The middle of August is almost here. My sister Barbara's birthday is tomorrow. Can't believe she was just 3 years old when i walked down the isle for the first time. It was 1960. We both had our whole lives ahead of us. If we only knew what lie in wait. What did the future hold for the two Darland girls.
Barbara was one of my city guests this summer. She and i saw the 9/11 Museum and Memorial, we saw Kinky Boots on Broadway (in fact she saw two musicals), we cooked lunch for some friends, we had lunch on the terrace at Bryant Park, she saw the High-line, and we laughed and played for the full 10 days. I hardly cooked a meal. She took me anyplace i wanted to go for lunch and dinner. What a treat, as that meant no cooking and no washing dishes. We both are pretty decent at getting a good meal on the table but since i live by myself and am getting older, i don't cook as often as i use too and the dish washing routine is one i am not liking at all anymore. Barb, however, although recently retired from her teaching position, still cooks an occasion meal for a husband who not only cooks but does most of the cleaning up, Now that's a deal if i ever heard one. The summer visit was a blessing for both of us and one not to be forgotten.
My sister and i didn't get to know each other really till after my mother passed away. The second i found out the news about my mother, i had this yearning for my sister. This was a new and curious feeling. We hadn't seen much of each other through the years. She grew up in a different time. She was also the 7th child and born just before i was leaving my parents charge. I married, had my child, and moved out of the valley only to return after she had moved on with her husband and her child.
I did know she could sing and act and that she was much more outgoing then me and seemed more sure of herself. But i didn't know who she was really.
It wasn't until our mother died that i had a profound yearning to be with my sister. I needed to know her and be with her and hug her and touch her.
I didn't arrive home, in Medford, till the day of the funeral. My brothers picked me up and it wasn't until then that i saw my sister. I grabbed hold of her and didn't want to let go. That feeling is still with me to this day. We skype at least once a week usually more. We text all the time. We share and cry and talk and complain and laugh and gossip and are always available to each other in any emergency.
My 5 siblings and i are close. We all get along. We are there for each other and love each other. My sister wasn't there to defend me against my 5 brothers, who teased and tormented me ceaselessly growing up, but boy she would defend me now if she needed to.
I don't know what i would do without her. She's strong and loving and bossy and demanding and sweet and tough and smart and beautiful all in one glorious package.
Barb and her patient husband Kirk host an annual February birthday party at their home on the coast. Coos Bay, Oregon. Instead of me joining in on Skype, i will be there in person this winter. Just my brothers, their wives, Barb, Kirk, and me. Can't wait. My sister will have everything organized and since she and her husband have been doing this for several years, they, and my brothers and sisters in law will know the whole routine. My sister will fill me in. She is the boss of the family.
Happy birthday Barbara Cecile. I am so grateful you came along when you did. I love you my beautiful girl.
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
From an Interloper's Point of View
Many would still call me an interloper. I've lived in this wondrous city for twenty-two and a half years. My grandson was born here, in a building i lived in for 8 years before i moved into the building (after being on a waiting list for eight years) i am in now, 6 blocks away. Still Hell's Kitchen.
Occasionally i start thinking that it might be time for me to move back home to the west coast and join the rest of my family. Only my grandson and i are here now. My daughter moved back 3 years ago to be with her fiance and resume a career as a hairdresser after gaining a reputation as one of the best in this tough city.
When i moved here, the plan was to try it out for a few months, which turned into a year. Then when i started selling more of my jewelry and the profession of artist was not so strange any more, i decided maybe 5 years.
Time passes. Supporting myself was a reality that required extra jobs as the jewelry sales eventually slowed down, but my lust for the city grew. I found myself getting use to the hardships and always found a way to continue to live and thrive. I grew more in love with "my city" but still thought i would not want to grow old here.
Then 9/11 happened and everything changed. My deal to myself then was--i'd stay here till the memorial was built and the grotesque hole was filled.
By the time i retired shortly after 9/11 my living situation was one people in new york would kill for. I had a lovely apartment in the middle of town, transportation outside my door and everything i needed within walking distance or a bus or subway ride away, plus the biggie--it accommodated my less then spectacular income. I also had an established health care network. The prospect of growing old in the city didn't seem so impossible.
