To Be Read

Gosh, I wish the world weren’t so darn interesting!  Just today I discovered an incredible resource for Celtic literature, some of it translated from Irish, Latin, French, and other languages. Oh, I’m not going to tell you what is because this is not really the topic I want to discuss. It is just another symptom…

A week ago I read an article by John Warner as The Biblioracle. Mr. Warner confessed to owning more than 75 books he had not yet read, “a good 13-month backlog if I were to not buy a single book until I cleared it…”  The chances of Mr. Warner, or my, not buying any books until our backlog was cleared are slim to none!

The Oracle discussed the reasons why he always has a backlog.  He lists books that “should have been read by now” which are often from the classics or from literary masters. He includes books that the publishing world is talking and writing about as well as freebies, gift books, and intellectual self-improvement titles. Mr. Warner claims some books as “contingency” titles that he might need sometime in the future. Finally he includes spiritual classics whatever those might be. To him the to be read (TBR) “pile is a statement of hope, of best intentions.”  Ahem, and we all know which road best intentions pave.

The Biblioracle’s predicament is my own, and hopefully many of yours too.  His column prompted me to think about my TBRs which, I must confess, outnumber his.  I cannot conceive of living in a space without books. His column prompted me to mentally compartmentalize my own TBR hoard.  I attempt to justify my Contingency Reading Cache because 1) I’m a librarian who needs to be around books; 2) I view books somewhat differently from the average reader—I use them differently—which means I may not want to read the entire book but may need it for references purposes; 3) I have a great many diverse research interests which demand continuous replenishment. Like the squirrel storing up nuts for the winter, I cache TBRs that might fulfill future needs as well as anticipated pleasures.  I would starve to death intellectually in a winter of booklessness.

Like Mr. Warner I Duty Reads, those books I should have read. Although my sense of “duty” has changed somewhat now that I do not work regularly I still feel that I have a responsibility to read genre outside my comfort zone. William Gibson’s Pattern Recognition is an example. Because I have a very large research collection on Irish and Celtic culture, I feel there should be some books by and about Italians and Italian-Americans. Blood Washes Blood by Frank Viviano and Tony Romano’s If You Eat, You Never Die await my attention. Literary books are expected to be read in the library world prompting me to stock up on Jorge Luis Borges and similar authors. I have yet to finish all of Euripides’ Plays, or Essays of the Masters. Best sellers do not prick my conscience anymore, although at one time I did struggle and snicker through Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code. Also included in the “Duty” category are books for book discussions I will lead. I’ve gotten myself into another discussion for November, Mary Doria Russell’s Doc. That book is my next read, I promise.

There are a number of books I have purchased as a result of author appearances, usually autographed. A major source of these is the yearly IBAM (Irish Books, Art, and Music) fest at the Chicago Irish American Heritage Center. Still awaiting my attention are books by Anna McPartlin, Frank Delaney, and something written by a distant cousin of my husband.  The local bookstore lured me in to hear Frances McNamara and to purchase three of her mysteries. I really HAD to go to hear what one of the librarians at my alma mater, University of Chicago, had to say about her mysteries. One down and two more to go…

I don’t get many freebies but once a year I may receive a birthday book from my son and his family. It gives me great pleasure to have my ultra-liberal son and daughter-in-law purchase a Ronald Reagan biography, books by William F. Buckley, Jr. and titles in the math field—my son’s least favorite subject. Schadenfreude is alive and well in December!

The Just in Case pile contains all three volumes of Frederick Coplestone’s History of Philosophy, Charles Freeman’s Egypt, Greece, and Rome, The Trivium by Sister Miriam Joseph, and a beautiful book on chemistry, The Elements by Theodore Gray. These titles fit nicely with Intellectual Self-Improvement materials like The Essential Russell Kirk and the Atlantic Monthly’s American Idea.  I think I must give up on reading George Santayana, but I burn the candle of good intentions for José Ortega y Gasset and Claude Levi-Strauss.

Books that hold high interest because of my research preferences include the one’s I mentioned that I have just ordered that include Celtic from the West by scholars Barry Cunliffe and John T. Koch who suggest a new cultural model for post-Iron Age Gaelic peoples.  Jack Weatherford’s The Secret History of the Mongol Queens promises to revive an old interest in Genghis Khan that began with James Chambers’ wonderful The Devil’s Horsemen. Whenever I pass it my gaze turns lovingly to Samuel Noah Kramer’s The Sumerians: Their History, Culture and Character. Ancient history and language are interests that have languished too long.

Active research and interest areas include the history of science and mathematics. I just purchased Professor Stewart’s Hoard of Mathematical Treasures by a favorite, Ian Stewart. The Unfinished Game: Pascal, Fermat, and the Seventeenth-Century Letter that Made in World Modern by Keith Devlin promises to be a challenging and interesting read.  I have learned so much from G. E. R. Lloyd’s Early Greek Science: Thales to Aristotle and Greek Science after Aristotle. More recently John Freely opened my eyes to the accomplishments of Arabic Science when I read Aladdin’s Lamp. Since then I can’t get enough on the topic. I have begun, but have temporarily interrupted, the reading of the marvelous The House of Wisdom by Jim Al Khalili. After this book I have Ehsan Masood’s Science and Islam: a History to add to my list.  Learning more about the history of science has become a labor of love. If only I remembered my Latin and French and could learn classical Greek and Arabic I’d be enrolled in a master’s program on this topic.

