Happy June(?)!

Can you believe it?

Kitty home until tomorrow. We take her up to Syracuse for a breathtakingly early flight to San Francisco for her summer internship with the San Francisco Mime Troupe, where she will assist the costume designer while living at the company and being provided one meal a day and a little pocket money for this and that. Not enough to cover food...but maybe it will cover her subway tokens. An adventure none the less in a beautiful, fun city--travelling with these interesting people (the mime troupe is a political street theatre group), going to all the terrific parks in the area...So, she is going to get a big dose of interesting...with a sprinkle of special and a dollop of change. All is good on that front.

Alex is back in NYC starting his semester which seems to be right up his alley. He is spending time in the darkroom and shooting quite a bit. He is feeling a bit lonely, but has not really reached out to friends and to places he can make new acquaintances. So, maybe this will be the mother of invention (this, being loneliness)--we can hope. He has shot some 4x5 film in his new cigarbox camera that Leah kindly made for him...and he is powering through with film and digital and is talking a mile a minute at trying his hand at two and a quarter, and some big high res digital cameras they are using in his shooting class. He is cheery and chipper...and is doing stuff like walking across the Brooklyn Bridge and enjoying being in the moment.

Work is busy here. Quite a few publications on the desk...along with the finalizing of the wine project I was working on. The direction is good...and I am pushing against it (providing way beyond the scope of what was quoted) to help sell in this design which will  (I know) drive sales to a product that is so quiet that it was probably missed on the shelf. No more missing now. Hello Hot Pink. Hello Orange on a blue bottle. That is exciting.

I also had a breakthrough with this beer brand refresh project I am working on. I was fighting the given asset (logo) they had, and was really walking around it during my sketch process. I finally had a moment and figured it was time to dive in, stop bitching and start making lemonade out of these here lemons. From that point on, the work has evolved and is very interesting and really solves the client's problem tastefully. Now for the rule setting. You see, the trick to this project is that the client want s funky --(not bad smelling but more "artsy?") look and feel...along with the name of the company, the location, the name of the variety, the funky (meaning smells bad) illustration/logo they currently have, and then, a signature illustration (he likes pin-ups). I have already gotten on my feminist high horse (using fancy big words like misogynistic and stuff) to point up that the world has moved on it's axis and women drink beer too. I suggested that we look at illustrations that have a point of view and are cute/funny, without being so damned old boy about the whole thing. The client is a sweet person who just does stuff cause he can...and poor man...gets a dose of me stomping around with my stinking crusades. He seems to be open to change...and seems to listen to my one man tirades....so I am blessed this way. Anyway...I finally have a handful of interesting layouts to show him so we can transition his beer from being invisible at the store, to being one of the "cool ones" that get prime space (and therefore, better sales). Believe it or not, design is definitely going to influence whether sales are going to improve or not. I am impatient to see where he lands this week. Should be interesting (for good or bad).

Eighty today. Perhaps the lake after work?

More later.

Class of 2014

She wore the finish line flag. Seriously. Kitty wore the finish line flag to graduation in the form of a cute dress I got for her via a new online favorite: edropoff (http://www.ebay.com/usr/edropoff?_trksid=p2047675.l2559) on ebay. EDropoff is a consignment, used couture site that has some very elegant things (ie Chanel) down to things more perceivable. I bought her a few things for her birthday (a vintage, silk Diane Von Furstenburg for one), and was taken by this crazy checked dress which I thought might be fun to pursue a job or just to sport as Kitty is a dress person too. I thought she would like the dress, turns out...big hit. And, as we were summing up how excited we were with the graduation et al, I said to her that it just seemed so right that she wore a finish line flag to commencement. She hadn't thought of it that way...but somehow knew, albeit unconsciously, that it was the way it needed to be.