Fast forward to now. My sister is coming to visit me next month. The opening of the 9/11 memorial was a few days ago so i wanted to make some reservations for when my sister is here.
Oh dear!! The next goal for staying here has arrived. I feel like i belong in this city now. I love when friends and family visit and i can show them my view, and we can have dinner in one of my neighborhood restaurants, and attend a play, or see the ships on the hudson, or go to a museum, or whatever. It is right at my fingertips.
Maybe i'll always be considered an interloper but my deal to myself now is---i'm here, i'm still alive, i'm still fascinated, so i think there is no need to set a leaving plan. I'm a citizen of Gotham until........
Occasionally i start thinking that it might be time for me to move back home to the west coast and join the rest of my family. Only my grandson and i are here now. My daughter moved back 3 years ago to be with her fiance and resume a career as a hairdresser after gaining a reputation as one of the best in this tough city.
When i moved here, the plan was to try it out for a few months, which turned into a year. Then when i started selling more of my jewelry and the profession of artist was not so strange any more, i decided maybe 5 years.
Time passes. Supporting myself was a reality that required extra jobs as the jewelry sales eventually slowed down, but my lust for the city grew. I found myself getting use to the hardships and always found a way to continue to live and thrive. I grew more in love with "my city" but still thought i would not want to grow old here.
Then 9/11 happened and everything changed. My deal to myself then was--i'd stay here till the memorial was built and the grotesque hole was filled.
By the time i retired shortly after 9/11 my living situation was one people in new york would kill for. I had a lovely apartment in the middle of town, transportation outside my door and everything i needed within walking distance or a bus or subway ride away, plus the biggie--it accommodated my less then spectacular income. I also had an established health care network. The prospect of growing old in the city didn't seem so impossible.
Fast forward to now. My sister is coming to visit me next month. The opening of the 9/11 memorial was a few days ago so i wanted to make some reservations for when my sister is here.
Oh dear!! The next goal for staying here has arrived. I feel like i belong in this city now. I love when friends and family visit and i can show them my view, and we can have dinner in one of my neighborhood restaurants, and attend a play, or see the ships on the hudson, or go to a museum, or whatever. It is right at my fingertips.
Maybe i'll always be considered an interloper but my deal to myself now is---i'm here, i'm still alive, i'm still fascinated, so i think there is no need to set a leaving plan. I'm a citizen of Gotham until........
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
Pet Peeve Du jour. Winter--It's Suppose to be Cold
It's winter, my favorite season, it's cold, it's suppose to be. We are in the northeast and it's suppose to be cold. Weather fluctuates and goes through cycles.
Some of us rare souls love the cold weather. I love the rain, the gloom, the drifts of snow. Do realize though, that i don't work in it, and don't have to travel in it. I do get to look out my window at the beautiful first flakes of white settling beautifully on our city. Then the aftermath sets in and it isn't pretty. But it's winter and it's suppose to be cold. Summer will soon be here and we will be complaining about the heat and humidity. I prefer the cold!!!!!!!!
CBS Sunday Morning with Charles Kuralt. Over, and Over, and Over...
My favorite tv show by far is now known as CBS Sunday Morning and is hosted by the heartwarming Charles Osgood or Charlie as i like to think of him. He stepped in in 1994 when the man i loved, Charles Kuralt, retired. He died shortly after.
The feeling of nirvana took over my body for a brief moment this past Sunday morning as i sat on the bed with my breakfast on the tray and the coffee at the ready. The anticipation was there It was Sunday morning, 9 am and time for CBS Sunday Morning.
I started watching shortly after the show debuted in January 1979. Doc Severinsen's trumpet blared and the logo's sun erupted in front of the screen. There have been brief faithful watching interruptions, but on almost any Sunday i will be sitting in front of my screen. The theme song's been replayed by the brilliant trumpeter Winton Marsalis, the host has changed, but my love for the show has not.
There is an opening segment that sets the trends in the show. Usually some topic relevant to the time. That segment is followed by four or five more segments and include interesting happening with interesting people. The producers along with the writers and interviewers are, in my mind, brilliant. The show is beautifully put together and almost never boring.