All work and no play would make Ettsme a very dull girl.  I love mysteries—mostly English and/or historical.  There are two boxes of mysteries to tempt me. I do save some of the paperbacks to take to California in the winter, but there are plenty others to go around.  The “problem” is that when I like what an author has written, I want to read all of his/her ouvre. Peter Tremayne’s latest Sister Fidelma mysteries arrive directly from England as soon as they go into paperback. I have almost every Appleby title by Michael Innes and the complete run of  Edmund Crispin’s Gervaise Fen books. I’m halfway through Michael Pearce’s A Dead Man in_____ series. I am working my way through Christopher Fowler’s Peculiar Crimes Unit Mystery series.  My favorite so far is The Water Room while The Victoria Vanishes awaits. There is nothing more relaxing than a good murder!

The Biblioracle’s dilemma speaks to many of us.  John Warner closes his piece with a quote by Franz Kafka:  “A book must be the ax for the frozen sea within us.”  He describes the TBR book piles as “a whole bunch of axes behind glass, waiting to be broken in case of a soul emergency.”  I don’t see much point in hiding these treasures behind glass.  Their presence and lure are an Epicurean pleasure.  They are my hope, limited but unbounded. Do you have some reading to catch up on?  

Whyz-It?

Whyz-It we signed unto the No Call List, but we constantly get robot and live calls from politicians, survey companies, credit card scammers, etc.?  The Congress left a huge loophole in the law for non-profits and themselves, but recent calls are way beyond those two nuisances. We are inundated with these annoying “I’m sorry for the intrusion, but,” “There is nothing wrong with your credit card…,” and “Congratulations! Don’t’ hang up the phone” interruptions morning, noon and night.  We pay for our telephone. It is for our safety and convenience. It is NOT a marketing opportunity for anyone. STOP IT.

Whyz-It many household appliances, like refrigerators and washing machines, seem to be designed by young men who saved all their dirty clothes to take home for mom to wash? I have a washing machine that will not allow me to place the detergent bottle, or anything else, on the top without tipping because there is no single level surface available. I have a new refrigerator that came with no storage bins and that freezes all foods at the back of the shelves while keeping the overall temperature just above safe. Most new dryers come with the lint screen on the top so you can cover freshly dried, folded clothes with lint when you pull out the screen to clear for the next load. SMART.

Whyz-It healthy food, i.e. less sodium, low fat, etc., costs more than junk varieties?  If the manufacturer [Think about that word when discussing food…] is using less and/or processing less why are they charging more?  Of course they pat themselves on the media facing shoulder for offering healthier choices, who are they kidding?  I imagine they are LAUGHING ALL THE WAY TO THE BANK..

Whyz-It a college’s responsibility when incoming students are below par in basic university level skills like math and writing?  Acceptance standards are flaunted; proficiency debased; outcome expectations lowered. Today’s university must include remedial coursework for an increasing number of freshmen  If a student wants to pursue a college degree, it should be that student’s responsibility to be prepared, not the university’s.  A standard core of knowledge is no longer expected of students; getting a paying customer in and out in a shorter period of time seems to be the goal. Lowered expectations smack of greed—more students, however unprepared, mean more money.  The university insults its students when standards are lowered. The value of a college education becomes debased. Today’s student populations are as capable as those who have matriculated before them. High schools must commit to graduating individuals who are fully prepared to pursue higher education; students must earn skills proficiency the old fashioned way, taking personal responsibility and doing whatever work it takes; colleges shouldn’t cheapen educational attainment in favor of profitability. BE TOO PROUD TO ACCEPT LESS. 

Whyz-It that people blithely accepted design features because “that’s all they’re making now?” In recent years bedding manufacturers dictate how we should sleep. Box springs are functionally useless; top mattresses are too heavy to change the sheets without putting your back out and are not fully reversible. Sofa cushions are not reversible either--your mattress or sofa might last a few years longer. Automobile designers show a real commitment to energy conservation when they require that you start the car to raise or lower your windows!  WASTE AND STUPIDITY WITH A SMILE

Whyz-It that, if something’s too hard to enforce it follows that it should be legalized?  Just because “everyone” does it, doesn’t make it right.  [Incidentally, “everyone” doesn’t do it.] What has happened to morality?  Have values become completely relative because “different strokes for different folks” has replaced conscience?  Since when does democracy mean the tyranny of the minority?  CAN FAIRNESS GO TOO FAR?

What’s your Whyz-It?

Our Special Children

Mickey receives his award.

He celebrates with his family.

Within the past two weeks our family has celebrated and mourned two of our special children. Forty-six year old Mickey with Down Syndrome celebrated his successful adjustment to independent living after the death of his parents.  Our thirty-nine year old Sharon with Prader-Willi Syndrome died unexpectedly.  They were part of our large extended family, welcomed at family events, but not really understood beyond their immediate families. They were indeed special, unique, and forever children mentally and emotionally.  They were deeply loved by parents who dedicated their entire lives to their care, worrying about what would happen when they died and siblings became responsible for their special brother or sister. One child outlived his parents as one would expect; the second left an inconsolable mother.  Both lived at home for most of their lives; one included in all extended family interactions while the other was primarily sheltered within her immediate family.

