a little red hen

Bialy memories: Kossar's Bialy store, New York City

The other day Ron Bloom unearthed photos I took in the 1980s on one of our trips from Baltimore to New York to visit relatives and return home with provisions unavailable in what has been known as "Charm City."  Baltimore had its appealing qualities but "charm" was not one I'd identify.

Kossar's Bialy store (link has instructions on how to eat one!) has somehow stayed in place on the lower east side though the bakers have changed ethnicity.  As I mentioned on an earlier post, this is THE place for authentic bialys and we would fill our car trunk to enrich our Baltimore freezer with about 10 dozen--some to be shared with fortunate friends and neighbors, always plenty to last us till the next longing.

I offer this as a window into how deeply some are attached to particular food connected with memory.  This is Ron's, honed over many years in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn,(scroll down on the page)  a Jewish ghetto of an American style.

My own special food is tapioca (this public service link has recipe how to make it with real, not instant, pearls) probably tasted in a Manhattan cafeteria like Horn & Hardart (gorgeous photo of odd machine that delivered cocoa for a nickel in my memory--rather than coffee mentioned in copy.)  A far less emotion-filled food recollection than his.

More North Carolina, past and present

After many years visiting Cape Cod beaches in the 1980s-, we were ready for a less expensive venue.  Much as we enjoyed Welfleet, Truro, Provincetown, it was time for a place with fewer airs and crowds.  We also were tired of socializing with smart people who talked mostly about their great  real estate ventures.  That was the 1980s.

Judy Lombardi, our Baltimore friend told us about  Holden Beach, a barrier island near Wilmington,  North Carolina.  It was very different from the Cape, quiet and reasonably priced.  "Proud of what we do not have" is their motto. Going south was a change for us-- territory where we knew no one.  We found a comfortable house right on the beach, "PostHazel," named after a 1954 hurricane, "one of the worst of the 20th century on the east coast."

Through another Baltimore friend, Debbie Bedwell, we were encouraged to visit a gallery run by her friends, Tom and Stephanna Tewey above their printing shop in nearby Southport. Debbie and other artists from Baltimore Clayworks had exhibited in their  gallery, Blue Dolphin.    The second year we were at Holden, I showed some of my own work, necklaces of shells, beads, hardware.

They have sold the business and moved into Wilmington where we visited their house in the woods one afternoon on this trip.  Always active in politics and the environmental movement, we asked many questions about newspaper stories we'd read in the local paper--good news and bad.

January 1, 2010 marked the start of a smoking ban in restaurants and public places.  Who would have thought a tobacco state would do that!  The dark side was opposition by the county to permitting  high school grads who were illegal immigrants to attend the local community college.

As a northerner who expects the worst from the conservatism of the south about social issues, I was surprised by  this sign in a Wilmington gift shop (great selection of altered rubber duckies--as hippies, pirates).  Talking with the owner of The Black Cat Shoppe, about her strong commitment to health care reform reminded me--once again-- that there are people of reason everywhere.  She had made a trip to D.C. with her business organization, The Main Street Alliance, to talk with her congressmen.  She  joined the Alliance after becoming disgusted with the local Chamber of Commerce.  Check out her website.

Wilmington, an old port on the Cape Fear River, was a place we enjoyed when we were vacationing at Holden Beach.  Ron suprised me on my 60th birthday when he asked a women's trio (what were their names, my faulty memory wants to know) playing at a local bar to sing "Happy Birthday."  They were a group from D.C. with an hilarious extended version that delighted me--and the bar crowd. 

Here's the river at twilight...with a red kayak  in the background.

Roxie at the beach in winter

This was the second winter that we thought we'd go some place warmer than where we lived.  Last year it was traveling from NYC  to Portland for December and January.  We were treated to 19 inches of snow.  But had a good time and found Terwilliger Plaza, the retirement community where we've relocated.

This December, Leanne, our daughter-in-law in New York, had an idea for us to meet up in her home state, North Carolina.  Her uncle gave us the keys to a beautiful house he owns at Wrightsville Beach.  Surely that would be milder than our new home in Portland.  Not exactly. It was wonderfully sunny the week we were there but  very cold and windy.

Roxie, our granddaughter was unfazed by the climate while I'm wrapped up in just about every piece of clothing in my suitcase.

We enjoyed connecting with Leanne's extended family who put together a great birthday party for Roxie's third.  had some great oysters, celebrated Roxie's birthday #3--including a castle-cake baked by Leanne's sister.

Our presents for her were a sweater set from wool spun by Ron.  He knitted the hat; the two of us made the cardigan.

Doing this was a test of our marriage since our knitting styles are very different. Ron surprised me by announcing when we were finished that we ought to do it again!  That's a possibility--maybe a sweater for Elianna in Portland, our youngest grandchild.

