) trying to document the rarity of various paintings, etchings and prints and even got on a coin validation kick. Part of my moving and unpacking has revealed these annotated gems, found in a box of mementos:
Mom's buried treasure inclinations dated from her childhood. Pirates and Tarzan both figured in her make believe play and as a tomboy she usually had the leading (male) role. As a baby she was given an "Add-A-Pearl" necklace and at about age 8 decided this was treasure that needed to be buried, dug a hole in her backyard, and buried it. Much to her mother's dismay, it was never found.
Her search for buried treasure extended into doing research into Pops' family history and discovering a Rothschild in his distant past as well as her certainty that her lineage sprang from the last Prince of Wales that was actually Welsh. Many many years ago, of course.
Mom extended this "search" into her daily life in how she interacted with everyone she met. She would draw them out, ask them questions, and each person who left her company felt enriched by meeting her and encouraged with her faith in what an intriguing person she found them to be.
Thanks, Mom, for teaching me how to ask good questions and to always be interested in the answers.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
The secret anniversaries of the heart
One year ago today I boarded an airplane for Seattle to begin my new life. One of the interesting things about moving is that it re-focuses your life, pares it down, and then when you unpack you find all sorts of things you have forgotten about.
The holiest of all holidays are those
Kept by ourselves in silence and apart;
The secret anniversaries of the heart.
~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Eleven years ago on July 13, 2000, my mother Patricia Schloesser lost her 12 year battle with various cancers. Pops lost his boon companion and wife of 57 years. Next month he turns 90 and he's been pissed off ever since she died; he wanted to go first. "That wasn't the plan!"
Sixty seven years ago, my father wrote this letter to my mother.
I've transcribed it to the best of my ability - and included the grammatical and spelling errors which are surprisingly few considering that English was a new language to my father. After reading this letter I was struck by how much Pops downplayed the sadness and the tragedy of his early life. The loneliness and bravery. This was a love letter, was meant to intrigue and inform, but not to scare her off. Or perhaps this is simply my interpretation through the lens of memory of the stories I heard all my life.
July 8, 1944
Dearest,
This is again one of those nice quiet Saturday afternoons. So here goes the long promised story: -
In the year of 1884, Jan. 16, Ernst Schlösser, my father was born. Sörgenloch was the name of his birthplace, al little spot in the Rhineland. His father was a small scale farmer and a cattle trader When reaching the proper age he started going to a gymnasium at Mainz, my hometown, and finished with very good grades, as he told me (probably) many times. Being from a rather poor (large) family. He immediately had to go to work in a – wine cellar. This lasted a very short time, he was not well fit for manual labor.
Now let us switch to my mother, nee Stern. Born Dec. 14, 1887 in Wieseck. Another small village in the same region. She also came from an extremely large family and thus soon went to work after her schooling, as a saleslady in Worms on the Rhine. This being very unusual for at that time it was very improper for a young lady to earn her own living. Incidentally her father died shortly after her birth. But “Mutti” (as Lolo and I called her) was quite a set woman.
(I have been covering a lot of terretory in a hurry, I hope you understand it.)
This puts us up to about 1908. Sometime around this year mother and father met. Both must have fallen for each other right away. But let us jump back to Ernst’s (my father) story. He had qualified himself for a state job. Just a low writing clerk (no typewriters at that time.) –
Berta’s (my mother) family appearently was very much against all. Why should such a beautiful young girl think of marrying such a poor no count. Berta Stern not a woman told what to do made things clear to the family and thus several supposedly “rich” uncles broke up with her.
They were engaged about five years. Married in 1913. Ernst, a very ambitious and hardworking young man slowly was working his way up. A long, hard road.
May 1914, Lolo was born. Her proper name being “Lieselotte” - In 1921 a little red skinned, long black haired fellow squeezed his way in to the world – me. Judging from the difference of age between Lolo and myself I must have been accidental. Though I was never told.
1922-23-24 have little to show for I remember little. I must have been a much nicer fellow than now, for I never cried as a baby. Lolo was very jealous and nobody was allowed to touch my baby carriage in her presence. I guess I must have been sort of a toy for her. –
1925 Dad was going up rapidly. He had a cold and sure way of working. Advancing from one office to another. (In Germany most governement jobs are not filled by people’s choice, but advancement comes automatically according to the work you put out. – His special line was social welfare, a very much developed thing in Europe.)