These are not unusual arrangements, and far better than the lives of older mentally impaired individuals. Another cousin—born a year after I was—a PKU child, was kept close to home, seldom taken anywhere. When his parents tried to get him special schooling at a Kennedy family sponsored facility for mentally impaired children they were turned away—no clout, little money. Jimmy stayed at home, often perseverating, always fearful, until his widowed mother could no longer take care of him. In his 50s he found himself in an alien setting, a very nice caring Home—“he seems happy there”—but everything was unfamiliar. Pity he didn’t find his way there earlier because I suspect he never experienced happiness. That is not to say that his parents didn’t love him and care for him—they did their best but Jimmy was a child of the 1940s and we were far less enlightened.

Special children are not labeled “mentally impaired” in the 21^st century. That is a PC no-no. They are intellectually disabled and/or developmentally delayed. They are not hidden away, unschooled and untrained as Jimmy was. This is a very good thing, because each special child has potential, just like the rest of us. 

As a child of the 60s, Mickey attended a special school for children like himself, learning the skills necessary to obtain work in a sheltered workshop. However, like so many Down children, his parents were getting old, their health failing. The world was beginning to close in on Mickey. After his parents died, Mickey’s siblings took the responsibility their parents’ prayed they would accept. Today their brother lives in a supervised independent group home. He has friends who have their own unique challenges. He has a job. His weight is down and he is less reticent to interact with the world and other people. Mickey’s success was celebrated by Aspire of Illinois, an organization dedicated to facilitating the lives and actualizing the potential of adults with developmental disabilities. I think he is truly happy with his new life.

Sharon’s education was determined by an IEP (individual educational plan). She was a special child treated under Public Law 94-142.  She received early evaluation and education in “the least restrictive environment” to the maximum extent possible. The local school district was charged to provide services and interventions appropriate to her needs. She was “mainstreamed” into the general school population but would remain alone within her difference.

A few times her widowed mother sent her to a hospital for morbidly obese children. Prader-Willi Syndrome has an eating disorder component that makes supervised diet a necessity. Children with Prader-Willi can function at a fairly high level within the mental retardation IQ range. Sharon did as well as she was able. After the legal age limit of 21, she and her mother were left to their own resources.  Sharon stayed close to home, intensively cared for by her mother with help from brothers and a sister. Sharon enjoyed pets and was known fondly by the neighbors. But she did not really have a life outside a small, carefully proscribed, circle. She developed serious health problems. Extended family members rarely saw daughter or mother as the years passed.  I was shocked—and a bit guilty—reading her death notice in the local paper. Only a few cousins attended her funeral, unable to console a mother disorientated by grief, lamenting that she had “spent my entire life taking care of her.” Such is the toll that befalls the family of our special children.

As you might suspect this disquisition on special children is about to veer into something quite different.  I was not only a member of the extended families of these three children; I have worked in the system set in place by PL 94-142 (Enacted in 1975 as the Individual with Disabilities Act, IDEA).  I was a mainstreaming aide for a number of years in our local junior high school. All of my students were special with IQs ranging from the low-60s to the mid-30s. I worked with them in both a self-contained classroom and in regular, specially selected regular classes. Each child had a team of educators determining their educational goals. Each child had close families, caring—and often despairing—parents. 

The law requires that all children be educated in “the least restrictive environment.” From this concept came the practices of mainstreaming and inclusion, although the presumption was that self-contained classrooms would be the better general option in some cases. Children are mainstreamed by pulling them out of self-contained classrooms and placing them in regular classes with the general school population. Inclusion virtually eliminates the self-contained classroom. It was expected that a certified teacher with training in special education would work in the regular classroom with the special education child. In reality, things work differently. 

Special education assessment takes place when the child is very young so that services can begin in the home.  An individual educational plan (IEP) is created by a team of special education professionals with parental approval. When the child is old enough for school, s/he is grouped by disability:  intellectual disability, developmental delay, learning disability, behavioral disorders, etc.

 Often those with learning disabilities and behavioral disorders are very bright, but the topic I have chosen to discuss is not with these children but rather with intellectually disabled students including many of those identified as developmentally disabled, a “condition in which a child is behind schedule in reaching milestones of early childhood. This term is often used as a euphemism for mental retardation, which can be less a delay than a permanent limitation of a child’s ability to progress.” [mednet.com] 

In school year 1980-81, 20% of the total disability population being served was classified with an intellectual disability; in 2010-2011, that percent was 7.1. The term developmental delay was introduced in 2000.  I imagine the percentage difference has been siphoned off to the developmental delay and multiple disabilities categories since then—in 2010-2011, 5.7 and 2.0 percent respectively. [Indicator 9: Children and Youth with Disabilities, “The Condition of Education 2012”, National Center for Education Statistics – Institute of Education Science] 

For children with intellectual disability or developmental delay time spent in regular classrooms in the 2009-10 school year is surprising considering that self-contained classrooms were originally favored in IDEA.

                                    80% or more                40-79%              Less than 40%

Intellectual disability        17.4                  26.7                          48.2

Developmental delay       61.6                 20.5                          16.2      [Ibid.]

