Days to Remember in February

For the past month we have had the sort of weather I dream about when the winter days are gray and the earth looks dead. The skies are blue, the temperature is in the low 70s and the sun is golden. The leaves are still brilliant green as the sun shines through them. Late summer has become almost my favorite season; there are still flowers, the markets are full of wonderful local fruits and vegetables. Even though parts of my garden look creepy, I still have plenty of fresh herbs and healthy tomatoes and green peppers.

One of summer's pleasures which is still enjoyable is the ice cream stand down in New Baltimore, a crossroads hamlet just over the southern border of the county. There used to be two splendid antique shops there as well, but only one is left., and I don't need any more "stuff," anyway.

Although the place is on a main route, I like to go on the back roads through some lovely farmland. There's one place which, in early summer, had the most gorgeous garden right by the road. In June there are huge bright red poppies, iris and all kinds of roses. Last year I stopped to take pictures (which I have unfortunately erased) and the people came out and showed me around the back where they actually had some opium poppies which the man said his mother had started many years ago. Since I so admired their garden, the man picked me a selection of the most beautiful roses I've ever seen. he told me the names of them, but I don't remember. A few weeks later I stopped back with a painting I had done of one of them as a thank you gift.

The ice cream stand in New Baltimore is very popular because the ice cream is handmade and the flavors are unique. They also put eyes on top of the ice cream for the little kids, which I guess I could ask for if I wanted to. Nothing like having your ice cream staring back at you before you lick it. One afternoon this summer a group of antique car owners made a stop there during one of their rallies, so the parking lot was full of gleaming old beauties from the past. Motorcyclist roar in frequently, too, with their tanned babes on the back. It's also a popular stop with county fair goers, too, since it's on the same highway a few miles away. Even when it's crowded, they're very efficient, so you never have to wait long.

In the past couple of years, they have duded up the place, adding a vine covered arbor to sit under while you slurp. This year they are going to stay open a little longer, which will be nice for the leaf peepers in October. I'll probably get a couple of visits in before it closes for the year.

When Good Veggies Go Bad

This has been a bonanza year for tomato growers. I have several varieties and they have all produced prodigiously. Somehow I got a couple of beefsteak tomatoes, not my favorite except for BLTs. (This is the only time of the year when I allow myself the luxury and cholesterol of bacon.)

With the other tomatoes, I have made chili, spaghetti sauce and even experiments with tomato paste which Erma Bombauer promised I could do easily. Alas, I do not keep the required brown sugar in my staple supply , but I made a tomato paste-like concoction which took most of the day to cook , turning 8 great tomatoes into about a half cup of goop with which I thickened my spaghetti sauce.

With most of the tomatoes I have made our favorite tomato, basil, garlic and onion topping for pasta, the memory of which will haunt us in February. Or sliced tomatoes, with mozzarella and balsamic vinegar. I have also frozen a few little packets of tomatoes for soup this fall and winter.

What with family reunions and much loved company for the past month or so, however, I have rather neglected that care of my garden. I went out yesterday and discovered the above horror in one of the beefsteak tomato plants. Eeewww! There is something so disgusting and ghastly about the transformation of a healthy plant into something so grotesque. It looks like something Hieronymus Bosch would put into a sort of corrupt still life, fruit for the damned. A good veggie gone bad on its way to eternal damnation. No more the shiny, red, edible globe. Aargh! Something nasty in the garden

A Goofy Pleasure

Years ago, before VCR or Tivo, when television was "live", Sunday nights were the nights for watching the Ed Sullivan Show. In spite of the fact that Ed Sullivan was one of the clumsiest hots ever, it w2as a terrific variety show, which brought all sorts of wonders to us out here in the spaces between New York and Los Angeles. We could see the stars of Broadway shows doing a complete number from a hit musical: Julie Andrews, Robert Goulet and Richard Burton from "Camelot," for instance, and Paul Lynde singing the Ed Sullivan anthem from "Bye Bye Birdie." We could see Rudoph Nureyev and Margot Fonteyn doing a pas de deux from "Coppelia." Itzak Perelman, as a child prodigy appeared, too, as did Isaac Stern. He introduced some of the great comedians, like Stiller and Meara. Of course one of the biggest TV debuts ever was the first performance on American TV of the Beatles, featuring hundreds of screaming teen aged girls. (A charming, funny little movie was made about that, called "I Wanna Hold Your Hand", which is worth seeing.)