My sister, also a faithful watcher, said the other day that she thought the show should be a half hour shorter. "No way" i said. It's only because she wasn't interested in a particular topic. It happens occasionally, but NO the ninety minutes is perfect.
Charles Kuralt always had at least one segment on the arts. Could be an old man who was so enamored of a particular object, say bottle caps or old license plates, that he saw fit to cover his whole house with millions of the collected passion. Could be an artist who still makes violins in the back woods of Kentucky. When Charlie Osgood took over it seems as if occasionally there is not a segment on the art's. The is one segment ALMOST every Sunday bur not every Sunday. I complain on my facebook page. I'm sure it isn't Mr. Osgood's fault but it's someone's and they should be fired. We NEED the arts to survive. See, i get emotional about the show. Mr. Osgood though, occasionally plays, on the piano, a tune he wrote and also recites poetry he's composed.. I love him for that. He's a cool dude.
At the close there is a quiet segment of nature of some kind. No music, no talking, just the scene with whatever sound nature provides--babbling brook, falling snow, rutting moose. The scenes are endless and sometimes too short depending on time i'm sure. When i went back to college in my mid 40's, i did a video piece called "Anatomy of a Play" The quiet segment of Sunday Morning was the basis for my transitions in the piece. I learned from Sunday morning that silence is a production value too.
I once sent a sun made out of wire and glass globs to the show. It was shortly before Charles Kuralt left. They did not use my sun. Boo!!!!
The feeling of nirvana took over my body for a brief moment this past Sunday morning as i sat on the bed with my breakfast on the tray and the coffee at the ready. The anticipation was there It was Sunday morning, 9 am and time for CBS Sunday Morning.
I started watching shortly after the show debuted in January 1979. Doc Severinsen's trumpet blared and the logo's sun erupted in front of the screen. There have been brief faithful watching interruptions, but on almost any Sunday i will be sitting in front of my screen. The theme song's been replayed by the brilliant trumpeter Winton Marsalis, the host has changed, but my love for the show has not.
There is an opening segment that sets the trends in the show. Usually some topic relevant to the time. That segment is followed by four or five more segments and include interesting happening with interesting people. The producers along with the writers and interviewers are, in my mind, brilliant. The show is beautifully put together and almost never boring.
My sister, also a faithful watcher, said the other day that she thought the show should be a half hour shorter. "No way" i said. It's only because she wasn't interested in a particular topic. It happens occasionally, but NO the ninety minutes is perfect.
Charles Kuralt always had at least one segment on the arts. Could be an old man who was so enamored of a particular object, say bottle caps or old license plates, that he saw fit to cover his whole house with millions of the collected passion. Could be an artist who still makes violins in the back woods of Kentucky. When Charlie Osgood took over it seems as if occasionally there is not a segment on the art's. The is one segment ALMOST every Sunday bur not every Sunday. I complain on my facebook page. I'm sure it isn't Mr. Osgood's fault but it's someone's and they should be fired. We NEED the arts to survive. See, i get emotional about the show. Mr. Osgood though, occasionally plays, on the piano, a tune he wrote and also recites poetry he's composed.. I love him for that. He's a cool dude.
At the close there is a quiet segment of nature of some kind. No music, no talking, just the scene with whatever sound nature provides--babbling brook, falling snow, rutting moose. The scenes are endless and sometimes too short depending on time i'm sure. When i went back to college in my mid 40's, i did a video piece called "Anatomy of a Play" The quiet segment of Sunday Morning was the basis for my transitions in the piece. I learned from Sunday morning that silence is a production value too.
I once sent a sun made out of wire and glass globs to the show. It was shortly before Charles Kuralt left. They did not use my sun. Boo!!!!
Thursday, December 26, 2013
Am I Really a Senior?????
What is a senior? According to our society, it has to do with receiving the stipend payment from the government for past work done, i guess. My payment started almost 10 years ago---so the government says i am way beyond the senior identity.
Yesterday a friend and i decided to attend the "senior" Christmas party at my local senior center. My family is all out of town. Believe me it has been extremely difficult for me to attend any senior organized activity. Pride being the major factor i think. But that being said i am mellowing and can be found at more, and some of them i attend with a slight show of grace.