I have a problem with the increased mainstreaming time.  The primary part of my job in Special Ed in the early 1990s was to go with junior high school Special Ed children into the regular classroom, mostly for music, practical arts, and home economics. There were exceptions when I accompanied unusual students into math or social studies.  As originally planned by IDEA, a special education certified teacher was expected to be with the disabled children in a regular classroom. That seldom happened.  If the school district had money, the children would be mainstreamed with a certified teacher who was not hired as a classroom teacher. If that wasn’t possible, then a careful district would hire a college graduate with complementary skills.  Poorer, or less careful, school districts hired whomever they could get to work for a fairly low salary.

Time away from the MMI (mildly mentally impaired) self-contained classroom provided a respite for the Special Ed teacher.  The children gained little by mixing with regular junior high students.  Even though I was very good at translating relevant instructional content into a core that could be temporarily grasped by my charges, I doubt the children learned anything lasting.  They never truly mixed with the general population. They were ALWAYS viewed as different, apart. And they knew it.

The general student body was not made better for the experience. Some students would always be open, welcoming and kind no matter if the disabled child were in school, in their neighborhood, or anywhere else. Others would always be nasty. Only the parents of the disabled child took away a sense of “inclusion” however false the impression.  They wanted so much for their child to be like other children, which is completely understandable.  Many parents were deceived by IEP expectations. Some parents were simply in denial; a few demanding; others bewildered, exhausted, heartbroken.  There was a parent who wanted to know when his child would “snap out of it,” as if mental retardation was the common cold.  PL 94-142 focused a false light of hope on the despair of a parent with a special child. 

The light was as false as ship wrecker beacons on a storm tossed rocky coast. It robbed these children of precious hours that could have been spent to attain their unique potential.  Make no mistake; a child with an IQ of 40 CAN learn something useful to his or her life.  They need constant reinforcement and repetition to do it however. It is not fair to that child to be given false lights when safe passage is required.  It is not fair to take time away from developing their skills to prove a social scientist’s point. It is not fair to demonstrate daily that they are different and excluded. Special children need to be with their peers; they need to learn basic, practical skills; they need to experience the success of being who they are, not who some bureaucrat thinks they should be. 

They need a success like my cousin Mickey has achieved through ASPIRE’s independent living and work program.  Today Mickey “has learned household skills…caring for his clothing and appearance…he earns a paycheck…shops…dines out.” Mickey lives in an ASPIRE community of peers where “he has thrived.” [Letter from ASPIRE 6/12/2012]

Thank heavens most special children are no longer hidden away and intellectually neglected like Jimmy.  There is no shame in having an intellectually impaired child or sibling or cousin or neighbor. There should be no unrealistic expectations promised to those children like Sharon, mainstreamed to nowhere, never given the chance to fulfill their unique potential within a special peer community.  Mickey achieved self-respect as well as the regard of his family and friends. Ironically, Jimmy and Sharon shared the same, lonely fate—PL94-142 notwithstanding.

Old Photographs

When my father died I “inherited” my extended family’s photos.  There must have been at least a thousand pictures, dating back to the beginning of the 20^th century. In addition, there were written records and sundry other mementos. My parents never threw anything away.  Such fascinating information can be coaxed from those records. For example, it cost my parents $2.35 a day for my mother’s maternity stay in the hospital when I was born. Automobiles were priced in the hundreds, not ten thousands like they are today. 

There are WPA notices and old ration books.  The ration books brought to mind one of my most trying experiences. When I was in the terrible twos I tore up the ration stamps, requiring that my parents bring the torn stamp remnants and the naughty child before a judge to replace them.  It was years before I could deal with the trauma. The memory is sharp nearly 70 years later.  To this day I get panic attacks when called for jury duty! Not all inheritances are pleasant.

After sorting through my photographic legacy, I put some aside and attempted to relieve my embarrassment of riches by giving hundreds of photos away. I gave the oldest person in each of the families the photos to keep or to distribute amongst their children or siblings, or perhaps to toss.  I still have several hundred pictures, wonderful and painful memories of people loved, feared, dead.  When I die the memory of many will die with me; they truly will be gone.  No one will want, or even care about, the smiling, laughing, crying faces that meant so much to me. 

Old photographs are a responsibility. Which can I keep a bit longer?  Which should be tossed? I know most must go, holding no illusions about passing the photos on to my son. He does not care about those strangers. Yet I know these mementos could mean something to the right person. I feel that I have a last responsibility to the dead to find that right person. Sometimes I get lucky.

 In a recent rummage down memory lane I found a song written by my great-uncle, the owner of a formal wear establishment. It was funny, written in broken English, an advertising ditty. But it was my Uncle Frank speaking out one more time.  I sent it around to my millions of cousins via email and was amazed at the response amongst Uncle Frank’s grandchildren.

The emails whizzed back and forth with wonderful memories of young children gathered around the radio on Saturday, waiting to hear the ad so they could sing it along with their grandfather.  Their memories gave us a glimpse of family life we never knew existed.  Efforts were being made to locate a tape recording so younger descendants of Francesco could once more hear their grandfather singing and playing the mandolin.  That sheet of music with its lyrics meant a great deal to my cousins who had nearly forgotten the fun they had had with a grandpa once more alive in their memories. 