Among the more unusual and old fashioned acts were Senor Wences, with the head in the box - "S'all right!" - and Topo Gigo. There was some guy who would spin dozens of plates on slender sticks, Myron Cohen with his old Jewish lady jokes, Frank Gorshin the impersonator, and a comic dog act featuring a dog who only stared at his desperate trainer as man tried to get the animal to do tricks. I think this part of program was like the vaudeville shows that my grandparents' generation had enjoyed back before movies killed them.

One of the old vaudeville acts that never failed to make me laugh aloud was that of Mr. Pastry, a British music hall performer, whose schtick consisted of a demonstration of The Lancers, an old fashioned group dance popular at grand parties. Dressed in white tie and tails, with white gloves, he would dance alone, but make you see the whole company. He was on probably once a year, and that''s the only thing he did, but he did it perfectly. I had forgotten his name, but I came across it in a memoir I was reading and immediately found him on YouTube. His real name was Richard Hearne and I rather doubt that he's still among the living. Some people reading this may remember him. This is only a little clip, but it still makes me laugh.

I 'm sure that the entire Ed Sullivan show is archived out there. It was not always memorable, but there were moments that I still remember. It is nice to have Mr. Pastry available to watch again.

Wild and Crazy Music

The New Yorker of August 31 has an article by Alex Ross, their music critic, about embellishment by musicians, historically and currently. He mentions the cadenza, that event in the concerto, particularly, where the soloist can show off his/her ability to improvise, or in most cases, stray from the score using the composer's own invention. He mentions a couple of YouTube examples of whist he calls "full cadenza craziness." I checked them out and just have to share them.

The first is from a violinist called Gilles Apap, who both looks like and plays like a Gypsy, having his way with Mozart's Violin Concerto. Check this out.

The other is Alfred Schnittke, being not quite so crazy with Beethoven. The Apap performance is on video and you can see that some of the musicians Are Not Amused. I think it's pretty cool myself, even though I love both of these concertos. The Cleveland Orchestra concerts start soon and I would love to see/hear something like this once in a while.

Busy August

Yikes! Summer is a goin' out and I haven't even posted an entry for August. It all started when Emily, Katina and Elena arrived in the U.S. of A. First I had to dust behind the furniture, buy a new kitchen sponge, wipe away the cob webs in the hall, alphabetize the canned goods, color coordinate the dish towels and perform other household tasks that can go unnoticed until company arrives. (What I really need to do is rent a dumpster and throw out the accumulations of 46 years in this house.) The thing is unless the mess is absolutely egregious, no one notices any of that stuff anyway.

So into my semi-clean, semi-neat house, the three lovely ladies arrived un-jetlagged, since they had spent the first few days in New York. The young ladies are taller than when I saw them last, two years ago, and still beautiful. It has been a whirlwind of activity for a couple of weeks, since there is an awareness that Emily is back in town and phone calls arrive almost simultaneously with her coming in the front door. The girls are now old enough to wander about on their own, mostly to a couple of favored coffee shops. I kept my studio free so they could draw (which they do beautifully) and peruse books and just lounge.

The main reason for their coming was the Harper Hootenanny, held in Dayton. This was a reunion planned by the cousins, originating in the Hofbrau Haus in Munich, when Emily and Terry decided that the Harpers needed a reunion. They generated an email list of all 26 Harper grandchildren and sent out the word. Despite the initial enthusiastic response, we were missing about 60 or s0, with some of the West Coast, Alaska and New England relatives unable to make it (even though Emily CAME ALL THE WAY FROM GERMANY!!) And sadly, we lost our dear Terry in June, but his parents and his family, Lee Ann, Dale and Jace were there.

All of these people are the issue of May and Sid Harper, which is pretty amazing. I mean, what a crowd! I don't know how many of us are still Catholics and how many of us are atheists, but the lack of birth control from a couple of generations really caused a population explosion for a while. We are all quite fond of each other and had a wonderful time. There were a couple of nephews I hadn't seen for ages, whose children are now grown. There are a tribe of adorable little ones, the youngest of which is 4, all blond and movie tyke gorgeous. They were like a flock of puppies and I loved watching them. We all welcomed Jill's new husband, who seemed not a bit overwhelmed. The Dayton and Cincinnati Harpers all brought edibles and drinkables, including Paul's delicious home brew. I heard that at one point some Maker's Mark was hoisted in toasts to the spirit of Terry.