So graduation was a perfect day. HIgh skies, low humidity, high excitement, high ideals, high thinking. Kitty had moved from the blues of the night before to "on"--in presentation mode for the show. She sparkled and glowed with Hannah LIbby on one side, and Susie S. to the other--two glorious companions to progress from being students to being alumni in the world. We had lots of great speeches focused on being yourself, carrying the Hampshire ideals and tenets into the world--fighting for what is right for yourself, your people, your world. It was a singular moment to be greeted by this larger than life person, the baby you nursed, the child you shared the emergency room with, the sketch partner, co-conspiritor and friend--with her arms out, her eyes glittering, and her being...so so there. I was incredibly moved in that moment---one of those times that the background freezes and goes still...and through that focus, that tunnel of cognition, that this dear person was one with the now, the then and the future. It was a moment of recognition of all the blessings I have been handed--and most particularly, the gift of family and my dear ones. I am grateful to be handed this moment of passage, of change and of growth. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else though I have to admit, it is a bit itchy.

Kitty and her finish line flag dress with Hannah Libby (left). Hampshire College Graduation: Class of 2014, Amherst MA.

Last Dance

On the way to Amherst. We are talking about those things summer, the steam on the windows, the rain and how it alters that which we see. It is raining cats and dogs, with the windows steaming up. We left Trumansburg around ten after loading the car, gathering up stuff, Rob directing our carpentry team (they are replacing a floor in my mother-in-law's kitchen while we all are away). We got Ms. Grove settled...and oops,the cats! (thanks for the reminder).

We are talking about arrival times in Amherst, departure times for New York City, departure times for San Francisco, and arrival times for the Luckystone Lodge. The first half of the family left earlier this morning to get on their way and to Kitty in advance of the small army and commissary being moved in the Wonderbus. 

The Wonderbus is carrying  a huge strawberry rhubarb crumble (I have discovered the world of crisp, crumbles, cobblers and grunts) from these gigantic, healthy rhubarb canes I bought at the farmers' market, a pan on marinated fresh asparagus, a dish of marinated green beans, and huge jars of marinated mushrooms, artichokes etc. We have nuts, and cheese, crackers and olives. And I plan on composing all of these things on my big melamine, provencal trays to up the game a bit. We have a keg of Red Byrd Cider and a small keg of beer (both in a cooler immersed in ice). I have a mini present chest of tattoos, food jewels, funny cameos, and a few little sets to give as parting quelques choses for those that are near and dear. Given this graduation is devoid of caps and gowns, of tassels and treasures--I figured tattoos might be a nice offer to give a gift of shared graphics. We are entertaining a crew at Kitty's mod tonight so there will be all of us (and our birthday boy, Rob) which makes 6, Kitty's housemates--6, and then assorted friends, families, and associates. There might be a crew..but along with a stack of pizzas, we will be good. This is a small offering...probably not as big or as fancy as I would like-- but I hope it will amuse and entertain.

Tomorrow is the day of graduation combined with the reality of moving out before 10 on Sunday. It is going to be very stressful and emotional for Kitty--and we will need to be there to have her lean on us to get going. Granted, she has had some weeks to prepare, but there have been no solid deadline until tomorrow, and there have been other more wonderful things to do, experience for one last time, people to visit with, chapters to conclude. Kitty has been dancing through the end of the semester and the last dance is tomorrow. Sure, we can all be reasonable and rational about this, but truly for me (and I am not even living this, she is), I get a bit choked up knowing that the last dance is coming, the last spin, the last twirl, the last dip--and then silence....for a few weeks until the new caller comes on stage, arranges the sets and the music starts again-- in a new place with new people. We have been there, and as it happened, maybe not been as conscious of the ending and the beginning as it was the first time of something so monumental,  But given where we are now, we have had a few endings and beginnings, and this change for my first child gives this particular time an extra poignant twist--watching her get on the path that she determines. She will be making the right choices with this strong grounding of friends, learning, and experiences she has gotten from Hampshire.  None the less, bittersweet moments to watch, share and embrace.

Enabling a good life.

What a nice day. Sure, there was lots of work getting all sorts of things off my desk, but I had pre-graduation weekend prep to take care of too...and I have adorabibble Alex Cassetti home. I am such a fortunate girl! I got the stuff done and out.

