I remember my Aunt Kate as tall and thin, like my Dad and Uncle Jimmy. She, her husband, and two children lived in a cottage like Uncle Jimmy's, not on a hill, but in a valley; no beautiful green mountain with grazing sheep. You needed wellies, galoshes, to get down to her house. She was a teacher, and possibly the only teacher in that small village.
She was definitely a proud woman well respected. Second, only to the Priest, I bet and the Priest was not off and about as often as Kate Ann. She was generous and kind but she could give you a look that was more chilling than a NYC police officer's; it would shut you up and shut you down. You knew not to cross her.
Her husband John Mullanaphy was one of the gentlest men I have ever met. You saw it immediately in his face and demeanor. He had a working farm, but John was very much not a gentleman farmer. He worked hard and you could see the day's work everywhere: on his clothes, hands, and his hair. He liked to talk to me about America and was interested in what I had to say and what I thought. I liked him a lot but didn't get to spend much time with him as we, my Dad, Kate Ann, Jimmy and I were always traveling, searching out family, friends, and relatives.
About the Mullanaphy's: John Mullanaphy was Kate Ann's second husband. Now, about these stories, it's important for me to say again how long ago this was; how little of the conversation I understood because of their accents; that to them I was very much a 'Lad', and they believed that there are some things not to be discussed in the presence of the 'Lad'. That's a preface to what I have to say happened to Kate Ann's first husband, Dr. Flynn.
Aunts Mamie and Kate Ann, two sisters married two brothers both of whom were doctors. The death of Kate Ann's first husband was not discussed much in front of me. But once in Mamie and Dr. Flynn's house, my Dad made reference to Dr. Flynn's brother's tragic end. Dr. Flynn only said that in those days if you so much as put a band aid on a rebel fighter you were as guilty as they and would be treated as such. People were imprisoned; lost their license to work and many were hung as traitors. I don't know what happened to him.
I've got myself in this mood, now. I might as well continue.
Kate Ann had a daughter from her first marriage: Bridie. Bridie and her family, I think they had 4 kids, lived in Northern Ireland, Londonderry. We drove there one day for a visit. A beautiful home with lovely people is really all I can remember. The day was probably clouded by the many stops along the way. Stops at taverns that Uncle Jimmy knew from driving the tourists around Ireland. At these stops, of course, to be sociable, we'd have a taste. Dad and Jimmy had Jamison's, Kate Ann pink champagne and Jimmy would get me, by this time, my usual, Jamison's and orange.
In hindsight now, I imagine that then in addition to strength I saw a sadness in Kate Ann.
Years after my trip with Dad, Kate Ann's daughter Bridie, a doctor like her father, was walking in Londonderry when a bomb went off in a pub. She immediately ran to the place to see if she could be of assistance. Another bomb went off and she was killed. Like her father, a victim of Irish history. In Bridie's time, it was called 'the troubles'.
Her children Maeve and Mihail Mullanaphy are still in Ireland. Maeve married and had a bunch of children. Mihail never did. Maeve was lovely, fun, generous, and kind, very much like her parents. I liked her immediately. Mihail once referred to me as a goose and it applies to him as well. He liked to joke; took nothing seriously. You would never think his mother was the school teacher.
Monday, March 20, 2017
Saturday, February 18, 2017
Traveling
This looks a little like my Uncle Jimmy's house minus the wires. Not a fancy thatched cottage you would see in the travel guides just a loving place. Picture a mountain, very green, behind it, sheep grazing and then add some rain, gray skies, and a dampness 'to the bones' as they would say. That's how I remember the place.
The names of places I will probably confuse. It's been 55 years after all. Dowra was one town always talked about and I would say that was their town, literally, because Uncle Jimmy owned its only shop with the only Post Office and telephone. But they also talked of Glangevlin [aka Glan] which is another town and also the name of their Parrish. Glan may also have been the name of my Mother's home town. They're easily confused because there's no discernable difference between these two places. You'd have to travel out a bit for something different.
Our first trip was not very far in distance. It was to My Aunt Mamie in Drumshambo. Mamie had married Dr. Flynn and 'had prospered' as they would say. The Flynns had a beautiful house overlooking Loch Allen. [Google maps will show that it is not a big distance from Dowra and Glan but Mamie's world was]. The first thing I noticed was the wide variety of drink and store bought pastries. But what was special about their home was the million dollar view of Loch Allen. Though hundreds of feet from the house there was no obstruction, just like this photo.
We had an afternoon tea with them at this first visit and they talked politics, American and Irish, and medicine. Dr. Flynn and Mamie were as nice as everyone I had met. Often asking my opinion and what I was interested in.
It was different with Uncle Jimmy and the people in Glan, he might comment to people "Now look at the young American. Would you look at the size of him? A fine broth of a boy." He always made an effort to include me.
I'm not too sure of that 'Broth'. It may have been what he said and meant and then it might have been breath. Unfortunately, for me and greatly missed was a lot of what he and the people in Glan were saying. If they talked directly to me, Dad would have to translate back and forth. We all grew tired of that. The difficulty was confounded by many factors. Their brogue, the speed of their speech, the chatter of multiple voices adding to stories and all the names and nicknames. There was a lot of talk about people who had died so my father would have the history of his hometown. It was close to 40 years since he had been here. There'd be some somber talk about someone and then another story would bring laughter. Then maybe someone would pick up the fiddle and there'd be music.
I never once thought of television or the radio. They were all such good company even when I didn't know what they were talking about.
Thursday, January 19, 2017
What struck me
About their life and what I witnessed.
Every night, after dinner the entire family knelt and said the rosary out loud. The entire village seemed to be dressed in black. Was that because it didn't show the dirt or Irish rural modesty. Color would be ostentatious and bring attention to yourself; pride was to them a great sin. You weren't to brag, wear makeup, swagger, flirt, or any of a dozen other things. The parish priest was the center of power. For the entire month, I never saw or heard a word about any political representative. But every Sunday all went to church and the talk was of the priest's sermon, and that talk was always positive.
There was a night in 1961 when three Jimmy Dolan's were gathered, myself, my Uncle and my Granduncle. It was around the fire in my Uncle Jimmy's home. It was not the parlor. The parlor was a small formally furnished room off to the right as you entered. This room where everyone gathered I don't remember ever having a name. As you walked in you might turn to go into the parlor but they would take your arm and say 'come into the fire' and there it would be, a great fire with a large pot off to the side or if dinner was being prepared it would be directly over the fire. A kettle would be laying on the side in the embers filled with boiling water for tea, the beverage always offered to a guest first, with lots of milk and sugar. Well, this night all were gathered around the fire and my Uncle Jimmy asked his Uncle Jimmy to show the young Yank his 'health'. The elder 90 something Jimmy, the tallest and thinnest of the three of us, a quiet bachelor who lived alone 'up the road', proceeded to bend at the waist without bending his knees and then untied and tied his shoe laces. Everyone applauded and that was the gist of my visit with my Grand Uncle; we were that shy with each other.
The younger Uncle Jimmy always used the word 'fag'. Not in reference to a cigarette; actually I don't think he smoked but about everything: he was 'fagged'; they were 'fagged'; "I'm going to be fagged". It took me a while to realize 'fag' meant tired.
There was poverty but after awhile I didn't see it. Entertainment was just the radio played for about an hour each night if there were no visitors and there was almost always visitors. On those nights the entertainment was the talk. A lot of reminiscing with my father about those he knew and had grown up with. They all had nicknames. 'Pat the pusher' was a favorite of mine. Of course, there were no drugs for that kind of a pusher. What he did to earn that nickname no one could remember. Names over names: "Sure, don't you remember", someone would ask Dad and then there would be the stories of that one's family often leading to the tragedy that had befallen them. Then everyone would nod; someone would say something if it were a self-imposed tragedy: "well that's what comes from that sort of behavior". Except when the tragedy was due to alcohol which they called the drink. "It was the drink" would sum up a tragedy. "Ah, it's a terrible thing, the drink. The downfall of a good man." I heard that a lot.
There would be some who were die-hard nationalists. They spoke Gaelic most of the time and would go on in English for my Dad about the bloody British. Their stories of oppression were hundreds of years old and Dad had no problem telling them so. He would add that Ireland had nothing to offer because it's a rain and stone filled land. The only solution he saw was cooperation with the British for jobs and resources.
The young people were compelled at around the time of their Confirmation to take the 'pledge', a vow never to drink alcohol.
About the Irish and alcohol, I've always felt it was situational. The climate is a major depressant; their church's strict moral codes of behavior; their lives in and of itself, filled with death and helplessness in the face of disease. Many were isolated living alone far from any town. The drink was recreational, a necessary vacation to get you through it.
A few words about myself that first week:
I got so drunk one night I fell off a bridge. Fortunately, I fell not far and into a soggy wet bank, no injuries. Another day I crashed a bicycle into a wall, sore groin for a couple of days, I self-medicated with Irish and orange. Then there was the time I took a bath. It was Saturday night and I was directed to a room where there was a bath filled with steaming hot water for me. I had not had a moment alone since I arrived. Dad and I even shared a bed. It was so relaxing. Then when I got out and started to drain the tub there were all sorts of banging and shouting.