What of all the other pieces of family history and fond memories?  I believe that a person is never truly dead while someone remembers them. It has been the privilege of the 20^th century to retain memories of the common man in ways never experienced before.  Since then ways and means multiply and subsequent generations will have the capability to store and access memories of parents, grandparents, friends, children in new media. If they so choose.  Will 21^st century lives be shared and preserved?  I hope so.  I fear not.    

In Remembrance - William Shakespeare

Monument Plaque in Holy Trinity Church, Stratford-upon-Avon

April 23rd approaches and it is time again to honor the Bard, as if a special time was necessary.  I thought it would be interesting to look at the type of memorial that has been provided for Shakespeare's final resting place. 
For those of you who assume that he is entombed in Westminster Abbey you are wrong, although such a final resting place was hotly debated after his death in 1616.

William Shakespeare's final resting place is to be found in is family's parish church in Stratford-upon-Avon. He and other members of his family are entombed in Holy Trinity Church beneath the floor of the church in the chancel area.  There is a bust mounted on the Northern wall of the church depicting the prosperous citizen and favorite son holding a quill in his right hand and a paper in his left.  This monument was in place before the printing of the First Folio in 1623. It was created by the Flemish sculptor Geraert Janssen.  The monument plaque is below the bust and reads (in English):  A Pylus (King Nestor) in judgement, a Socrates in genius, a Maro (Virgil) in art.  Earth buries him, the people mourn him, Olympus has him. Beneath this inscription are the lines:
     Stay, passenger, why goest thou by so fast?
     Read, if thou canst, whom envious Death hath placed
     Within this monument:  Shakespeare, with whom
     Quick nature died, whose name doth deck this tomb
     Far more than cost, since all that he hath written
     Leaves living art, but page, to serve his wit.

The cause of death of the immortal playwright is unknown.  He may have felt time was closing upon him because he made a first draft of his will in January 1616 and signed the final copy on March 25, 1616. One report places the blame upon a night of drinking and merriment with Ben Jonson and Drayton who "had a merry meeting and it seems drank too hard for Shakespeare died of a fever there contracted."  We will never know.

In 1616, lesser poet William Basse wrote "Renowned Spenser, lie a thought more nigh to learned Chaucer; and rare Beamont, lie a little nearer Spenser; to make room for Shakespeare in your threefold fourfold tomb."  This sentiment opens the dispute as to the most fitting resting place for the Bard.  Basse clearly feels that Shakespeare should rest in the Poet's Corner of Westminster Abbey.  In 1623 Ben Jonson proclaims his choice:       Soul of the age!
     The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage!
     My Shakespeare rise; I will not lodge thee by
     Chaucer or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie
     A little farther, to make thee a room;
     Thou art a monument, without a tomb,
     And art alive still, while thy book doth live,
     And we have wits to read, and praise to give.

John Milton felt the need to add his opinion on the matter in 1630:
     What needs my Shakespeare for his honor'd bones,
     The labor of an age in piled stones,
     Or that his hallow'd relics should be hid
     Under a star-y-pointing pyramid?
     Dear son of memory, great heir of fame,
     What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name?

Shakespeare was not buried amongst the great in the Abbey.  It wasn't until 1740 that a monument to one of the greatest poets of England was honored in the Abbey.  A life-sized marble statue was erected by the Earl of Burlington, Dr. Richard Mead, Alexander Pope, and Tom Martin. According to the Abbey's website, "Charles Fleetwood of the Drury Lane Theatre and John Rich of Covent Garden Theatre gave a benefit to help raise funds for the public subscription. The monument was designed by William Kent and executed by Peter Scheemakers, and both signed it, with the date 1740.  The Dean and Chapter of Westminster charged no fee for its erection."   Faint praise indeed.

Some say that there is a cautionary warning on his grave in Holy Trinity Church, and that Shakespeare himself wrote the imprecation:
     Good friend for Jesus sake forbeare,
     To digg the dust encloased heare,
     Blest be the man that spares these stones,
     And curst be he that moves my bones.

Dust to dust.  Rest in Peace.

Thanks for the Memories

We've been home for a week. The day we left California it was 78 degrees. The next day we arose to the coldest day of the winter and 4 inches of killer snow. For those of you not familiar with snow, killer snow has a large water content and is very heavy. The unwary might end up in the nearest emergency room if they don't shovel carefully.  Of course the hubby's snow blower wouldn't work even though he paid a goodly sum to have it overhauled in October!  While shoveling hubby and I looked at each other, not giving voice to what was in our hearts. "Why did we come home?"

A week of work, rain, wind, and the expectation of more snow describes our first full week back. My tan is fading fast. We missed our Wednesday dinners with the grandchildren.There will be no trips to Manhattan Bread and Bagel for bialys and cream cheese with chives. LACMA will need to wait until next year. All that remains are the good memories of sunshine, relaxing walks and picnics at the beach, reading aloud every Clementine book published so far, waking with no "need to do today" thoughts.  It was a lovely hiatus, but reality is in the Midwest. Thanks for the memories though. See you next winter.

Saturday

It's our last Saturday in California, a bright fresh day. We, like hundreds of others, take to the beach for a four block stroll along the sand and sea. Because it is only 11 in the morning, it is not too busy yet but there are several hundred people staking out their place in the sun. Yesterday's cold onshore winds have subsided and the day promises to be pleasant.