The wonderful people who sponsored the party are to be commended. The food was pretty good, but the best part for me was the dancing, and the especially attractive kind young man who took the time to dance, and talk, and really engage me in conversation. He made my day believe me, and i will forever be grateful to him.
We did the "slide" which was new to me and i also attempted a couple other dances while inserting my own style. I always loved to dance and am considered a good dancer if i do say so myself. In fact my young partner commented on that fact.
Actually all the volunteers who made the day possible are to be thanked and blessed as they gave their time for all we seniors. Santa came with presents and I left feeling joyful and relaxed.
This morning now, the body is a little sore, but i am happy to have experienced my first Christmas at the Senior Center. I had friends to go with and new friends to meet. I know i am a senior, but more in body then in mind. We all get there in time---sometimes sooner then we think, or want.
Yesterday a friend and i decided to attend the "senior" Christmas party at my local senior center. My family is all out of town. Believe me it has been extremely difficult for me to attend any senior organized activity. Pride being the major factor i think. But that being said i am mellowing and can be found at more, and some of them i attend with a slight show of grace.
The wonderful people who sponsored the party are to be commended. The food was pretty good, but the best part for me was the dancing, and the especially attractive kind young man who took the time to dance, and talk, and really engage me in conversation. He made my day believe me, and i will forever be grateful to him.
We did the "slide" which was new to me and i also attempted a couple other dances while inserting my own style. I always loved to dance and am considered a good dancer if i do say so myself. In fact my young partner commented on that fact.
Actually all the volunteers who made the day possible are to be thanked and blessed as they gave their time for all we seniors. Santa came with presents and I left feeling joyful and relaxed.
This morning now, the body is a little sore, but i am happy to have experienced my first Christmas at the Senior Center. I had friends to go with and new friends to meet. I know i am a senior, but more in body then in mind. We all get there in time---sometimes sooner then we think, or want.
Thursday, November 14, 2013
New Chuke
On my many travels to the New York Public Library on 5th avenue and 40th street, i pass BCBG Max Azria, the high end fashion store, located directly across 40th street from my destination. The windows are beautifully done and cause me to stop and linger every time i need to return or pick up a book.
Many times i have wanted to go in and just look. Several times i have, but with varying results. My body frame is not the usual for the designer fashion but the draw of the fabulous designs in the window, and the styling, is candy for my artists eyes. Most of the sales people have been kind and helpful when i have asked a question or requested a peek at something on the bottom floor. Sometimes not, making me all the more determined to check things out.
Sean Combs had a store on the block before BCBG's which has since closed. I loved the windows there too and would go in even though a men's store. The graphics and styling intrigued me. Never bought any thing in his store but have regretted not even purchasing a t-shirt. Now it's long gone so i only have BCBG's left to salivate over.
Well----several weeks ago i noticed an adorable Bobby's hat like the police wear in London, on a mannequin, and so i popped in to see and ask the price. The price point for hats was not bad and i thought maybe i could treat myself to the treasure, but low and behold the hat was way big and not as attractive on as i hoped it would be. Too bad!!!!!!
A few days ago i made my regular trip to the library and was stopped dead in my tracks when i saw, on the head of a mannequin a chuke with a veil.
My mother spoke french Canadian when i was growing up. My grandmother lived with us. Chuke was what we called a "stocking cap" or winter warm hat of simple design to keep the head warm. My brother once went shopping for a winter hat and came home amazed because no one had chuke's in stock. It was winter and there should have been plenty. What a surprise when my mother told us that chuke was french for stocking cap. No one understood what my brother was asking for.
Well, the reason i'm saying all this is because a few days ago i walked by BCBG's on my way to pick up a book i had on hold, and low and behold i saw the same hat on a mannequin that i saw a few weeks ago while watching the fashion runway show from Paris. Bill Cunningham from the Times, did a video report on women attending the show and women on the street wearing the chuke with a vail. OMG How perfect was that. When i saw that hat, on the mannequin at BCBG's, i had to have it. Well, I did. I splurged and bought my self a gift. Veils are cool but on a chuke---Now that's beyond cool.