We ate some great seafood, a broiled flounder was my favorite, along with the view from Oceana, a  restaurant nearby at the end of Wrightsville Beach.  (Roxie with her Princess cellphone appears to be deciding on her entree.)  Our son Nick and Ron got lost in fresh oysters a couple of times.

Seeing Roxie again was a treat; she has grown since we saw her last summer before we left New York for Portland.  Distance grandparenting will always be a challenge.

"Grandma, How many boxes left?"

"Quite a few," his grandmother answers.  And does not tell him that it may be some time before every one is emptied.  Tony Patterson, our mover, who did a great job, said there were 140 boxes.  And then there was the furniture--and the car.

Some of the resident chickens are settled and enjoy their view.  That's Zoe, standing rather than sitting, in the first day of nursery school.  Zach on his way to Tae-Kwan-Do class.

 

We are very happy to be here in Portland, Oregon, where people seem less stressed.  Okay, it's an illusion but that's a relief some times too.  So many friends and acquaintances were puzzled that we'd choose to leave the Big Apple.

Our last day in the City, AM, the free newspaper handed out at subway stops, ran a front cover to remind us of the enormity of our decision.  But this works for us--a smaller, gentler place: second stage retirement.

 

Ron Bloom Celebrates Another Birthday!

All my love and thanks for all the places we've been, crises we've survived,  children and grandchildren we've loved...

...and your great patience in teaching me too many things to list...what I've learned from your pleasure in sharing with everyone who comes within your range.

  All of us look forward to many more June tenths with you--

most especially yours truly ...

Celebration: High-Rise Style...Last night--a building party where we live. Lee Morgan, Ron's co-chair and great party-giver, suggested this one as they wrapped up their term of office, turned it over to another pair. Singing the Birthday song was a high point of the pot-luck evening...who says New Yorkers don't care about one another?

Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me!

We first noticed it earlier in the week...new guy named by Obama administration.  A mention on the Yahoo news.  "Who Is Ron Bloom?"  the Wall Street Journal's blog queried on Monday.

Time magazine called him "Obama's Car Non-Czar."  You see, this one is 20 years younger than mine, not from Brooklyn.  Similarities?  Both dress casually for meetings but my Ron Bloom likes to knit during his.

Yesterday there was more inside the front section of the ever-thinner New York Times.

I've always told him to be more formal about his name, really, it's Ronald. 

People in academe would ask if he was the creator of "Bloom's Taxonomy"  Not even close.

These are pictures of my Ron Bloom.  Top photo, ten years ago in Mexico--the other two as he appeared recently,  grandfathering in Portland, Oregon.

The knitter/weaver/spinner--formerly Chair of Home Economics (a very different sort of economy than the one in the news) at Morgan State University  And my feminist spouse.

He is not, I repeat, the one who has been appointed to save the nation from its car sickness.  He has been driving Toyotas for 20 years.

UPDATE:  Thanks, Hattie, links now working.

Goodbye PDX, Hello Again New York

You'd think it might be the other way around, that I'd be energized by returning to the Big Apple, its subway sounds and sights.  No, been very slow--not reading blogs much, not writing here.  In the week we've been back have  been housebound mostly.  Oh yes, to the doctor about persistent arm/shoulder pains...more later. 

More serious medical stuff has been around Ron's lingering Northwest cough (see Marianna at Hattie's Web; visiting grandkids in Seattle was her source).   He was helped by going to one of  Providence Hospital's Urgent Care sites.  Great views from the parking lot!  But then a nasty side effect of leg pains.  Turns out antibiotics  depleted his potassium.  He's fine now, vitamined-up.

  We had such a good time with our grandkids.  What a treat to live right across the street from them.  So much so that I will refrain from details of the challenges of the house where we stayed.

Instead, here's a view of some of their shell collection under a tub.  Folks who own the place have spent many years working in southeast Asia, like us they have run out of places to store shells.  There were gorgeous baskets too.

 Back to my lethargy in the City.  Finally have one idea:  I was employed!  Yes, life with our daughter, Rachel, means you are in her system.  For seven weeks, we retired from retirement.     Found this perfect button at a cute store in her Portland neighborhood, with its cute name, Noun.  They take pages from discarded dictionaries and make  $1.00 buttons.  Wore mine pridefully, along with Obama buttons.

Though it had warmed  in Portland the day we left--and did so periodically during our visit--it was very cold as we stepped off the plane in New York.  

Our son was back to wearing his huge, fur-lined hat. The style he wore as an undergrad at Wisconsin, then again in grad school at Brandeis.

He finally got a Visiting Prof gig at Tulane in New Orleans (before Katrina); very hot summers.   Ron tried the hat, then Roxie, of course!

Now all in our extended family in the City have colds--not restricted regionally.

Postscript:  You wonder why button appears upside down?  Me too!