We are amazed how quickly the 2012 Spirit Awards tent has been raised. Only yesterday the ribs were erected with a few side tents clinging to the side of the low cliff that forms the boundary of the beach area. Today the tent is up and workers scurry in and out with wires, cables, boxes. The "laid-back" Spirit Awards are given for the best independent films and serve as an hors d'oeuvres  for the Academy Awards scheduled for next Sunday evening. All of LA has Oscar fever. For weeks the newspapers acclaimed each nominee's excellence in hopes that Academy members might cast a vote for their actor, director, writer, etc. In February LA is all about Image, Image, Image.

Getting back to our walk, we dodge the fierce bicycle riders and cross over to the walking path, dodging brainless skateboarders who don't care who they wipe out when they wipe out.  The air is cool with a hint of sea salt.  There is a mist covering the Palos Verde peninsula and the Malibu Hills.The sea plays host to several small sailboats. It looks as if some sort of regatta might be in progress. Two people soar above the water, held aloft by a yellow parachute that is tethered to a small power boat. A number of helicopters race along the shoreline while below the sea is as pacific as its name.

In the sand nearly all the volleyball nets are in use. We stop and sit awhile, watching the foursomes fight it out--the guys in tees and shorts, the girls in bikinis. Tents and umbrellas have been set out on the beach in expectation of family and friends gathering to enjoy the day.Dads are spending time with their children. Very few surfers use the Santa Monica area, the waves are much better elsewhere. Virtually no one is in the water. It is too cold; it's always too cold. Those '60s Gidget movies were never filmed in the ocean. The poor kids' would be sporting goose bumps larger than the polka-dots on their beachwear!

When we reach the end of our usual walking course, we climb a small hill and return through the park. There are a few benches and we often sit, watch the water, read our books and view the many dogs lucky enough to be given a walk along the shoreline. On a Saturday morning there are as many children in strollers as dogs on leads. Today there is plenty of entertainment to claim our attention. A group of 30 - to 55 - year old men are playing street hockey in the unused parking lot. My husband remarks that the game looks dangerous; I reply that that is the whole point.

We start back to our rental, stopping to purchase a Sunday paper. I like knowing the news before it happens. Saturday's a day to loll about and rest up. We will certainly miss the sun, sea, and our walks.

Road Trip!

Last weekend we nipped across the border to get a respite from Metro LA.  Lest you think we headed for Tijuana that's not the border I mean. We drove south on the 405 into the Newport Beach-Irvine area of Orange County. Wow, it was the day after Comps in college!  We knew it had been stressful in Metro LA but the feeling of relief, of having a weight lifted was tangible.  Life is very different 50 miles south of Santa Monica. To our way of thinking it was a change for the better.

The first thing we did after checking in to our hotel, where they know us and welcome us back, was to head for the bike/walking trail and head for the Bill Farmer Park.  Although there was no lovely blue ocean to follow, it was good to be able to kick out and up my pace, not having to fear slipping on sandy walks or being menaced by bikers. It was warm and I added to my pink tan before we got back to the hotel.

We planned to visit a favorite Greek restaurant for dinner but learned that it was closed. (What is it with the Greeks this year?)  I had read of an Irish place so we headed for Tustin's "The District" which is a massive shopping center designed by someone who hated automobiles. Let's just say that parking is strange there, but not impossible once you get the hang of the layout. Anyhow we found the Irish place, The Auld Dubliner, semantically challenged and allowing smoking outdoors.  The smoking kept us inside where we could appreciate a very authentic looking pub.  Since it was technically a sports bar there were lots of burgers and wings on the menu. There were also traditional Irish items. This place served one of the best Guinness Irish stews I have ever tasted! It was loaded with fork tender beef and vegetables you could identify. If you are ever in that area I heartily recommend the place. We had hoped to go back for the corned beef and cabbage or the Shepherd's Pie, but didn't make it. Next time.

Whenever we are in the area I check out the cultural listings. Symphony Hall in LA is a bit too intimidating for me but the Segerstrom Center in Costa Mesa is just right. This absolutely beautiful center has a number of separate venues for all sorts of arts performances. It is the home of Orange County's Pacific Symphony. There are family, classical, and pop concerts, and two theatres. Each venue is architecturally interesting.  Symphony performances are held at the Renee and Henry Segerstrom Concert Hall. Seniors and students can obtain "Rush" tickets for $20. if tickets are available an hour before the concert. This year we heard Nicola Benedetti perform the Bruch Violin Concerto No. 1 at the Beethoven & Benedetti concert. Very enjoyable and very comfortable. This beautiful facility is attracting top talent; the Chicago Symphony Orchestra with Riccardo Muti conducting is performing later this month. Visit www.scfta.org for more information.

Another side trip we took was to the Great Park, which is not yet great. The city of Irvine is developing a massive park (to be larger than Central Park when it is finished) on the site of the former El Toro Marine Air base, aka where God lost his shoes.  The city is trying to entice visitors with free hot air balloon rides but it was too windy to go up when we visited. Meterologically speaking it was blowing at 15 mph. There was plenty of hot air on the site though--hot, hot, dry, dry. The park will be lovely someday with trees, trails and a lake, although I don't know where the water will come from. It must be costing a fortune! It should be interesting to see it next year to check on its progress.