Now there were times I couldn't understand what they were saying because of the heavy brogue. This had become a joke between Uncle Jimmy and I. "Could you please speak the Queen's English for the Yank", he'd say.
Well, I got the gist of why they were yelling. This wasn't my bath; this was everyone's Saturday night bath in preparation for Sunday Church. I pretended I didn't understand. That was the slowest draining tub I've ever seen.
Let's leave Glan for awhile. Traveling out of Glan, next.
Every night, after dinner the entire family knelt and said the rosary out loud. The entire village seemed to be dressed in black. Was that because it didn't show the dirt or Irish rural modesty. Color would be ostentatious and bring attention to yourself; pride was to them a great sin. You weren't to brag, wear makeup, swagger, flirt, or any of a dozen other things. The parish priest was the center of power. For the entire month, I never saw or heard a word about any political representative. But every Sunday all went to church and the talk was of the priest's sermon, and that talk was always positive.
There was a night in 1961 when three Jimmy Dolan's were gathered, myself, my Uncle and my Granduncle. It was around the fire in my Uncle Jimmy's home. It was not the parlor. The parlor was a small formally furnished room off to the right as you entered. This room where everyone gathered I don't remember ever having a name. As you walked in you might turn to go into the parlor but they would take your arm and say 'come into the fire' and there it would be, a great fire with a large pot off to the side or if dinner was being prepared it would be directly over the fire. A kettle would be laying on the side in the embers filled with boiling water for tea, the beverage always offered to a guest first, with lots of milk and sugar. Well, this night all were gathered around the fire and my Uncle Jimmy asked his Uncle Jimmy to show the young Yank his 'health'. The elder 90 something Jimmy, the tallest and thinnest of the three of us, a quiet bachelor who lived alone 'up the road', proceeded to bend at the waist without bending his knees and then untied and tied his shoe laces. Everyone applauded and that was the gist of my visit with my Grand Uncle; we were that shy with each other.
The younger Uncle Jimmy always used the word 'fag'. Not in reference to a cigarette; actually I don't think he smoked but about everything: he was 'fagged'; they were 'fagged'; "I'm going to be fagged". It took me a while to realize 'fag' meant tired.
There was poverty but after awhile I didn't see it. Entertainment was just the radio played for about an hour each night if there were no visitors and there was almost always visitors. On those nights the entertainment was the talk. A lot of reminiscing with my father about those he knew and had grown up with. They all had nicknames. 'Pat the pusher' was a favorite of mine. Of course, there were no drugs for that kind of a pusher. What he did to earn that nickname no one could remember. Names over names: "Sure, don't you remember", someone would ask Dad and then there would be the stories of that one's family often leading to the tragedy that had befallen them. Then everyone would nod; someone would say something if it were a self-imposed tragedy: "well that's what comes from that sort of behavior". Except when the tragedy was due to alcohol which they called the drink. "It was the drink" would sum up a tragedy. "Ah, it's a terrible thing, the drink. The downfall of a good man." I heard that a lot.
There would be some who were die-hard nationalists. They spoke Gaelic most of the time and would go on in English for my Dad about the bloody British. Their stories of oppression were hundreds of years old and Dad had no problem telling them so. He would add that Ireland had nothing to offer because it's a rain and stone filled land. The only solution he saw was cooperation with the British for jobs and resources.
The young people were compelled at around the time of their Confirmation to take the 'pledge', a vow never to drink alcohol.
About the Irish and alcohol, I've always felt it was situational. The climate is a major depressant; their church's strict moral codes of behavior; their lives in and of itself, filled with death and helplessness in the face of disease. Many were isolated living alone far from any town. The drink was recreational, a necessary vacation to get you through it.
A few words about myself that first week:
I got so drunk one night I fell off a bridge. Fortunately, I fell not far and into a soggy wet bank, no injuries. Another day I crashed a bicycle into a wall, sore groin for a couple of days, I self-medicated with Irish and orange. Then there was the time I took a bath. It was Saturday night and I was directed to a room where there was a bath filled with steaming hot water for me. I had not had a moment alone since I arrived. Dad and I even shared a bed. It was so relaxing. Then when I got out and started to drain the tub there were all sorts of banging and shouting.
Now there were times I couldn't understand what they were saying because of the heavy brogue. This had become a joke between Uncle Jimmy and I. "Could you please speak the Queen's English for the Yank", he'd say.
Well, I got the gist of why they were yelling. This wasn't my bath; this was everyone's Saturday night bath in preparation for Sunday Church. I pretended I didn't understand. That was the slowest draining tub I've ever seen.
Let's leave Glan for awhile. Traveling out of Glan, next.
Wednesday, January 18, 2017
To get the story
My Mom's story, that is, will take a lot of detours. All of which I will use to create as close a portrait of her that is possible by me. I will research Ireland's people, history, land, and faith. My Mom's immediate family and their interrelationships. An important part, one that comes from my own experience, will be my visit to Ireland in 1961 with my Dad in which we visited some of Mom's people and my trip to Ireland from my military station in the U. S. Army in 1967 to meet my mother on her first return 'home' since 1932.
There's a lot of work to do and I am looking forward to it.
There's a lot of work to do and I am looking forward to it.
Ireland with my Father in 1961
It was August; I was 17 and my Dad was 52. I had just graduated from high school and had been accepted into a college, the first in my family to be going to college. This trip was not a graduation present. I at first actually declined because traveling with my Dad to visit his family seemed pretty much like a month of those Sundays in a starched white shirt sitting on sofas, quietly, while the adults talked. I went because my neighborhood friends thought it was special.
The flight was on a propeller plane and as I looked at them, the engines seemed to be on fire. I didn't look much and tried not to think about the fact that we were floating in the air. My Dad was sick the whole flight and blamed it on one of the vaccines we had to get to travel to Ireland.
Aunt Kate Ann and Uncle Jimmy met us at Shannon Airport. I wish I could describe myself accurately at this time as an explanation of why I missed this special moment. Suffice to say my adolescent brain was filled with everything concerning me and missed what was happening at this moment. I missed all of what must have been an extraordinary: my Dad's arrival home. He left Ireland in 1929 and had not been back in 32 years. All I remember of that first meeting was how shabby, shy, awkward and, I thought, backward my Aunt Kate and Uncle Jimmy was. In their hometown, Glan, they weren't at all. They were quite well off. Uncle Jimmy owned half a mountain filled with sheep, a bunch of farm animals, two grocery stores with a post office and the only 'cab' service within 30 miles. Kate Ann was a school teacher with a working farm. I believe, and all I have to say about the Irish is pure conjecture, they were self-conscious of putting on airs. They lived and looked as their neighbors, customers, and students did.
Uncle Jimmy drove us to his home from the airport and we must have stopped at a half dozen bars. Some of them were no more than a plank of wood on two beer barrels. I was introduced by Uncle Jimmy to Irish Whiskey and Orange, the orange being a kind of soda, and that's what I drank for the month, quite possibly every day. Jimmy knew everybody and they were all glad to see him. This was his routine: bringing home the Yanks and giving the trade to his friends. I liked Uncle Jimmy a lot. He immediately treated me like an equal. He was fun and took a lot of pleasure in my American ways. Kate Ann was my Dad's great heart; there were times I felt she was the only thing he loved about Ireland. She gave him the money to immigrate with some hardship to herself and her family. With me, she seemed the school teacher. I felt I was being graded. Dad's other sister Mamie, the total of his surviving siblings being three, lived in Drumshambo, married to a doctor, with three sons and a grand house overlooking Loch Allen. She was not self-conscious about anything. I liked her and her husband. They concerned themselves more than anyone with my comfort, the warmth of the fire, it was damp and cold everywhere you went in Ireland in 1961, with foods I would like, offering me an American chocolate chip cookie.
Uncle Jimmy seemed to have a lot of children, one son Justin and 4 or 5 daughters who always seemed to be darning clothes. Justin was the boss in the house until his Mom spoke. Uncle Jimmy never spoke much in the house and I never saw him drink alcohol in front of his wife and children.
Kate Ann had two children living with her, Maeve whom I immediately fell in love with, as almost everyone did, and Mehaul, who was a bit goofy. Kate Ann's husband, her second marriage, was very quiet, nice but not memorable. Her first husband had died, quite possibly as an 'IRA man'. Mamie's husband was reported to be an 'IRA man' as well. But in those times if you patched a wound or fed a neighbor's starving family because the 'troubles' had robbed them of the makings of a life you were with the IRA.
Ah! I was beginning to feel like I was riding a merry go round. Distant, looking out at so many people, my perspective constantly shifting and enjoying myself.
More tomorrow, I hope. I have a trip to Spain to explore. I want to get some history of the country, etc. before I go to Madrid. It'll be here on the blog when I get to it and more of Ireland as I build my way to Mom and I, our story and my story. It's all about me, here anyway.