Can't wait to tell my older brother about my new hat. He will probably say "it's not a real chuke". That's like my dad telling me many years ago that my new Fry boots were "not real shit kickin boots" when i told him i bought cowboy boots. What do they know--They're boys.
My chuke however, instead of being made of wool, is make of angora and has a fab angora pom pom. A little luxury never hurt anybody.
Many times i have wanted to go in and just look. Several times i have, but with varying results. My body frame is not the usual for the designer fashion but the draw of the fabulous designs in the window, and the styling, is candy for my artists eyes. Most of the sales people have been kind and helpful when i have asked a question or requested a peek at something on the bottom floor. Sometimes not, making me all the more determined to check things out.
Sean Combs had a store on the block before BCBG's which has since closed. I loved the windows there too and would go in even though a men's store. The graphics and styling intrigued me. Never bought any thing in his store but have regretted not even purchasing a t-shirt. Now it's long gone so i only have BCBG's left to salivate over.
Well----several weeks ago i noticed an adorable Bobby's hat like the police wear in London, on a mannequin, and so i popped in to see and ask the price. The price point for hats was not bad and i thought maybe i could treat myself to the treasure, but low and behold the hat was way big and not as attractive on as i hoped it would be. Too bad!!!!!!
A few days ago i made my regular trip to the library and was stopped dead in my tracks when i saw, on the head of a mannequin a chuke with a veil.
My mother spoke french Canadian when i was growing up. My grandmother lived with us. Chuke was what we called a "stocking cap" or winter warm hat of simple design to keep the head warm. My brother once went shopping for a winter hat and came home amazed because no one had chuke's in stock. It was winter and there should have been plenty. What a surprise when my mother told us that chuke was french for stocking cap. No one understood what my brother was asking for.
Well, the reason i'm saying all this is because a few days ago i walked by BCBG's on my way to pick up a book i had on hold, and low and behold i saw the same hat on a mannequin that i saw a few weeks ago while watching the fashion runway show from Paris. Bill Cunningham from the Times, did a video report on women attending the show and women on the street wearing the chuke with a vail. OMG How perfect was that. When i saw that hat, on the mannequin at BCBG's, i had to have it. Well, I did. I splurged and bought my self a gift. Veils are cool but on a chuke---Now that's beyond cool.
Can't wait to tell my older brother about my new hat. He will probably say "it's not a real chuke". That's like my dad telling me many years ago that my new Fry boots were "not real shit kickin boots" when i told him i bought cowboy boots. What do they know--They're boys.
My chuke however, instead of being made of wool, is make of angora and has a fab angora pom pom. A little luxury never hurt anybody.
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Frida and Diego
My nest, on the 19th floor, is serene and calm now. For two weeks i was without my fish and found myself looking for them in the morning when i woke up and longing for the slow undulating sight of fish enjoying their world.
The new tank i created is a zen tank with different size glass balls and a glass spire plus blue gravel and lots of glass marbles, and a couple flowers swaying back and forth. My goldfish Frida is adorable with a white face and a tiny golden liner around the lips. Diego is larger and i'm afraid has the bully instinct. I need to watch him though cuz i have fallen in love with Frida and i don't want her abused. She seems the smarter of the two and gets away from him so maybe it will be ok.
Life is good with fish and i'm glad my good friend Bobby gave me the tank long ago that set me on this new fish adventure. I've lost a few but i guess that's part of the deal when dealing with gold fish or any fish actually. We are all creatures of the earth who live the best we can and then we die. Nature.
The new tank i created is a zen tank with different size glass balls and a glass spire plus blue gravel and lots of glass marbles, and a couple flowers swaying back and forth. My goldfish Frida is adorable with a white face and a tiny golden liner around the lips. Diego is larger and i'm afraid has the bully instinct. I need to watch him though cuz i have fallen in love with Frida and i don't want her abused. She seems the smarter of the two and gets away from him so maybe it will be ok.
Life is good with fish and i'm glad my good friend Bobby gave me the tank long ago that set me on this new fish adventure. I've lost a few but i guess that's part of the deal when dealing with gold fish or any fish actually. We are all creatures of the earth who live the best we can and then we die. Nature.
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