Chasing the Moon, Route 1, New Jersey

Missed Rhinebeck, October...but did OFFF in September

Life happens. We had a plan to trek upstate for the yearly New York Sheep & Wool event known as Rhinebeck. But I spent two hours in the dental chair last Friday, so we missed the chance to see local friends, faraway vendors we've come to know. We have a special fondness for Rhinebeck-- heralded spot where Ron was seized with the spinning urge earlier in the century. Oddly its explosive recent growth has not made internet connection more reliable--reason for no link here. Maybe that's a good thing?

Loyal to the fiber, we'd planned our September trip to Portland to synch with Oregon Flock & Fiber Festival in nearby Canby, Oregon. Seems to be known locally as OFFF, at least that's what I learned from Judy Becker of PDX Knitters. She is famous for "Judy's Magic Cast-On," and a tiny business card that illustrates her technique.

The photo of me is on her blog Persistent Illusion, the first online appearance of the Couverle (French for "lid") from Knitty.com, re-imagined as a Condom Amulet--with the addition of a double-knit pouch to hold the all-important Safe Sex accessory. It was Amanda Gale of the ManThong Condom Amulet who suggested the inside-out style for those wishing to be less modest. (Pretty Aaucania cotton yarn, hand-dyed in Chile, purchased at Portland's Close Knit on our previous visit.)

We also met Cindy, Bobbie Wallace, Monica in the PDX Knitter's tent provided by the Fest in exchange for free knitting advice to the public. All decked out in Obama buttons, though mine was new to them. We plan to connect with them again on our upcoming, longer visit in the winter.

[Big Apple Knitters and NYC Crochet provided free help for an event hosted by yarn companies for a couple of years in Union Square. Nothing was for sale so it was a drain on resources of local yarn stores to provide staff simply to raise their visibility. Good place for beginning knitters, mellow at the outset in 2000,then became very crowded mostly by people seeking freebies. Now gone.]

Of course Ron bought roving. I am in a not-buying-yarn mode at the moment. We found a beautiful small rug for a wall in our daughter's home. It was woven in Teotitlan del Valle, a village of weavers near Oaxaca, our favorite Mexican city. "Vida Nueva," a Zapotec Women's Cooperative formed this first, and only, all-women's cooperative to market their handmade rugs directly to buyers. Pastora Guitierrez, a member of the co-op, was at their booth with Juanita Rodriguez, their stateside supporter from Corvallis, Oregon. Beautiful designs; you can contact them to order or volunteer to bring their work near you by emailing vidanueva@comcast.net. .

More sightings at OFFF...connecting again with

Carol, the Oregon shepherd we met at Black Sheep Gathering in June, student from Oregon State University who told me all about the Agricultural Extension Service, and a couple of very Portland-style innovators.

Cigarette Coupons: A Diversion from Ongoing Woman-Abuse in Politics

Three fronts, one back, cigarette coupons.   Purchased in Portland, Oregon, 2008.  First drawn to them by size--3.5 x 6.3 cm--followed by curiosity.  "Where Flax is principally grown" and the colored map, and unknown terms, "Heckling and Scutching Flax."

The small sign next to them, "Japanese cigarette papers, $2.00," explained the writing on the back.  Under the Japanese, light green image, barely visible, "PIRATE Cigarettes W.D. & H.O. Wills, Briston & London."  Appears to be early 20th century.

From the Tobacco Timeline , a must-read for reformed/ anti-smokers, like myself,* I'm reminded of my own smoking mother:

1904 (the year of her birth on the lower East Side) New York: A judge sends a woman to jail for 30 days for smoking in front of her children.... A woman is arrested for smoking a cigarette in an automobile. "You can't do that on Fifth Avenue," the arresting officer says.

1933 (my birth): Chesterfield begins running ads in the New York State Journal of Medicine, "Just as pure as the water you drink . . . and practically untouched by human hands."  My mother must have believed this, collected paper coupons glued to the back of each  Rahleighs pack.    It might have bothered her, a serious leftist politically, that much of the dirty work of tobacco preparation was done for low wages by young women in this Bristol, England, factory (ca. 1920).  But American radical thinking in her time, late 1920s and 1930s, was focused on domestic labor issues. 

Like the lives of coal miners and their families who lived at the edge of poverty, often in company towns.

A feminist lens on the world can get in the way of simple pleasures. Freud or W.C. Fields, "Sometimes a cigar is just a smoke"?  Or a collectible bauble does not have to remind me of North Carolina, source of so many big, bad leaves, home-base of our recently disgraced former Presidential candidate.

At Writerquake, Lydia attacks Friday's sad news, by throwing words at the wall, those of John and Elizabeth Edwards' from their interviews.  Using Wordle, a cloud technique, she offers a creative approach to disperse the anger and sadness many feel toward the couple.

[*For more on the perniciousness of direct marketing, see Trinkets & Trash, "artifacts of the tobacco empire."]