The flight was on a propeller plane and as I looked at them, the engines seemed to be on fire. I didn't look much and tried not to think about the fact that we were floating in the air. My Dad was sick the whole flight and blamed it on one of the vaccines we had to get to travel to Ireland.
Aunt Kate Ann and Uncle Jimmy met us at Shannon Airport. I wish I could describe myself accurately at this time as an explanation of why I missed this special moment. Suffice to say my adolescent brain was filled with everything concerning me and missed what was happening at this moment. I missed all of what must have been an extraordinary: my Dad's arrival home. He left Ireland in 1929 and had not been back in 32 years. All I remember of that first meeting was how shabby, shy, awkward and, I thought, backward my Aunt Kate and Uncle Jimmy was. In their hometown, Glan, they weren't at all. They were quite well off. Uncle Jimmy owned half a mountain filled with sheep, a bunch of farm animals, two grocery stores with a post office and the only 'cab' service within 30 miles. Kate Ann was a school teacher with a working farm. I believe, and all I have to say about the Irish is pure conjecture, they were self-conscious of putting on airs. They lived and looked as their neighbors, customers, and students did.
Uncle Jimmy drove us to his home from the airport and we must have stopped at a half dozen bars. Some of them were no more than a plank of wood on two beer barrels. I was introduced by Uncle Jimmy to Irish Whiskey and Orange, the orange being a kind of soda, and that's what I drank for the month, quite possibly every day. Jimmy knew everybody and they were all glad to see him. This was his routine: bringing home the Yanks and giving the trade to his friends. I liked Uncle Jimmy a lot. He immediately treated me like an equal. He was fun and took a lot of pleasure in my American ways. Kate Ann was my Dad's great heart; there were times I felt she was the only thing he loved about Ireland. She gave him the money to immigrate with some hardship to herself and her family. With me, she seemed the school teacher. I felt I was being graded. Dad's other sister Mamie, the total of his surviving siblings being three, lived in Drumshambo, married to a doctor, with three sons and a grand house overlooking Loch Allen. She was not self-conscious about anything. I liked her and her husband. They concerned themselves more than anyone with my comfort, the warmth of the fire, it was damp and cold everywhere you went in Ireland in 1961, with foods I would like, offering me an American chocolate chip cookie.
Uncle Jimmy seemed to have a lot of children, one son Justin and 4 or 5 daughters who always seemed to be darning clothes. Justin was the boss in the house until his Mom spoke. Uncle Jimmy never spoke much in the house and I never saw him drink alcohol in front of his wife and children.
Kate Ann had two children living with her, Maeve whom I immediately fell in love with, as almost everyone did, and Mehaul, who was a bit goofy. Kate Ann's husband, her second marriage, was very quiet, nice but not memorable. Her first husband had died, quite possibly as an 'IRA man'. Mamie's husband was reported to be an 'IRA man' as well. But in those times if you patched a wound or fed a neighbor's starving family because the 'troubles' had robbed them of the makings of a life you were with the IRA.
Ah! I was beginning to feel like I was riding a merry go round. Distant, looking out at so many people, my perspective constantly shifting and enjoying myself.
More tomorrow, I hope. I have a trip to Spain to explore. I want to get some history of the country, etc. before I go to Madrid. It'll be here on the blog when I get to it and more of Ireland as I build my way to Mom and I, our story and my story. It's all about me, here anyway.
Sunday, January 15, 2017
Mom
Am I ready to do this? Is it something I should do? I don't know the life other than my experience of it which is clouded by my re-imaginings of what happened.
It would be best and most honest to give a full-scale biography, but she did not have much to say about herself. She was taught very early on to resist self-absorption. There are no witnesses now to consult, no archives, no letters, just a few photos. There is the photo of her on the rooftop of Tiffany's where she worked. She is in the company's uniform and looking seriously at the camera. She is alone. There is a photo of her with a group of other Irish immigrants, four of them all crowded on a sofa, dressed in their Sunday Church clothes, highballs on the coffee table, all looking at the camera, some smiling, posed for the photo to show each other and others, themselves on a Sunday enjoying drinks, conversation, and good friends. They are cousins; she would tell you, you felt she meant 'cousins' because there were so many of them it was hard to believe they were all cousins, but then the Irish had large families. I had no cousins in or out of photos to point to. [It's hard to resist pushing my way into her story, but that will come]. She would tell you a bit about each of them, this one was a lot of fun [fun was important], and here isn't she pretty [also of importance], then the list of nicknames would come flowing out with warmth and smiles. "That's Tommy hun [a nickname]", she'd say with pride and maybe she'd mention where the Hun's lived: "down from us" or maybe it was "in Glan by the post road". I felt the importance of the personal and the place in relation to her life and her past. I never heard where they lived now or what work they were about or their current families but a lot of their parents and siblings as though I were looking not at four people crammed on a sofa in Brooklyn on a Sunday afternoon but at a room in a small country town in Ireland in the early 20th century.
She saved photos and would take them out and look and talk about them, but always the talk was about other people. I never heard a word about her photo on the roof of Tiffany's. She did talk a lot about Tiffany's.
It was a source of great pride. She was one of two elevator operators. The other was Mary McGovern, also an immigrant and cousin from home with Mom. [Perhaps the photographer on the roof of Tiffany's]. I believe they knew each other in Ireland but definitely knew of each other. Years later at a funeral in Riverdale, we met Mary outside of the church and Mary asked my Mom who she was and my Mom told her she was Baby John Einny.
[about the Irish nicknames: just about everyone in rural Ireland would have similar surnames. In the area where my parents came from there were the Dolans and the McGoverns for the most part. These names originated from the feudalistic practice of naming all serfs after their owners. There were a lot of Bridget Dolans, so to distinguish each of them the surname was dropped and substituted by the first name of their grandfather plus their childhood nickname. Owen was her Grandfather's name, I believe, and Baby was her nickname. Bridget was changed in America to Beatrice. Generally, her friends called her Bea.]
Shortly after my mother responded, Mary McGovern asked Mom again who she was. My Mom laughed and told her again and Mom asked: "Don't you remember me". Mom knew Mary had beginning Alzheimer's and I was surprised at her response; I worried it would embarrass Mary. But she got Mary to say her memory was going and they talked a bit, as much as Mary was able. That style of, what shall I call it confronting awkward moments was very common amongst her and her friends, and when I visited Ireland I found it common there, too. It was done with a jocular intent. One of my cousins, I did actually get to meet some, called me a queer duck. I was a seventeen-year-old American in rural Ireland who talked and dressed very differently. Who knows what he meant because I never responded, embarrassed for the wrong reasons perhaps, so we never got to talk ... closely. Now, that's me again. Too soon for me. Let me take a break and come back to her, my Mom.
It would be best and most honest to give a full-scale biography, but she did not have much to say about herself. She was taught very early on to resist self-absorption. There are no witnesses now to consult, no archives, no letters, just a few photos. There is the photo of her on the rooftop of Tiffany's where she worked. She is in the company's uniform and looking seriously at the camera. She is alone. There is a photo of her with a group of other Irish immigrants, four of them all crowded on a sofa, dressed in their Sunday Church clothes, highballs on the coffee table, all looking at the camera, some smiling, posed for the photo to show each other and others, themselves on a Sunday enjoying drinks, conversation, and good friends. They are cousins; she would tell you, you felt she meant 'cousins' because there were so many of them it was hard to believe they were all cousins, but then the Irish had large families. I had no cousins in or out of photos to point to. [It's hard to resist pushing my way into her story, but that will come]. She would tell you a bit about each of them, this one was a lot of fun [fun was important], and here isn't she pretty [also of importance], then the list of nicknames would come flowing out with warmth and smiles. "That's Tommy hun [a nickname]", she'd say with pride and maybe she'd mention where the Hun's lived: "down from us" or maybe it was "in Glan by the post road". I felt the importance of the personal and the place in relation to her life and her past. I never heard where they lived now or what work they were about or their current families but a lot of their parents and siblings as though I were looking not at four people crammed on a sofa in Brooklyn on a Sunday afternoon but at a room in a small country town in Ireland in the early 20th century.
She saved photos and would take them out and look and talk about them, but always the talk was about other people. I never heard a word about her photo on the roof of Tiffany's. She did talk a lot about Tiffany's.
It was a source of great pride. She was one of two elevator operators. The other was Mary McGovern, also an immigrant and cousin from home with Mom. [Perhaps the photographer on the roof of Tiffany's]. I believe they knew each other in Ireland but definitely knew of each other. Years later at a funeral in Riverdale, we met Mary outside of the church and Mary asked my Mom who she was and my Mom told her she was Baby John Einny.
[about the Irish nicknames: just about everyone in rural Ireland would have similar surnames. In the area where my parents came from there were the Dolans and the McGoverns for the most part. These names originated from the feudalistic practice of naming all serfs after their owners. There were a lot of Bridget Dolans, so to distinguish each of them the surname was dropped and substituted by the first name of their grandfather plus their childhood nickname. Owen was her Grandfather's name, I believe, and Baby was her nickname. Bridget was changed in America to Beatrice. Generally, her friends called her Bea.]