Reality must be faced eventually and we were back in Santa Monica by Monday evening. Back to the sun, surf, and blood pressure medication.

On the Promenade

Santa Monica's Third Street Promenade is every bit as popular as its Pier.  Throngs of people visit the restaurants and pricey shops that line the streets from Broadway to Wilshire Blvd. especially on the weekend. We were there on Saturday evening after the never-ending Cirque du Soleil performance (review to follow) and we couldn't find any place to eat. That was not because there are few restaurants, on the contrary, there are many but the wait times were unbelievable as young and old played the culinary version of how many people can fit into a phone booth. It was frustrating to have two hungry little girls and no place to feed them.

We have actually visited the Promenade several times. In addition to hundreds of global visitors there are the natives and their dogs, street performers, market day vendors (on Wednesday), and way too many homeless,  beggars and con artists.  The stark contrast between customers carrying upscale store shopping bags--which are NOT PLASTIC and cost a dime each--and the indigent is remarkable. Santa Monica is very welcoming to the hundreds of homeless who sleep on park benches, in doorways and parks; who openly panhandle on the Promenade and course the neighborhood streets like city workers two weeks before an election in Chicago. I expect it is a salve to their Southern Cal Mercedes consciences. The Quickfacts section of the 2010 U.S. Census shows the 2006-2010 median house value to be in excess of $985,000, about double the California average.

I imagine you noticed the "NOT PLASTIC" description above. One should note that shopping bags, grocery and all others, must be paper per city ordinance. If you don't bring your own there is a ten cent charge. This is really a good idea anyway, except when purchasing leaking meat at the grocery store.  Another salve to their conspicuous consuming conscience is the fact the Santa Monica is scrupulously Green.

A day, or evening, on the Promenade is a bit surreal, but makes for interesting people watching. Anyhow the walk is educational. Some of the street artists are quite good, others should keep their day jobs. (Oh, this seems to be their day jobs!) One can pick up all sorts of foreign languages, even Australian. It seems that Southern California is a popular vacation, and business, stop for the Aussies.

Anyway I did promise a review of the Cirque du Soleil show entitled OVO.  It was held in a large tent just below the Santa Monica Pier and it was freezing inside.  The acrobats, tumblers, trapeze artists, and jugglers were wonderful, in the tradition of good circus from all over the world. OVO's theme was lame. All the performers were bugs, insects and spiders, and were creatively, if somewhat obsfucatively, costumed. The sound was deafening while the story line, assuming there actually was a story line, missed by a mile. In addition the show went way too long, beginning at 4 and continuing until nearly 7.  (There are few plays, a small number of concerts, and no operas I would sit still for for that long!)

Time marches on. Only three weeks until we return to the Midwest which has been having terrific weather too. I imagine they have been holding off the blizzards until we return.

North from LA

We traveled up to Santa Barbara County recently. Most of the journey was spent getting out of LA County. The problem is that the Santa Monica Mountains are in the way.  The weather has been a dream most of our trip and we wanted to take advantage of it by heading north to the Central Coast.


I love the Central Coast and Santa Barbara. We didn't manage to get as far north as San Luis Obispo and Morro Bay, maybe next time.  Our aim was to visit both the city of Santa Barbara and the Santa Ynez Valley. We have been in Santa Barbara before and it is a great place to visit and pretty nice to live in (except for the earthquakes which are a serious problem).  If you are ever visiting here, you MUST visit the Botanical Garden, home to a variety of beautiful and wondrous plants, including some giant redwoods.Go to the Mission if you like that sort of thing. We were not going to be there long so our visit focused on the Karpeles Manuscript Library and a nearby used bookstore.  The Library holds several original documents of interest to American History buffs. There are a small number of Karpeles Libraries sprinkled around the country but I had never heard of it before. The bookstore was very well organized and stocked. Of course I managed to liberate a treasure to take home.

After lunch in one of Santa Barbara's nice restaurants we continued north on 101 to the Santa Ynez Valley. For those of you familiar with the movie Sideways it was filmed here in the Central Coast's Wine Country. Wine tourism is very big here and tasting shops abound. It is also a nice place to get some really nice olive oil and other olive products. We stopped in Solvang which is a Danish American town.  Little shops, restaurants, and Danish bakeries abound.  If you haven't tasted Ingeborg's chocolate or Olsen's Danish Village bakery products you haven't lived.

The drive through the Santa Ynez Mountains and valleys was lovely. Much less hectic and crowded than LA. We stopped at Lake Cachuma to see several pairs of nesting American Bald Eagles. This lovely lake is open to visitors who can picnic, hike, and boat. Swimming is off limits however since the lake is the source of the valley's drinking water.

We were sorry that we hadn't planned a longer trip so we could explore farther north. I definitely want to get to San Luis Obispo County next year. Anyhow we returned to Santa Monica (however reluctantly) with a bottle of the valley's red wine, some to die for fig infused balsamic vinegar, olive oil, candy, and cookies.  Not a bad haul, and some consolation for having to return to mad, bad LA.

Lazy Days in SoCal

First I must correct my previous assertion that they never clean the ocean walkway in Santa Monica. They do, occasionally, but traction remains tenuous.  Sorry, Santa Monica.