Saw the Physical Therapist to the Stars, a one, Mr. Jim Cunningham who I love and adore. He is a delight, kind and truly puts this body up on the jacks and whales on this stiff, swollen ankle. Though sometimes  being in the presence of Mr. Cunningham is not much of a party, chatting it up about his world of iron men competitions, 50 mile bike rides, and what it is to truly be a master in the PT world makes up for any ouches or oohs. We are working on stepping over my bright orange cane (I am pretending I am jumping over the broom as in a marriage ceremony and it makes it a bit more festive), on lateral movement with a band, and some stretching. After my 40 minutes with the Physical Therapist to the Stars, I am feeling a bit run over, and frankly, around 9 p.m. it is hard to function though I must admit, sleep never fails me (which is a huge gift).

Nabee Socks

Jim approves of the compression sock torture I am doing. And he approves of my new shoes (I needed more of a solid platform with a bit more support--Merrills--matte black clog type things). As an aside, look at these cute compression socks from Nabee>>. They are the best so far. The days of the granny socks are almost over (though Jim tells me that the black diamond pattern is better than the flesh colored ones...no duh...but we have to do better than that!) I really feel there is a huge opportunity for those who need "aids" like canes, compression socks, crutches, wheelchairs and the like to create good looking things so being enabled is more than just having tools to live the best life you can-- but enabling to live the best life you can and do it in a way that is fun, functional and stylish. Why is being enabled such a functional thing? For those in need of help, they are the ones that most need a spiritual lift, a happy factor in those tools to make them not just enabled, but cool...not pathetic "poor thing" but "hey, way to go!". This is an opportunity to allow all of us who have been given time to live our lives happily, do do it in the most enriched way possible. And why does making something stylish need to cost a zillion more dollars? If IKEA can bring good design affordably into every house in the freaking WORLD... what is the IKEA for these types of tools, these types of choices? I am seeking them out. If anything, its a list with links. But there should be something/ some entity that takes this all seriously. Living life fully is a serious matter.

Here are some resources:

Canes: OMHU canes.
"Omhu is a design concern that makes premium medical equipment and accessories. Danish for “with great care,” Omhu was founded on the belief that life is imperfect and beautiful. Creative Director and President, Rie Nørregaard began work on OMHU in 2009 with its now signature cane. Yet Omhu began by virtue of necessity. When Rie’s family faced the need to outfit the rapidly changing lives of four aging parents, she eagerly took on the task of finding the best-designed aids for daily living. She found she had ventured into a sea of grey; found nothing bearing even the minimum evidence of acceptable design acumen. As the mother of two small children, Rie had seen the proliferation of diversifying baby products and accessories: products that explored different brand identities, price points, and design principles. The abundance in baby gear juxtaposed against the dearth of well designed mobility aids for anyone past infancy felt especially stark. It was obvious to the trained designer what needed to be done. Having worked for years at companies like Smart Design and Frog Design—working at the former in a small pioneering team that designed and launched OXO kitchen tools — Rie understood superior performance and vibrant design were not mutually exclusive. She then teamed with Susy Korb and Susan Towers—two experienced luxury marketing strategists — to take on the curious task of outfitting the differently abled. Omhu has become a movement on top of being a business, with an attitude toward design as well as the circumstances of life. Because with great care, life may be imperfect, and also beautiful."

I believe that OMHU has a relationship with SABI with their canes being marketed at the SabiRoam>> Sabi has Yves Behar / fuse project working on pillboxes, pill management and storage for them. I think there is something here..but feels a bit TBD, and not fleshed out enough to match my fantasy of the IKEA for enabling.

Quickstep Crutches

Then there is this amazing company I stumbled over while trying to figure out a cool crutch should I have needed it post wheelchair: Thomas Fetterman , a trained product designer who had to use crutches since his childhood due to contracting polio. The dude knows what he is doing. He has crutches with customized tips that can take you from walking on the beach, to ice, to rain. He has focused on materials to really make using a crutch not such a jarring, harsh experience, but a honed tool, designed for each environment--again, enabling life to continue in the tullest way. Plus, he has cool crutches from all over the world that can fill all the needs that life throws you.