Shortly after my mother responded, Mary McGovern asked Mom again who she was. My Mom laughed and told her again and Mom asked: "Don't you remember me". Mom knew Mary had beginning Alzheimer's and I was surprised at her response; I worried it would embarrass Mary. But she got Mary to say her memory was going and they talked a bit, as much as Mary was able. That style of, what shall I call it confronting awkward moments was very common amongst her and her friends, and when I visited Ireland I found it common there, too. It was done with a jocular intent. One of my cousins, I did actually get to meet some, called me a queer duck. I was a seventeen-year-old American in rural Ireland who talked and dressed very differently. Who knows what he meant because I never responded, embarrassed for the wrong reasons perhaps, so we never got to talk ... closely. Now, that's me again. Too soon for me. Let me take a break and come back to her, my Mom.
Sunday, January 8, 2017
Wonderland
This past week I went to a marvelous cocktail party in Yorkville at my friend Marie's place. Getting to and from the party was a treat because I had the opportunity to ride on the new 3.4 billion $ 2nd Ave. Subway.
Also this week we had our first snowstorm of 2017 and I experienced it in Central Park.
Herewith the photographic evidence:
Also this week we had our first snowstorm of 2017 and I experienced it in Central Park.
Herewith the photographic evidence:
Friday, December 30, 2016
End of the year ruminations
Although I believe you can never resolve the past by rummaging through it, I do believe that if you have the courage to remember and the strength to be objective you can learn from your own past. The great lesson I've learned is there are times to be silent and even perhaps passive and times when you must emphatically say no.
When I was 12, on December 24th, 1956 my father came to wake me and get me started on mopping the halls of our 5 story apartment building. It was one of my jobs. We were working as superintendents to build enough money so we could own our own home.
I couldn't get out of bed. Every time I moved I felt a sharp pain in my side. I told my Dad I was sick. He figured I shirking my duty and pushed me to get to work. I did. The tenants saw I was in pain and went and told my parents who took me to the MD. I had appendicitis, and the MD. said they got to it just before a rupture. The recovery was a long time spent in bed until April because the incision wouldn't heal. It then became an issue that I might be a Hemophiliac.
Roles abruptly changed. My father became a supplicant, concerned about my needs. Every night when he came home he came first to see me. He brought me dinner and asked how I was and what I would like for dessert. I would ask for an ice cream sundae or a brownie from Moskowitz's bakery and I got it. I was 13 and went from a rail skinny kid to extra large.
To this day as the New Year approaches, I plan again to go on a diet.
Food is a connection to the most important person in my life and the food is not fruit and vegetables. I want to and most probably have to forgive my father but at the same time, I want to hold on to that change in our roles: me on top, getting what I want without putting in the work.
Way past time for the No. Want to get to work and mop up, get clean.
So, a resolution to get fit, for the New Year.
When I was 12, on December 24th, 1956 my father came to wake me and get me started on mopping the halls of our 5 story apartment building. It was one of my jobs. We were working as superintendents to build enough money so we could own our own home.
I couldn't get out of bed. Every time I moved I felt a sharp pain in my side. I told my Dad I was sick. He figured I shirking my duty and pushed me to get to work. I did. The tenants saw I was in pain and went and told my parents who took me to the MD. I had appendicitis, and the MD. said they got to it just before a rupture. The recovery was a long time spent in bed until April because the incision wouldn't heal. It then became an issue that I might be a Hemophiliac.
Roles abruptly changed. My father became a supplicant, concerned about my needs. Every night when he came home he came first to see me. He brought me dinner and asked how I was and what I would like for dessert. I would ask for an ice cream sundae or a brownie from Moskowitz's bakery and I got it. I was 13 and went from a rail skinny kid to extra large.
To this day as the New Year approaches, I plan again to go on a diet.
Food is a connection to the most important person in my life and the food is not fruit and vegetables. I want to and most probably have to forgive my father but at the same time, I want to hold on to that change in our roles: me on top, getting what I want without putting in the work.
Way past time for the No. Want to get to work and mop up, get clean.
So, a resolution to get fit, for the New Year.
Wednesday, December 28, 2016
The Economist
From their Holiday Double issue is this story titled: "Brentry".
I find it is another attempt by the media to understand and in that way explain Brexit. The Economist uses history. Specifically the Norman Conquest, exactly 950 years ago it was: " the single greatest political change England has ever seen." It was a horrifyingly bloody and transformative time, and the results of that invasion continue until today. The Anglo-Saxon system of government and its economy was destroyed and replaced by the 'continental' system. The Economist names that transformation 'Brentry': the British entry to the continent's way of governance, business, and ecclesiastics. The lands of 4,000 English Lords passed over to 200 Norman and French Barons. By 1073 there were only 2 English Bishops. English Cathedrals, Abbeys, and Castles were destroyed. Despite the damage, the invasion helped the English economy. For example, English wool became very popular on the continent; the destruction resulted in massive infrastructure spending. Before the invasion there were about 60 fairs and markets, within 30 years there were 350. Most probably spurred on by the increase in the standard of living from 1.70 pounds to 3.30 pounds. Slaves were freed and slavery outlawed. The population grew from 2.25 million in 1100 to 6 million in 1300.
The conquest was more brutal and longer lasting in the North. The people in the North did not consider themselves British. They were more aligned with the Scots and Scandinavians. They continued to resist the Normans and suffered for it. In 1086 the South was 4 times as wealthy as the North and York had lost half its population. Although the North had never been economically affluent its wealth suffered even more after the invasion and they never recovered.
Here, the writer leaps to the present day to connect the voting for Brexit with the counties of the North that suffered during the Norman Invasion. He mentions that the surnames of students at Oxbridge Universities are today Norman in origin.
The real thrust of the piece is the fact that England needs the continent. Brentry brings wealth, political stability, and order. While Brexit is the exact opposite.
I would add: "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." {George Santayana].
In another article in The Economist: "City of the Century" I was reminded of another lesson from history.
Tomorrow, then.
I find it is another attempt by the media to understand and in that way explain Brexit. The Economist uses history. Specifically the Norman Conquest, exactly 950 years ago it was: " the single greatest political change England has ever seen." It was a horrifyingly bloody and transformative time, and the results of that invasion continue until today. The Anglo-Saxon system of government and its economy was destroyed and replaced by the 'continental' system. The Economist names that transformation 'Brentry': the British entry to the continent's way of governance, business, and ecclesiastics. The lands of 4,000 English Lords passed over to 200 Norman and French Barons. By 1073 there were only 2 English Bishops. English Cathedrals, Abbeys, and Castles were destroyed. Despite the damage, the invasion helped the English economy. For example, English wool became very popular on the continent; the destruction resulted in massive infrastructure spending. Before the invasion there were about 60 fairs and markets, within 30 years there were 350. Most probably spurred on by the increase in the standard of living from 1.70 pounds to 3.30 pounds. Slaves were freed and slavery outlawed. The population grew from 2.25 million in 1100 to 6 million in 1300.
The conquest was more brutal and longer lasting in the North. The people in the North did not consider themselves British. They were more aligned with the Scots and Scandinavians. They continued to resist the Normans and suffered for it. In 1086 the South was 4 times as wealthy as the North and York had lost half its population. Although the North had never been economically affluent its wealth suffered even more after the invasion and they never recovered.
Here, the writer leaps to the present day to connect the voting for Brexit with the counties of the North that suffered during the Norman Invasion. He mentions that the surnames of students at Oxbridge Universities are today Norman in origin.
The real thrust of the piece is the fact that England needs the continent. Brentry brings wealth, political stability, and order. While Brexit is the exact opposite.
I would add: "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." {George Santayana].
 |
| From the Bayeux Tapestry |
In another article in The Economist: "City of the Century" I was reminded of another lesson from history.
Tomorrow, then.
Sunday, December 25, 2016
Merry Christmas
The middle of winter has always been a time of celebration.
In Scandinavia, the Norse celebrated Yule from 12/21 to the end of January. Yule was the Germanic Tribes name for the winter solstice when the days grew longer. The Norse fathers and sons would bring home logs that they set on fire and these yule logs would burn for 12 days. During that time there would be a lot of feasting on food and drink. It's the time of year that cattle would be slaughtered so they wouldn't have to be fed during the winter when grazing wasn't possible. This questions the fact that Christians chose 12/25 for their birth of Christ. The bible says shepherds were herding their sheep at the time of Christ's birth. Not something you would do in December.
In Rome, the winter celebration was called Saturnalia after Saturn, god of agriculture. It was party time. The word saturnalian has come to mean a time of merrymaking. The Romans also celebrated the birth of Mithra, god of the sun, on December 25th.
In early Christianity, Christmas was not celebrated at all. The major holiday was Easter. It was in the 4th century that Pope Julius I created Christmas and designated 12/25 as the day of celebration. The Greek and Russian Orthodox Churches celebrate The Epiphany on 1/7, the day the Magi visited Christ as their 'Feast of the Lights'.