There is something inherently wrong with crows perching in palm trees. We see them all along the beach area and on Ocean Avenue. It is eerie. However the weather has been nice and sunny so we're working on a tasteful tan to show off when we return to the icy north.

Crows aren't the only disturbing sight as we take the salty air.  There was a time when one would steer clear of someone walking, gesturing, and talking aloud to an "invisible person."  Now it's a common sight, no need to hold the children close; it's one of hundreds speaking on their phones with and without Blue Tooth. Of course this is not something limited to the seashore, we are treated to one sided conversations wherever we go. It's such a delight!  Sort of a Simon and Garfunkel  "Sounds of Silence" in reverse.  Nevertheless, we press on and enjoy the warm weather and sunshine.

An opportunity presented itself while here. We had the chance to visit the new headquarters building of the Rand Corporation. The lovely, green building was designed by DMJM Design. It's basic shape is a double ellipse. Nearly 85% of the people who work there have an office with a window that opens thus capitalizing on the benign climate while saving the environment.  The Los Angeles area alumni association of one of my alma maters arranged a tour with emphasis on the art collection. However we were given a thorough overview of RAND and its work, as well as a tour of the building.  I WANT TO WORK THERE!

The art collection was quite spectacular. 90% of it belongs to Peter Norton of Norton Security. He is an avid collector of contemporary art. In a serendipitous meeting, he mentioned his collection which was housed in a warehouse to someone high-up at RAND.  It just so happened that they had a great many empty walls. The result is a sheer delight. I am not one for modern art, but contemporary art is different. The collection is varied and quite eclectic. The first work we saw was titled "Crash." It looked like smashed glass, but was actually carefully placed mylar strips that made a pattern similar to broken glass.There are two paintings of a forest scene in Australia where the artist carpeted the ground. There are several works that show subway maps, including London's Tube. All the station names have been changed to famous persons who are grouped by "line."  For example, there are stations of Philosophers, Artists, Scientists. It's quite clever.  Other interesting ideas include someone's paintings of TV characters' homes as described in the shows.  There is a wonderful mural of downtown LA at Broadway done by John Valesquez, as well as many portraits he made in exchange for room and board.  The creepiest set of works was hung outside the boardroom. They appear to be geometric matrices done with short strokes making straight lines. Actually these are false eyelashes....

Anyway we are enjoying our vacation, especially now that the Midwest has had snow.  Next time I will describe our trip to Santa Barbara County.

Wintering in Southern California

This is our fourth winter in southern California and we are settling in.  Last year we made the move up to Los Angeles County and stayed in Manhattan Beach. This year we are staying in Santa Monica and are closer to our grandchildren.

We are staying 3 blocks from the ocean which makes daily walking in the sunshine more convenient and cheaper because we do not need to feed the ubiquitous meters that blanket Manhattan Beach's downtown. (Although it didn't take us long to figure a way around that.) That said, I really must admit that we like Manhattan Beach and the South Bay area more than Santa Monica, Marina del Rey and Venice. The main plus to SM is the proximity to family.

The holiday press of humanity has lessened although there seem to be a great many people with nothing better to do than spend the day at the ocean. (Do Californians actually work?) The Rose Bowl brings in hundreds of people. It must be a tradition with the Badgers fans to congregate on the Santa Monica Pier en mass, hoping to break some esoteric record.  However there were many Might Ducks around too. Mostly they are gone now.

The piers in Santa Monica and Manhattan Beach are very different. Santa Monica has every square inch utilized in money making entertainment. I doubt that those who throng to the poor man's Disneyland even know they are over water.  Manhattan Beach has a lovely pier with a modest aquarium on the far end. The MB pier allows visitors to stroll its length, looking all the while at the sea and the surfers. One can contemplate the relationship between man and the vast waters flowing towards the horizon. In SM it's cheap thrill and masses of people.

The beaches and "boardwalks" differ too. In Manhattan Beach the walking area is known as the Strand. The walking paths and bicycle paths are comfortably apart. Benches that face the ocean dot the full length of the Strand and the people treat one another with respect.  In Santa Monica the two paths are very close and somewhat confusing. I have no idea if they have a special name for them; only when one gets to Venice (which I assiduously avoid) is it known as the boardwalk.  One must step carefully because the path is covered with sand, which can be slippery underfoot. Although cement walls are common, there are few benches upon which to contemplate the waters, for the reason that the throngs of homeless, while very welcome in SM, are not welcome to sleep on the beach--probably because it's bad for business. The bicyclists, rollerblading enthusiasts, and various and sundry "whatever moves you" folks are downright aggressive and nasty.

The actual beaches differ greatly.  Santa Monica has a mania for cleaning its streets, every week without fail and a steep fine to pay if you forget to move your can. However, it does nothing for its sand beaches. In Manhattan Beach the sand is raked, cared for, and inviting; not so in Santa Monica where the beaches are dirty, messy, uninviting, and too far away from the paths to lend the ambiance we look for at the shore.

Santa Monica is an OK visit, especially if you like a lot of action. If contemplation and relaxation are what you are seeking, try Manhattan Beach which, despite the enormous hills, is much nicer. The folks in South Bay seem to have their priorities straight, enjoying their good fortune, welcoming visitors, respecting their precious southern California setting.