I found Fetterman because I had found these Quickstep folding crutches in Europe and wanted to see if they had them here. Of course, the expert has them at Fettermans.

Wheelchairs, I have yet to pursue. But the idea of a wheelchair in it's updated form still relies on the form /factor of the wheelchairs one sees in images from the Civil War and earlier. Now that we have new materials, micro and nano technology, computers, ports, USBs etc. why shouldn't the wheelchair become more than wheels to move you from location to location. Why shouldn't it be able to move up and down as well as horizontally? Why shouldn't it be able to climb stairs, and negotiate odd terrain? Why shouldn't it be able to be connected with Google Earth? or MapQuest and take you from here to there without steering? Why shouldn't there be better storage/hauling? And the list goes on.

Time does not. Need to wink out for now. To quote our yute (the way they say "Youth" in NYC), "peace out".

New things.

Quick one here. I was researching a bunch of stuff on the web and learned about a free vector program that is a basic, no bells and whistles, crowd sourced option called Inkscape. Need to do a bit more work on that, but hey. ITS FREE. And, if you were on a desert island with access to the web (or a hotel room and your illustrator hit the bricks) you could at least do stuff (or at least I could do stuff). But, if you are a Vector Maven (I am)--here is more to crow about. Take a look.

Did I mention I am kind of delighted about this one?

One more. With all the craziness around passwords and security, many of us went out and changed all of our passwords...and then, of course, I did more research and subscribed to 1Password.com. It was just getting too nutty, and 1 Password seemed to be a good place to sync all mof my lists between all of the files and computers and tablets and and and....

This is what 1 Password says about themselves:

"Password is a password manager that goes beyond simple password storage by integrating directly with your web browser to automatically log you into websites, enter credit card information, fill registration forms, and easily generate strong passwords.

Your passwords, identities, and credit cards, are just some of the confidential information that 1Password stores in one secure place, protected by the only password you will need to remember.

1Password is available for Mac, Windows, iPhone, iPad, and Android."

Thats it for now. The Trumansburg Farmers'  Market opens tonight so I have to amscrray.

Ciao.

a thought.

The way back machine is the song of the sirens. It gets me mulling and researching (to confirm my memories), thinking and placing my feelings and ideas around my growing up in Pittsburgh within a cell which was within a cell which was within a cell. This is to say, I lived in a subcategory of people who really did not leave the boundaries of their self-prescribed world. Within that subcategory, I lived in the ghetto/ gulags of not quite "being there"...so not able to engage. And when you layer on what a wierdo I was (did not embrace it as I do now)--prior to "dork" or "nerd" which has a cachet today. I was a kid that carried books around on Christian symbolism, lived in the basement most of the time working on calligraphy projects and making stuff. My idea of fun was to either be in school, read, do the art stuff, or take the bus to Oakland to spend the day at "The Museum" (The Carnegie Institute, and the Carnegie Museum) or to go further, downtown, to wander around aimlessly going to any store, exploring the five and dimes, being on my own.  

My sister and brothers all were very social creatures who skied, went to high school parties, had a small coterie of friends that they hung out with. They came from the same box within a box, but the difference was to my thinking, they all were outwardly focused, interested in business and finance (dinner conversations never included the word chiaroscuro but embraced methods of loan making). My siblings had needlepointed belts, wore madras, and could play golf or a "mean game of tennis". They all went to colleges and universities in Virginia--and knew how to be charming and entertaining post College. They are amazing in those environments. However, as an amusement to me, it came as a surprise to many of my siblings' friends that they had another sibling (me) as they did not know I existed--I was so far out of that loop to be considered. Read, in the basement with my clutch of pens and jars of india ink.