In America, when Cromwell and the puritans outlawed Christmas it was banned in Boston from 1659 to 1681. It was in the 19th Century that America reinstituted Christmas as a family holiday. It was Washington Irving's stories: "The Sketchbook of Geoffrey Crayon, gent." that had a lot to do with it. They were fictionalized stories of families celebrating Christmas. In 1843 Charles Dickens added to the tradition with his book: "A Christmas Carol".
A part of Christmas since Germany in the 18th Century has been lights. Lights on trees and lights on the home. Here are some of the lights in New York City's 5th Ave. today:
In Scandinavia, the Norse celebrated Yule from 12/21 to the end of January. Yule was the Germanic Tribes name for the winter solstice when the days grew longer. The Norse fathers and sons would bring home logs that they set on fire and these yule logs would burn for 12 days. During that time there would be a lot of feasting on food and drink. It's the time of year that cattle would be slaughtered so they wouldn't have to be fed during the winter when grazing wasn't possible. This questions the fact that Christians chose 12/25 for their birth of Christ. The bible says shepherds were herding their sheep at the time of Christ's birth. Not something you would do in December.
In Rome, the winter celebration was called Saturnalia after Saturn, god of agriculture. It was party time. The word saturnalian has come to mean a time of merrymaking. The Romans also celebrated the birth of Mithra, god of the sun, on December 25th.
In early Christianity, Christmas was not celebrated at all. The major holiday was Easter. It was in the 4th century that Pope Julius I created Christmas and designated 12/25 as the day of celebration. The Greek and Russian Orthodox Churches celebrate The Epiphany on 1/7, the day the Magi visited Christ as their 'Feast of the Lights'.
In America, when Cromwell and the puritans outlawed Christmas it was banned in Boston from 1659 to 1681. It was in the 19th Century that America reinstituted Christmas as a family holiday. It was Washington Irving's stories: "The Sketchbook of Geoffrey Crayon, gent." that had a lot to do with it. They were fictionalized stories of families celebrating Christmas. In 1843 Charles Dickens added to the tradition with his book: "A Christmas Carol".
A part of Christmas since Germany in the 18th Century has been lights. Lights on trees and lights on the home. Here are some of the lights in New York City's 5th Ave. today:
Wednesday, December 21, 2016
Starting over, again
It's been awhile since I posted anything and I miss doing that. So I am starting over again with the intention of writing in the blog a couple of times a week.
There is so much to do in NYC and so much to write about.
First off, I am not going to get into the recent election results. It is just too maddening. I will only say that my favorite response to the election was from the American Civil Liberties who said: "We'll see him in court." Naturally I increased my donation.
My last entry was about 'The Jungle Book' movie. It is among my favorite movies of the year along with 'Manchester By The Sea', 'Indignation', 'Elle' [possibly], Captain Fantastic', 'Hail Caesar', 'Handmaiden', and 'Love and Friendship'.
Today I am planning a trip to the Film Forum to see one of my favorite films 'The Tree of the Wooden Clogs' written and directed by Ermanno Olmi. The film won the Palm d'Or at the Cannes film festival of 1978. Which doesn't say much to me since a number of the films that have won that prize did not impress me at all. But 'The Tree ...' most certainly did and does. One of the great things about films is the fact that they continue living into the present. 1978 or 2016 'The Tree of the Wooden Clogs" continues as fresh as it was the day it was released. If films are really good they never age whether silent, black or white, or the computer enhanced modern film, the good ones live on.
Olmi is considered an Italian Neo-Realist because he uses the long slow takes and his films contain some social commentary. Among his other films are: 'Il Posto', The Profession of Arms', and 'The Legend of the Holy Drinker'.
"Off to the movies!".
There is so much to do in NYC and so much to write about.
First off, I am not going to get into the recent election results. It is just too maddening. I will only say that my favorite response to the election was from the American Civil Liberties who said: "We'll see him in court." Naturally I increased my donation.
My last entry was about 'The Jungle Book' movie. It is among my favorite movies of the year along with 'Manchester By The Sea', 'Indignation', 'Elle' [possibly], Captain Fantastic', 'Hail Caesar', 'Handmaiden', and 'Love and Friendship'.
Today I am planning a trip to the Film Forum to see one of my favorite films 'The Tree of the Wooden Clogs' written and directed by Ermanno Olmi. The film won the Palm d'Or at the Cannes film festival of 1978. Which doesn't say much to me since a number of the films that have won that prize did not impress me at all. But 'The Tree ...' most certainly did and does. One of the great things about films is the fact that they continue living into the present. 1978 or 2016 'The Tree of the Wooden Clogs" continues as fresh as it was the day it was released. If films are really good they never age whether silent, black or white, or the computer enhanced modern film, the good ones live on.
Olmi is considered an Italian Neo-Realist because he uses the long slow takes and his films contain some social commentary. Among his other films are: 'Il Posto', The Profession of Arms', and 'The Legend of the Holy Drinker'.
"Off to the movies!".
Thursday, April 21, 2016
The Jungle Book
I have recently seen the movie: "The Jungle Book" directed by Jon Favreau; who is more familiar to me as an actor. The screenplay is by Justin Marks from the book by Rudyard Kipling. A few words about the movie. It is beautiful. It may seem long to some at 105 minutes. The level of computerization and/or digitization and/or animation is remarkable. The music by John Debney will be perfect when Disney produces the stage version alla "The Lion King".
The only negative is the scary moments. Otherwise the film would be perfect for children.
It is from the pen of Rudyard Kipling, winner of the Nobel Prize in literature.
"The Law" as recited by the wolves was asked of Mr. Kipling and given to the Cub Scouts. Much of Kipling's work was written for young minds and much of that work is not without controversy. Kipling was and is the public relations man for Empire and the promoter of imperialism. He was dubbed in his lifetime 'The Poet of the Empire'.
In his poem 'The White Man's Burden" he writes: "Your new-caught, sullen peoples, Half devil and half child". Some of Kipling's work is racist. It was written in support of the U. S. during the Spanish-American war and our 'annexing' of the Philippines. [He lived in Vermont with his American wife for a number of years and they were happy there except for threats from a drunken brother-in-law. They escaped by moving back to England.]
Anthropocentrism is the belief that human beings are the central or most important species on earth. That belief/question is at the center of the Jungle Book.
Shere Khan hunts Mowgli because he is a man cub and has the red flower that destroys.
When there is a drought all the animals gather at a pool of water without incident because the peace rock is showing. When it shows the law says water is more important than any other law of the jungle.
To fight back at Shere Khan, Mowgli goes to a village and takes fire, the red flower. He races through the jungle and accidentally sets the jungle on fire. He then saves the jungle by diverting the water to douse the burning areas.
Does Kipling believe in Anthropocentrism?
I was left wondering. What about the peace rock? That river supplied water to the rock and the river was now diverted. When the next drought comes ... no peace rock. No chance for the vulnerable to survive. Man cub has altered life in the jungle.
It's not just 'the red flower' that destroys it's also what his protector Bagheera calls 'the tricks'.
The only negative is the scary moments. Otherwise the film would be perfect for children.
It is from the pen of Rudyard Kipling, winner of the Nobel Prize in literature.
"The Law" as recited by the wolves was asked of Mr. Kipling and given to the Cub Scouts. Much of Kipling's work was written for young minds and much of that work is not without controversy. Kipling was and is the public relations man for Empire and the promoter of imperialism. He was dubbed in his lifetime 'The Poet of the Empire'.
In his poem 'The White Man's Burden" he writes: "Your new-caught, sullen peoples, Half devil and half child". Some of Kipling's work is racist. It was written in support of the U. S. during the Spanish-American war and our 'annexing' of the Philippines. [He lived in Vermont with his American wife for a number of years and they were happy there except for threats from a drunken brother-in-law. They escaped by moving back to England.]
Anthropocentrism is the belief that human beings are the central or most important species on earth. That belief/question is at the center of the Jungle Book.
Shere Khan hunts Mowgli because he is a man cub and has the red flower that destroys.
When there is a drought all the animals gather at a pool of water without incident because the peace rock is showing. When it shows the law says water is more important than any other law of the jungle.
To fight back at Shere Khan, Mowgli goes to a village and takes fire, the red flower. He races through the jungle and accidentally sets the jungle on fire. He then saves the jungle by diverting the water to douse the burning areas.
Does Kipling believe in Anthropocentrism?
I was left wondering. What about the peace rock? That river supplied water to the rock and the river was now diverted. When the next drought comes ... no peace rock. No chance for the vulnerable to survive. Man cub has altered life in the jungle.
It's not just 'the red flower' that destroys it's also what his protector Bagheera calls 'the tricks'.