I took my little Flip video camera and interviewed many of the participants and intend to make a family documentary if I can figure out how to edit it coherently, so I can cut out the shots of my feet. Still photos are being downloaded onto various Facebook pages as I write. There is talk of trying to do this again with hopes of increasing the participants.

The amazing Jill Harper Collett was the major planner, managing to put this all together AND running off to the Rockies to get married AND buying a new house AND planning to move just about all at the same time. Brother Mike and wife Marian ended up having a lot of us descend on their home periodically during the weekend and managed to make everyone feel welcome. They have a lot going on in their lives right now and I hope they are getting a good rest.

So that's what I've been up to and why I have not added a post for such a long time. Emily leaves for Germany on Monday and John leaves the same day for a conference in Colorado, so the house will feel REALLY empty. Dupree and I will have to muddle through.

Profiling, Racial

As the effects of the recent incident in Cambridge, MA ripple out from the regular press and cyberspace, it can be hard to find a rational, considered discussion of the events. However, I have read two very fine op-ed pieces reprinted in the Akron newspaper. Unfortunately, both escaped into the recycling truck before I could get the names of the authors. Both essays covered the same ground essentially, using the term "personal narratives" to analyze the possible states of mind of Dr. Gates and Sgt. Crowley. I like this concept because it makes the "teachable" moment suggested by President Obama operational.

The idea is that these two men each brought his own set of experiences to the interaction. For Dr. Gates it could be the story of what has happened to black men in confrontations with police in the past and his sense of his identity as a scholar and a man in his own house. For Sgt. Crowley the narrative has to do with the uncertainty and danger of what may confront a policeman in the situation of a possible break-in and his own vulnerability as a husband, father and cop. Both stories seem to involve fear of the Other. Both these narratives are emotionally loaded and when emotions take control, rational behavior disappears. I am oversimplifying this and cannot put it as eloquently as these writers did. Is racism involved? Probably, but just labeling it as such doesn't help us explore and learn what needs to be done. (Personally, I think Dr. Gates was unnecessarily handcuffed and arrested and justifiably angry.)

How can we use these powerful personal narratives ( back in the 60s we called it "where you're coming from") we all carry especially when they have an impact on race and other cultural differences? We are all so proud that we elected an African-American as president that we think we have the racial issues in this country signed, sealed and delivered - and we haven't. Maybe this incident will be a catalyst to do some significant and hard work, honest work.

By the way, I heard a conservative on the radio discussing this and he said he'd never heard of Henry Louis Gates. That's not hard to figure out: Gates is well-known outside academia to people who listen to NPR and PBS and read Harper's or The New Yorker, not media popular with conservatives.

A Favorite Road

When I have to drive back and forth to the same place frequently, I like to vary the route to relieve boredom. Twice a week, early in the morning, I drive over to my water aerobics class in Ravenna. This is located at the hospital rehab center which happens to have a nice warm pool in which to do exercises. This is also the same place where I drove every day for 6 weeks to have the radiation treatments this spring. I could drive it in my sleep, which is tempting at 6 a.m.

There are four different ways to get to Ravenna from my house. One had many traffic lights, one has a lake view, one goes by the university and has traffic even early in the morning and one is not practical when the mornings are dark, since the road is a bit rough and popular with deer, ground hogs and the occasional coyote.

When I am late, I take the one with traffic lights, since at 6:30 a.m., there's no traffic and the lights stay green almost the whole way. This road is the straightest shot to Ravenna, but it is also the one with the WalMart , a couple of strip malls and a bunch of new student apartments. No scenic value at all. When I am early, I take the one that goes by the lake -actually a large pond. It's twisty and a bit pathetic. I almost never take the one by the university or the very dark one, at least not on the way there.

However, the dark one is the one I love to take on the way home, by which time it is quite light. It's part of the Akron water supply system. It goes through a real lake, or reservoir, formed by the damming of the Cuyahoga River. The road is almost like a causeway in parts, with water on both sides. Then you go through a tunnel formed by enormous maple trees. In the fall, you're under a canopy of brilliant gold and it's magical. It turns your whole car interior golden. In the spring and summer you are enveloped in a cool, dark green cylinder, so dark you need to put your headlights on. Behind you is a circle framed by the branches of the trees, back lit and gleaming At the end of this green tunnel, you come out into the sun sparkling on the water beside you. It's like a bright "Good morning!" greeting. It's a great way to start the day.