It was not a poetic time but that of awkward oddness. It was a time of incubation for me. A time to figure out what I liked and didn't like--looking at the clock, counting down the years, days and hours before I could really burst into something I had influence over, myself. Counting down the moments when I might have friends and a place I could settle...at least not continually be that square peg being hammered into the round hole.

I guess I am thinking this way as we are on the verge of Kitty graduating. It has been 4 years of change and incubation. Prior to that, High School was another chunk of 4 years of change and growth but now, right now--we see that change dramatically. She is ready to launch. Were my parents introspective of this change, this progression for me? Or was it another time where with the line-up of 4 kids, getting one out of the cannon and into the RW (real world) and as my father reminded me "off the payroll", it was a relief. It was a contract completed.  Were they even looking to the next horizon--projecting and helping to plan? Did they care beyond "I hope she doesn't come back and take up residence in the basement again" . I do not know if they even cared....their duty was done. I was off the books...

Thankfully, we are not our parents...for good or for bad. As Kitty moves forward...so do we. We will be with her shoulder to shoulder until we are not there but by then, she should have her own community, her own friends, her own family as she defines it. But until then...our contract has not been fulfilled nor our duty done. Duty is done when we are no longer.

Stumbling Down Memory Lane: Saturday Nights.

So, Robbie sidetracked me yesterday as I was going deep into something that did not need to be pursued--and had me rambling on about Saturday nights (actually, because last night was a Saturday night) and pushed me to take you to this point in my life--so sour, dour and my goodness, so happy to have that in the way back machine, versus my life today. Tombo, my brother will relate as he is instrumental to the fun we could derive from being parked in the Saturday night purgatory we were left in.

Saturday nights were often the night my parents would go out to dinner at their friend's house. No kids allowed. No kids invited. Kids not optional. Matter of fact, kids were never optional. These parties were couples in party clothes, drinking too much and having some sort of showy food (aspic, for example)....listening to some crazy music and the like. If they were convening at your house, "the kids" needed to come downstairs in their jimmy jammies and kiss all the smelly adults before they were bundled up to go to bed. It was a progression from one friend to the other...the kissing of people I did not know...It was very odd and uncomfortable...It was cute when we were younger, but college-aged was pushing it. No really. The concept of hiding in the shower was not an alien one.

Prior to the Saturday Party, There was lots of preparation from more makeup and perfume, to nicer clothing and of course the babysitter (who was part of the scene even until I was through college). I lived in a household that was brimming with rules (spoken and unspoken)--from how to behave to the mandated nights out curfew, and lights on wake up. No variations, no changes, no choices...so get in line. Saturday nights, when my parents went out, was formatted within an inch of it's life whether you liked it or not, this was the program. The t.v. was the same parents or not...but it was flavored by not having the grown ups around....but tragic within the context of my looking at this as a parent and as an older (56 yr old) child. Here's what it was.

1960s Dippty Do styling commercial noting how the product can help ladies achieve the latest "big curls" look. Subscribe to Captain Bijou! More vintage videos, trailers and commercials are added almost daily! To buy classic films, westerns, serials, commercials and vintage television shows on DVD -- plus original movie posters, autographs and collectables -- be sure to visit Captain Bijou's website, www.captainbijou.com.

Before the sitter came, the singular "babysitter night food" was taken out of the freezer, arranged on a cookie sheet and baked at 350˚ for about an hour. This food, too, was formatted. We always had frozen pot pies (from Krogers-- house brand at $.35 a piece (read--they were cheap) with a choice of either beef, turkey or chicken. They all were sublime with a side of some tortured frozen vegetable (green beans, peas)...and that was dinner. There was a trick to eating the pies--something I took up the gauntlet to master every Babysitter night...which was to eat the pie without in any way sullying the perfect foil pie plate (which were saved to use to kill the slugs in the garden with flat beer). I would eat the top--lifting it off without crumbing it, dish out the inside and then after that, scraping the inside crust of any gravy enriched goo, and then finish by eating the remainder of the crust that touched the pan. The pie was mainly flour and crisco, with the inside being mainly a flavored gravy with a few peas, frozen carrots and a chunk or two of meat like material. It was so predictable just like the rest of the evening....but what a way to start this adventure. It set the stage for all of us to settle in for an evening in front of the black and white t.v. and the lack of Saturday programming that existed in Pittsburgh for that time slot and day.