Tuesday, April 12, 2016
The blue of distance
I am currently reading Rebecca Solnit's "A Field Guide to Getting Lost". In the book the chapters alternate between memoir and philosophical musings. The philosophical chapters are titled "The Blue of Distance". In the first "Blue of Distance" chapter she compares medieval painting with renaissance painting. Early medieval paintings were sometimes backed up by a solid wall of gold. As artists became more interested in painting what the eye saw and with the emergence of perspective "they seized upon the blue of distance". Ms. Solnit quotes Leonardo Da Vinci's advice to young painters: "To make one more distant than another, you should represent the air as more dense. Therefore make the first building ... of its own color; the next most distant make less outlined and more blue; that which you wish to show at yet another distance, make bluer yet again; and that which is 5 times more distant make 5 times more blue."
In another section she writes: "There is no distance in childhood: for a baby, the mother in another room is gone forever, for a child the time until a birthday is endless ... Their mental landscape is like that of medieval paintings, a foreground full of vivid things and then a wall. The blue of distance comes with time, with the discovery of melancholy, of loss, the texture of longing, of the complexity of the terrain we traverse, and with the years of travel."
The first quote is new information for me and so simple it's remarkable: blue brings distance. The second quote is not entirely new and a bit obvious: time brings experience. It is interesting that she equates time/experience with loss and melancholy. To take her example, when the mother leaves the room the child's experience of loss often leads to loud crying which brings the mother back. But then the child is happy again.
I was just reminded of Dylan Thomas': "Rage against the dying of the light". Rage against the melancholy in your life!
In another section she writes: "There is no distance in childhood: for a baby, the mother in another room is gone forever, for a child the time until a birthday is endless ... Their mental landscape is like that of medieval paintings, a foreground full of vivid things and then a wall. The blue of distance comes with time, with the discovery of melancholy, of loss, the texture of longing, of the complexity of the terrain we traverse, and with the years of travel."
The first quote is new information for me and so simple it's remarkable: blue brings distance. The second quote is not entirely new and a bit obvious: time brings experience. It is interesting that she equates time/experience with loss and melancholy. To take her example, when the mother leaves the room the child's experience of loss often leads to loud crying which brings the mother back. But then the child is happy again.
I was just reminded of Dylan Thomas': "Rage against the dying of the light". Rage against the melancholy in your life!
Friday, September 25, 2015
Dove e il piano
Trying to learn a few expressions to help me in Italy. Where is the plane is a good place to start. & Dove is an important tool:
dove e il bagno/where is the bathroom, dove e venticinque via maria/where is 25 Maria Street. Maria street is not the street I will be staying in. I should commit that address to memory.
Some history of Florence:
Florence, it could be said was founded by Julius Caesar who in 59 BC rewarded veterans of his army, plots of fertile land in the Arno Valley. With the fall of the empire Florence suffered through centuries of siege, destruction and chaos during what some refer to as the great migration. Um? Migration? Sounds ominous.
There was some calm from 570 to 774 when Charles the Great made it a French colony. Florence began to show its love of beauty with the construction of the Baptistery and church of S. Miniato al Monte during the 11th century. In 1082 surviving a siege Florence began its independence as a republic and soon flexed it muscles annexing territory. An important personage during this period was Countess Matilda; loved by the florentines she worked hard for independence and the formation of the republic. During the 12th century enormous wealth was amassed through the city's banking enterprises and the manufacturing of textiles. In 1252 the city minted its first gold coin which soon became the most sought after and stable currency in Europe.
Banking was the engine that made Florence the center of the Renaissance. Initially there were two families the Bardi and the Peruzzi but their banks failed in the 1340s when Edward the third of England failed to repay a loan of 1.5 million florins. The Medici then moved center stage because of its success in banking. Thanks to Cosimo the elder who created the ledger system of debits and credits. Cosimo's grandson Lorenzo 'the magnificent' [so called because he loved pomp and ceremony], 1449-1492, is the figure most associated with Florence. He ruled the city during its golden age: The Renaissance.
Enough for today.
Gracie & you respond, prego.
The Gold Florin.
dove e il bagno/where is the bathroom, dove e venticinque via maria/where is 25 Maria Street. Maria street is not the street I will be staying in. I should commit that address to memory.
Some history of Florence:
Florence, it could be said was founded by Julius Caesar who in 59 BC rewarded veterans of his army, plots of fertile land in the Arno Valley. With the fall of the empire Florence suffered through centuries of siege, destruction and chaos during what some refer to as the great migration. Um? Migration? Sounds ominous.
There was some calm from 570 to 774 when Charles the Great made it a French colony. Florence began to show its love of beauty with the construction of the Baptistery and church of S. Miniato al Monte during the 11th century. In 1082 surviving a siege Florence began its independence as a republic and soon flexed it muscles annexing territory. An important personage during this period was Countess Matilda; loved by the florentines she worked hard for independence and the formation of the republic. During the 12th century enormous wealth was amassed through the city's banking enterprises and the manufacturing of textiles. In 1252 the city minted its first gold coin which soon became the most sought after and stable currency in Europe.
Banking was the engine that made Florence the center of the Renaissance. Initially there were two families the Bardi and the Peruzzi but their banks failed in the 1340s when Edward the third of England failed to repay a loan of 1.5 million florins. The Medici then moved center stage because of its success in banking. Thanks to Cosimo the elder who created the ledger system of debits and credits. Cosimo's grandson Lorenzo 'the magnificent' [so called because he loved pomp and ceremony], 1449-1492, is the figure most associated with Florence. He ruled the city during its golden age: The Renaissance.
Enough for today.
Gracie & you respond, prego.
The Gold Florin.
Monday, September 21, 2015
Preparing for my stay in Florence, Italy
I leave New York City about 5PM on September 30 via Alitalia. I arrive in Milan at 11 AM on October 1st. Then I travel by train to Florence where I have rented a one bedroom apartment for the month. When I get to Florence I owe the Landlady another 800 euros for the rent [1000 for the month minus 200 deposit ... already paid]. So the first thing I did was get some euros 1200 for $1420.
Second was to figure out the best way to get to Florence from the airport. The airport is 30 minutes by cab to the train terminal in Milan and that trip costs 90 euros. After much research I discovered Trenitalia, Italy's fast train system. I can catch the 2:13 train at the airport; get to Milan at 2:54 and then get to FLorence at 5:10. Total cost $74.
I have 3 books to study about Florence plus a dictionary. The object of my research will be to learn simple phrases in order to get around. Then research the places I want to visit in Florence and the surrounding area. I also want to research the history of the city and it's great artists and art works.
So like Lorenzo the Magnificent in Cecco Braco's painting I will be lugging around quite a few books.
I have 2 books on the art and architecture with similar titles but they are very different: this is my favorite
but it weighs a ton.
So i'll read that now.
Second was to figure out the best way to get to Florence from the airport. The airport is 30 minutes by cab to the train terminal in Milan and that trip costs 90 euros. After much research I discovered Trenitalia, Italy's fast train system. I can catch the 2:13 train at the airport; get to Milan at 2:54 and then get to FLorence at 5:10. Total cost $74.
I have 3 books to study about Florence plus a dictionary. The object of my research will be to learn simple phrases in order to get around. Then research the places I want to visit in Florence and the surrounding area. I also want to research the history of the city and it's great artists and art works.
So like Lorenzo the Magnificent in Cecco Braco's painting I will be lugging around quite a few books.
I have 2 books on the art and architecture with similar titles but they are very different: this is my favorite
So i'll read that now.
Saturday, May 16, 2015
Plutocrats
It looks like November was the last time I wrote anything here. Most probably I was burned out about something. Who knows what and does it matter? I'm back.
Today I would like to focus on what is going on in the city in reference to real estate and their owners. I believe they are as dominant a force in the city as Wall Street. Which is a major problem.
The cost of living in Manhattan has forced a lot of people over the years to look for affordable housing in the outer boroughs and the outer boroughs are becoming too expensive for people like myself.
Although the change has been happening since the Koch mayoralty. A defining moment came in October of 2006 when Metlife sold Stuyvesant Town to Tishman Speyer for 5.4 Billion $. Stuyvesant Town was originally built for returning WWII Veterans and working class families. Tishman Speyer paid 5.4 Billion because they expected to remove rent stabilized tenants. According to friends who lived in the complex they did this by "modernizing" lobbies, laundry rooms, vacant apartments, etc. They increased rents for those changes and disrupted the lives of the tenants which forced many of them to leave. According to an article in the NY Times in 2007 those residents of Stuyvesant Town took the "L" train on 14th St. to Brooklyn. There they found affordable housing in Brownsville, Bushwick and Ridgewood.
According to current research conducted by "StreetEasy", the average New York household spends 60% of its income on rent.
Astoria, Bedford-Stuyvesant, Bushwick and Crown Heights are considered affordable areas.
The median rental price for those areas is $2200. That equates to a yearly net income of $44,00 leaving a balance of $1100 to live on for the month. So it would appear that the city is a home for the affluent.
However what I see and have heard from landlords in the area persuades me that it is more complex than that. The city apartments are filling up with young people. Groups of young people sharing apartments. Sometimes as many as three to a one bedroom apartment. They come here to work and also to "hook up", get married and then move away to raise a family. You will not find these young Manhattan residents at the Theater, Ballet, Opera or a Museum. They are in the bars and restaurants that cater to them.