One thing I remember from my earliest childhood. Our Sunday hikes. Every Sunday rain or shine the whole family would take a train to the Taunus, a small mountain range nearby; we would take our lunch and hike all day. That sort of put a love of nature into me. Trees and meadows, really beautiful scenery. Even in winter we would do that. Dad enjoyed it most of all, being cooped up in the office all week (Am I boring you?)
1927 I started in school. Things at home were awfully good. We started taking summer vacations to the Swiss, after that I would usually go up to the North Sea for another month. Seems we were quite a sightseeing family. We more or less saved all year to go on a one to two months spree every year. –
Dad was more or less a family man. Mother had to persuade him to join some kind of a lodge. He would be very hesitant in going to the weekly meetings. He never hunted or played cards (me too). Seems that most of our spare time was spent in reading. All of us read, read and read. I am grateful that mother installed that hobby in my early youth. There is nothing like it! So that is the reason I don’t play cards (but I’ll try for you!)
Like many towns our city had an opera house. The whole family (except I, for I was to young) had season tickets and would go many times weekly. Lolo plays the piano most beautiful. –
All in all the cultural background was pretty good. (Makes me think a lot of your home, funny isn’t it)
1928-29-30 were spent much in the same happy manner. Undoubtedly the happiest years in our family life. We would take trips on the Rhine. Dad and Mother would take vaccations alone at times. They were very happy together. Seems like a perfect marriage, now that I look back. Such a difference in temperament. Father the calm, tactful type; Mother the extreme opposite: fast tempered and easy exited. Was there something or someone she did not care for, wham! She told them immediately. Funny between them perfect harmony (P.S. they lived in a double bed)
Started going to the Real gymnasium they pounded Latin and other dead subjects into my head. I never cared too much for school it seemed so dull. How I changed. But there is also a great difference in the U.S. educational system and the German. You had no choice of subjects and the bamboo stick was used freely in helping to educate you. I belonged to the boyscouts and developed into a regular stinker, like all bad boys that age. –
Dad had finally reached his final position “Oberverwaltungsamt”; the French army of occupation moved out. Germany started on its decline in politics.
1933 Hitler came into power and the dark side of life started. Father was discharged from the governement. Rather retired. This ment that he was to receive a monthly pension. They were uncertain times, the Nazis were cleaning house. Killing and arresting people who were on their black list. Many evenings were spent in anxiety, if everyone of the family would be back at night or perhaps dead. Here father’s previous tact and kindness to other people came in handy. He still had many friends at official posts and thus was saved from the concentration camps and eventual death.
I also noticed a change, the boys I played with six months ago, would now gang up and try to beat me up. At that time I developed the habit of keeping my mouth shut. There were many scraps and I, at 13, began to find out that being Jewish was rather painful at times.(If you have ever seen the bump on the left side of my forehead, it’s a reminder.) Nevertheless things became worse and in 1934 I had to quit the gymnasium for obvious reasons.
At that time a school was started and it was rather unusual. You see, many brilliant teachers were thrown out of colleges and higher schools, because of their religion. They got together and started a school, which was really a seat of learning. For instance one chem. teacher had written some books which were still used in all colleges. (He and his wife commited suicide in 1940.) So there was actually an advantage as far as education was concerned. We kept up our Sunday hikes and one became slowly used to the situation.
In 1936 Lolo was fortunate enough to immigrate into the U.S. It was a sad scene for apparently my parents felt that they would never see her again. But one was slowly getting used to sad scenes. My parents began to worry about what kind of future was in store for me. It was obvious that I could not take up a profession, but maybe some sort of trade?
So late in 1937 I arrived at Pirmasens to study the art of shoe designing. I did not like it, not so much the job, as the city. I was all alone, far away from home. There still were fights because of the religion and I was scared. I remember distinctly in December 1937, I was at home for a vacation, a letter from Lolo arrived. She wanted me to come over to her and had already sent the needed papers. So fate, as so many times later, had pulled me out of a big mess.