The classic restaurants and bars of my neighborhood, Theresa's, Chop Suey, Mars bar, Candlewood are all gone. They even took away the Chop Suey neon sign which they promised to keep. What is in there place: Momofuku, Hearth, DBGB etc.. I've eaten in DBGB's once. It's Daniel Boulud's "downtown" restaurant. The Martini was not top shelf and cost $17. Obviously "downtown" has a different meaning now than it did years ago.
New York City and specifically Manhattan has changed. Are those changes good or bad? For me the change is not good. The city is more expensive. The streets are much more congested. The people on the street are looking at cell phones. There is no eye contact, no interaction. If they bump into you they just keep walking. Lately, I have noticed that I am being jostled from the rear. They don't even notice who or what is in front of them. It's the cost of living and the people
I sometimes wonder if NYC may be dying. My New York is and may already have died. Some professionals believe a city dies because of loss of income. Or it may be the drop in the average income of the people in the city. Which occurred in many cities in the 1960's. When "white flight" happened the city was left to those who could not afford to leave, the poor.
From Jane Jacobs' The death and Life of Great American Cities":
"Cities have the capability of providing something for everyone, only because, and only when they are created by everyone."
From Forbes Magazine, "10 American Cities that are Dead Forever"
Buffalo, the deindustrialization of America
Flint, the birthplace of GM, their cars are now made in 13 different countries
Hartford, consolidation of the Insurance industry ... loss of jobs and revenue
Cleveland, jobs moved overseas mostly to Japan
New Orleans, Hurricanes, oil spills, automation
Detroit, loss of the auto industry
Albany, loss of manufacturing jobs
Atlantic City, loss of tourism and the proliferation of other gambling locations
Allentown, the production of steel went to Japan
Galveston
Well now Galveston is interesting. According to Forbes it was the Sodom and Gomorrha of the southwest. The mob owned the town and created jobs. Cleaning up the city and some hurricanes brought a loss of work and revenue.
So my city, New York, which is growing richer and richer must be healthy according to Forbes. And I believe change is good. But is the change because of the needs and skills of everyone or just the realtors and landowners?
Today I would like to focus on what is going on in the city in reference to real estate and their owners. I believe they are as dominant a force in the city as Wall Street. Which is a major problem.
The cost of living in Manhattan has forced a lot of people over the years to look for affordable housing in the outer boroughs and the outer boroughs are becoming too expensive for people like myself.
Although the change has been happening since the Koch mayoralty. A defining moment came in October of 2006 when Metlife sold Stuyvesant Town to Tishman Speyer for 5.4 Billion $. Stuyvesant Town was originally built for returning WWII Veterans and working class families. Tishman Speyer paid 5.4 Billion because they expected to remove rent stabilized tenants. According to friends who lived in the complex they did this by "modernizing" lobbies, laundry rooms, vacant apartments, etc. They increased rents for those changes and disrupted the lives of the tenants which forced many of them to leave. According to an article in the NY Times in 2007 those residents of Stuyvesant Town took the "L" train on 14th St. to Brooklyn. There they found affordable housing in Brownsville, Bushwick and Ridgewood.
According to current research conducted by "StreetEasy", the average New York household spends 60% of its income on rent.
Astoria, Bedford-Stuyvesant, Bushwick and Crown Heights are considered affordable areas.
The median rental price for those areas is $2200. That equates to a yearly net income of $44,00 leaving a balance of $1100 to live on for the month. So it would appear that the city is a home for the affluent.
However what I see and have heard from landlords in the area persuades me that it is more complex than that. The city apartments are filling up with young people. Groups of young people sharing apartments. Sometimes as many as three to a one bedroom apartment. They come here to work and also to "hook up", get married and then move away to raise a family. You will not find these young Manhattan residents at the Theater, Ballet, Opera or a Museum. They are in the bars and restaurants that cater to them.
The classic restaurants and bars of my neighborhood, Theresa's, Chop Suey, Mars bar, Candlewood are all gone. They even took away the Chop Suey neon sign which they promised to keep. What is in there place: Momofuku, Hearth, DBGB etc.. I've eaten in DBGB's once. It's Daniel Boulud's "downtown" restaurant. The Martini was not top shelf and cost $17. Obviously "downtown" has a different meaning now than it did years ago.
New York City and specifically Manhattan has changed. Are those changes good or bad? For me the change is not good. The city is more expensive. The streets are much more congested. The people on the street are looking at cell phones. There is no eye contact, no interaction. If they bump into you they just keep walking. Lately, I have noticed that I am being jostled from the rear. They don't even notice who or what is in front of them. It's the cost of living and the people
I sometimes wonder if NYC may be dying. My New York is and may already have died. Some professionals believe a city dies because of loss of income. Or it may be the drop in the average income of the people in the city. Which occurred in many cities in the 1960's. When "white flight" happened the city was left to those who could not afford to leave, the poor.
From Jane Jacobs' The death and Life of Great American Cities":
"Cities have the capability of providing something for everyone, only because, and only when they are created by everyone."
From Forbes Magazine, "10 American Cities that are Dead Forever"
Buffalo, the deindustrialization of America
Flint, the birthplace of GM, their cars are now made in 13 different countries
Hartford, consolidation of the Insurance industry ... loss of jobs and revenue
Cleveland, jobs moved overseas mostly to Japan
New Orleans, Hurricanes, oil spills, automation
Detroit, loss of the auto industry
Albany, loss of manufacturing jobs
Atlantic City, loss of tourism and the proliferation of other gambling locations
Allentown, the production of steel went to Japan
Galveston
Well now Galveston is interesting. According to Forbes it was the Sodom and Gomorrha of the southwest. The mob owned the town and created jobs. Cleaning up the city and some hurricanes brought a loss of work and revenue.
So my city, New York, which is growing richer and richer must be healthy according to Forbes. And I believe change is good. But is the change because of the needs and skills of everyone or just the realtors and landowners?
Sunday, November 2, 2014
Sea
What is a sea? Why is there a Bering Sea? Isn't the Bering Sea the ocean we call the North Atlantic? Wait, aren't the oceans also named seas, the Seven Seas: Arctic, North Atlantic, South Atlantic, North Pacific, South Pacific, Indian and Southern Oceans.
So what makes a sea a sea?
"A sea is a part of the ocean that is partially enclosed by land." So says the National Geographic? They suggest you think of the Mediterranean sea. That's what got me started on this post.
I had a "but".
but The Sargasso sea is completely enclosed by ocean.
but The Caspian sea and the sea of Galilee are completely enclosed by land.
They say the Caspian and the Galilee seas are seas and not lakes because they are salt water.
but The Great Salt Lake is still called a lake.
Imagine calling every hill a mountain. The Eskimo has at least 50 names for snow. They know snow. We don't know the sea/ocean, and it's where we came from.
When I was a kid my family and neighbors always went to Rockaway Beach in Queens. The waves were large and powerful. Stronger than any person or thing I knew. I could ride those waves for hours; until my fingers shriveled and my lips turned blue. To be at the ocean changed everything. The heat and humidity were gone. No grass, no concrete, no trees. Just the white of the sand and the blue of the ocean and that noise. The rhythmic and soothing tossing of waves.
I know about black holes, super novas, the Hubble space craft, the moon landing, the mars landing, the controversy over the cost of the zero-gravity pen. Read the reports and seen a lot of the photos.
But what do I know about the oceans? What have we as a nation done to explore and learn about the oceans?
Between 1958 and 2011 we have spent $526.18 billion on the space program. While the amount of money we have spent on exploring the oceans during that time is not available. Most probably because there was no NASA of the seas.
Though we did have the NOAA, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. Ever hear of it? It was designed by Richard Nixon in 1970 to monitor Earth systems and predict changes in those systems. It included the Weather Bureau, the United States Coast and Geodetic Survey, The Environmental Science Service Administration and the Bureau of Commercial Fisheries among others. It certainly had a lot on its plate.
Like NASA the NOAA budget has been cut.
Jacques Cousteau: " We forget that the water cycle and the life cycle are one. We must plant the seas and herd the animals using the sea as farmers instead of hunters. That is what civilization is all about - farming replacing hunting."
Rachel Carson: "To stand at the edge of the sea..." She goes on beautifully but you know it as well as she did. If you've forgotten, see for yourself. Thankfully the sea is still around us.
Friday, October 24, 2014
Violence
A woman is walking down a street in Crown Heights, Brooklyn and is savagely beaten by three adult males. They steal her cell phone, her money and leave her laying on the street with a broken nose. There is a video from ABC news of New York.
http://7online.com/uncategorized/raw-video-woman-assaulted-robbed-in-crown-heights/358023/
That's the website for the video. Be warned it is raw, heart wrenching and inflammatory. Inflammatory for me because after seeing the video my first impulse was revenge of the most horrific kind. Capital punishment by physical beating was my first thought. The fact that I will be, through my tax dollars, buying these guys lunch for years to come seemed insane. As crazy as the fact that I have been buying lunch for Charles Manson since 1971.