I left Mainz in April 1938 and still remember my mother leaning out of the second story window, waving. She did a good job of holding back her tears, she was a very brave woman. She had more guts than any person I have ever known. What a feeling it must have been, bringing up two children and then losing them. –
Father went up to Hamburg with me. I embarked on the S.S. Manhattan. And now as I recall, the luxury, the white bread and the rich people impressed me. I brought along a little wire-hair terrier, Lolo’s. Because of him I was allowed to go way up on the highest deck, between the towering funnels and admire the sea. (Hope we can go on the ocean some day, it’s fantastic!)
After arriving in N.Y. I made a fast friendship with my new home-country. There was something about it, that made me feel at home. Freedom. A free people look and act so different.
Here life again turned for me from darkness and oppression to light. I felt like kissing every American I met.
After a short stay in N.Y. I went to Kansas City, MO. Lolo, who in meantime had married Kurt lived there. Lolo and Kurt had known each other in Germany apparently broke up, then met again in the U.S. and were married.
After a short while I started to work. You already know the rest of the story. -----
Darling, I know that all this is a very hasty job and written in bad style. There are so many things I failed to mention, but maybe I have given you a general idea. If there are any questions about anything on your mind, please don’t fail to ask me. Don’t be afraid to hurt my feelings or make me mad, you won’t! -
Guess I’ll quit for today Incidentally, do you get any days off at your camp? Or only Sundays.
My hand is getting cramps, I better quit.
I love you
Harvey
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Happy Birthday, Whole World Girl!
When Lina was about 3, I heard her little voice pipe up from the back seat of the car asking me: "I'm your Whole Word Girl, aren't I, Mommy?" My eyes met hers in the mirror, and looking at her in her car seat, I said: "Yes, you are."
CAKE! and nail polish:
Photography:
Dancing and children:
Some of the best predictors of her future character are of course memories, contained in stories, without photos.
Lina's fervent interest in the environment and woman's rights became evident when she was about 4. We were driving somewhere in Kansas City and I tossed a toothpick out of the window. The resulting shriek from the backseat was "Don't Mommy!! You're hurting Mother Earth!!"
A demonstration of Lina's desire for authenticity and truth came up when she was in Girl Scouts, at about age 8 or 9. The leaders had each everyone recite a family motto, and each girl parroted a Girl Scout truth "make new friends, but keep the old, one is silver and the other's gold" and "do unto others as they would do unto you." etc. When they came around the circle to Lina, she squared her shoulders and said "Sit down, sit back, and put your seatbelt on!"
THAT's my Whole World Girl. Love you Leen Been.
Scent of a moment
Isn't it remarkable how a certain smell or aroma can immediately throw you to a different place in time? A memory so intense that it's almost as if you're right back there, totally in the moment. For me it's a more focused memory, more vivid than a visual experience or a sound. I found this gardenia on the ground at a garden center and scooped it up and inhaled and was immediately swept away to Kampala, Uganda, 1971. We were in our beautiful rented home in Kololo, one of the suburbs of Kampala. New to the country and every sight and sound and smell was different, strange, and foreign to us.
Kampala is right on the equator, with the most remarkable climate. Never too hot or too cold, the house had openings above the windows, with screens and slats so that air always flowed through the house. Natural air conditioning. This allowed the scent of the gardenia bush to travel through the house, embroidering our dreams. The creamy blooms were enormous - the size of salad plates, set off by glossy green leaves.
Scent of a moment
Isn't it remarkable how a certain smell or aroma can immediately throw you to a different place in time? A memory so intense that it's almost as if you're right back there, totally in the moment. For me it's a more focused memory, more vivid than a visual experience or a sound.
I found this gardenia on the ground at a garden center and scooped it up and inhaled and was immediately swept away to Kampala, Uganda, 1971. We were in our beautiful rented home in Kololo, one of the suburbs of Kampala. New to the country and every sight and sound and smell was different, strange, and foreign to us.
Kampala is right on the equator, with the most remarkable climate. Never too hot or too cold, the house had openings above the windows, with screens and slats so that air always flowed through the house. Natural air conditioning. This allowed the scent of the gardenia bush to travel through the house, embroidering our dreams. The creamy blooms were enormous - the size of salad plates, set off by glossy green leaves.
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