The level of violence in the world has repercussions for all of us in ways we can never fully grasp. Street violence is the most visceral. It is the most frightening, the most difficult to accept and to understand. The violence of nature, a tsunami in thailand is heart wrenching and explainable. The violence in the Middle East is frightening but historically explained and there is always hope it will end. [There have been no overt physical assaults on Israel from Egypt since the Camp David accord.]
I'm a liberal, literate, well-educated, relatively well-informed cosmopolitan resident of a great metropolis. First and foremost you [well, actually you will have to speak for yourself] I will never become inured to violence. There are shocking instances: the video of the assault in Crown Heights, war in the middle east, and natural violence like a tornado. I just shocked myself when I wrote natural violence, but it's true. Violence is in nature, in our culture, our movies, our TV, our sports, on our streets and our homes.
Violence will always be a part of Nature. Will it always be a part of human nature.
I'll never forget going to the movies with an army buddy. We became friends in basic training at Fort Gordon, Georgia. He was the company clerk and was from Georgia. We were watching a typical good guys versus bad guys movie of the mid 60's, probably a western. When the good guys got the upper hand and forcibly seized control, my friend lost control. He jumped up in his seat and cheered. He screamed: "Kill 'em".
He was a black man. He was in his early 20s and was born and raised in Georgia. This was 1966. Was his response as natural as a tornado? As explainable as the wars in the Middle East? Is violence preventable?
The attackers of the woman walking down the street in Crown Heights were Black men and the woman appears to be white. Is that assault a product of the violence against blacks in 1950's Georgia? What is the root of the kind of violence that leads adults to such unprovoked, horrific, physical assaults on strangers? I mean both the violence that night in Crown Heights and the violence in Georgia in the 1950's.
From the U.S. Department of Justice:
51.9% of woman
66.4% of men
report being assaulted as a child by an adult caretaker.
Think of Adrian Peterson, the Viking football running back who beat his son with a "switch" and admits to having a "whooping" room in his home. The story with photos of the injuries is on line.
Again from the U.S. Department of Justice:
21.6% of women report
being raped before the age of 12
32.4%
were raped between 12 and 17
1.3 million adult women &
835,000 adult men
report being assaulted by an intimate partner.
Human violence is a learned behavior. We know this, but because of our own experience with violence we know its power. And so we, I mean I, maybe you, respond to violence with violence.
http://7online.com/uncategorized/raw-video-woman-assaulted-robbed-in-crown-heights/358023/
That's the website for the video. Be warned it is raw, heart wrenching and inflammatory. Inflammatory for me because after seeing the video my first impulse was revenge of the most horrific kind. Capital punishment by physical beating was my first thought. The fact that I will be, through my tax dollars, buying these guys lunch for years to come seemed insane. As crazy as the fact that I have been buying lunch for Charles Manson since 1971.
The level of violence in the world has repercussions for all of us in ways we can never fully grasp. Street violence is the most visceral. It is the most frightening, the most difficult to accept and to understand. The violence of nature, a tsunami in thailand is heart wrenching and explainable. The violence in the Middle East is frightening but historically explained and there is always hope it will end. [There have been no overt physical assaults on Israel from Egypt since the Camp David accord.]
I'm a liberal, literate, well-educated, relatively well-informed cosmopolitan resident of a great metropolis. First and foremost you [well, actually you will have to speak for yourself] I will never become inured to violence. There are shocking instances: the video of the assault in Crown Heights, war in the middle east, and natural violence like a tornado. I just shocked myself when I wrote natural violence, but it's true. Violence is in nature, in our culture, our movies, our TV, our sports, on our streets and our homes.
Violence will always be a part of Nature. Will it always be a part of human nature.
I'll never forget going to the movies with an army buddy. We became friends in basic training at Fort Gordon, Georgia. He was the company clerk and was from Georgia. We were watching a typical good guys versus bad guys movie of the mid 60's, probably a western. When the good guys got the upper hand and forcibly seized control, my friend lost control. He jumped up in his seat and cheered. He screamed: "Kill 'em".
He was a black man. He was in his early 20s and was born and raised in Georgia. This was 1966. Was his response as natural as a tornado? As explainable as the wars in the Middle East? Is violence preventable?
The attackers of the woman walking down the street in Crown Heights were Black men and the woman appears to be white. Is that assault a product of the violence against blacks in 1950's Georgia? What is the root of the kind of violence that leads adults to such unprovoked, horrific, physical assaults on strangers? I mean both the violence that night in Crown Heights and the violence in Georgia in the 1950's.
From the U.S. Department of Justice:
51.9% of woman
66.4% of men
report being assaulted as a child by an adult caretaker.
Think of Adrian Peterson, the Viking football running back who beat his son with a "switch" and admits to having a "whooping" room in his home. The story with photos of the injuries is on line.
Again from the U.S. Department of Justice:
21.6% of women report
being raped before the age of 12
32.4%
were raped between 12 and 17
1.3 million adult women &
835,000 adult men
report being assaulted by an intimate partner.
Human violence is a learned behavior. We know this, but because of our own experience with violence we know its power. And so we, I mean I, maybe you, respond to violence with violence.
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
Return
It has been quite awhile since I've signed in and did some blogging. First and foremost I am back "at it" because Sarah said she missed it. Which was incredibly encouraging. Thank you, Sarah.
There have been other interesting reactions to the blog. Some think it's a diary of what I am doing. Others think it's more photography than anything else. If you add in some of the history of the city that I have been including then I would say, yes. It is all of those things.
While considering a return to the blog I thought I would focus on one area that included all the things that interest me. I think my visits to the churches of New York will be an excellent focus: great history, great photos ops, and it's what I do. Yeah I go to church and love it. They are truly sanctuaries in this city and as the city gets more and more congested, loud and aggressive, sanctuary is a godsend.
Grace Church is located on Broadway between 10th and 11th Streets and is one of my favorite places to go for some peace and quiet.
It was originally incorporated in 1808 at Broadway and Rector Streets. As the city grew northward it moved to it's present location in 1843.
The architect is James Renwick. He was 24 years old and had only built one other edifice and that was the Croton reservoir. Though he had never seen a Gothic Cathedral it was his commission to build one. James Renwick went on to build the Smithsonian Institution, Vassar College and St. Patrick's Cathedral.
The church has always had an affluent congregation and one of them, Catherine Lorillard Wolfe provided the funds for the construction of the Chantry [Chapel] and the rectory.
In 1894 a boys choir was formed and buildings were bought on 4th Ave. to provide a school for them. Grace Church School now owns a number of buildings on 4th Ave. and they have started a High School. They are forming the High School one grade at a time. 2014 will begin the First Junior grade. Tuition at the school is $39,200.
Sanctuary is free and the organ afternoon meditations are free.
http://music.gracechurchnyc.org/current-music-list/
That is the organ for the church and the website showing their music calendar, both are exceptional.
There have been other interesting reactions to the blog. Some think it's a diary of what I am doing. Others think it's more photography than anything else. If you add in some of the history of the city that I have been including then I would say, yes. It is all of those things.
While considering a return to the blog I thought I would focus on one area that included all the things that interest me. I think my visits to the churches of New York will be an excellent focus: great history, great photos ops, and it's what I do. Yeah I go to church and love it. They are truly sanctuaries in this city and as the city gets more and more congested, loud and aggressive, sanctuary is a godsend.
Grace Church is located on Broadway between 10th and 11th Streets and is one of my favorite places to go for some peace and quiet.
It was originally incorporated in 1808 at Broadway and Rector Streets. As the city grew northward it moved to it's present location in 1843.
The architect is James Renwick. He was 24 years old and had only built one other edifice and that was the Croton reservoir. Though he had never seen a Gothic Cathedral it was his commission to build one. James Renwick went on to build the Smithsonian Institution, Vassar College and St. Patrick's Cathedral.
The church has always had an affluent congregation and one of them, Catherine Lorillard Wolfe provided the funds for the construction of the Chantry [Chapel] and the rectory.
In 1894 a boys choir was formed and buildings were bought on 4th Ave. to provide a school for them. Grace Church School now owns a number of buildings on 4th Ave. and they have started a High School. They are forming the High School one grade at a time. 2014 will begin the First Junior grade. Tuition at the school is $39,200.
Sanctuary is free and the organ afternoon meditations are free.
That is the organ for the church and the website showing their music calendar, both are exceptional.
Saturday, August 3, 2013
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Highfalls and Stormking
Went to Don's for the weekend and we did some traveling around. Some photos will show the spectacular weekend we had.
500 acres and over 100 works of art.
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| High Falls, where they filmed "Splendor in the Grass". |
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| The standing Owl |
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| The sleeping boy |
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| The above are part of the resident artist's exhibition. He is Houseago. |
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| Henry Moore |
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| The wall |
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| The Three legged Buddha |
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| The nickel Chair |
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| Lichtenstein's "The Mermaid" |
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