I do not know what it was about t.v. in Pittsburgh during  the mid sixties to mid seventies but it was limited to 4 channels (one being Channel 13--"Educational T.V") and the others being very regionally based and programmed. One show was hokier than the other...and insipid, dumb, or very vernacular--and that was the stuff I was most attracted to. Saturday nights were prime for vernacular t.v. that much like watching St. Peter being hung upside down on a cross, or Saint Lucy showing us her eye that had been taken out of her head, it took patience, a skewed sense of humor and of course sheer boredom to make it seem as spectacular as it was.

The only shows on Channel 13--the educational channel were "Mr. Rogers Neighborhood" (a hometown, Pittsburgh favorite with all sorts of inside banter about places we know, people we know etc.), Julia Childs and her cooking, those oil painter guys, and that was about it.  The "E" in "ETv" was horrifying--with badly dressed educators educating in a very old school way via a new media. On the other channels, some of the sidebar shows--particularly the claymation, "Davy and Goliath" (a vision of what could happen if the religious people ran the networks with sickeningly sweet homilies about how to be a "good" person with the call and response by a dopey dog and his socially conscious, friendly white boy owner. Talk about exclusionary. Gumby and Pokey were in the same vein, but their didn't have as obvious a message and the sheer wonder that someone had approved the concept of a kid who looked like a used pink pearl eraser with legs and arms--made anything seem possible.

1970s Flashback: Bill Hillgrove appears on the game show "Bowling for Dollars" with host Nick Perry on WTAE-TV Channel 4 in Pittsburgh.

We would open the evening generally with an hour of the regional, "Bowling for Dollars" with Nick Perry (who in the future was known for his "666" lottery scam (1980) , a t.v. show that highlighted regional bowlers, competing for a cash prize in front of a studio audience. No duh. Every show at that time had a studio audience on WTAE. As none of us knew how to bowl, how to score or anything having to do with bowling, it was a bit confounding to figure out who was ahead, who was winning etc...but the shirts, the verve, the energy and the way they could fling these heavy balls and yet  end with their fingers pointing to the ceiling and their back leg jauntily kicked in the air was way beyond all of us. Plus, there was alway corny Nick Perry there in his plaid jacket to remind us of what fun we were having...and how fun Pittsburgh and Pittsburghers were.

Alas, we were stuck in the living room at 130 Yorkshire Road with a dog ready to bite us (he did, inevitably), filled up with pot pies and wishing we could be in the audience with Nick and everyone. It was an impossibility that we didn't even brooch with our keepers. No One would go see Bowling let alone anything else. We would stand in front of the t.v. dumbfounded trying to be  those bowlers without the balls, or lanes--posing in front of an 18"  black and white t.v. We would really try to make this fun...but somehow missed the inside joke (as usual).

After "Bowling for Dollars" and our warm-up in the corner of the living room, striking the poses that the bowling pros did while they pitched their balls down shiny alleys for cash prizes--we would wait for the real beginning of the evening....an hour of Studio Wrestling.

Bruno Sammartino. Isn't he quite the thing.

It seems that we were in the middle of something singularly Pittsburgh, watching Studio Wrestling every Saturday evening after dinner (babysitter or not). I googled it...just to make sure my memory and imagination sync'ed with any reality and it did. Studio Wrestling was distinctly a Pittsburgh thing...the true predecessor of WWF (World Wrestling Federation) who produced the megastars of Hulk Hogan, Jessie Ventura, The Sheik, The Ultimate Warrior, Macho Man Randy Savage, and Stone Cold Steve Austin. It was the firm foundation that this entertainment leviathan and feeder for national politics was hatched--and there we were, at 130 Yorkshire Road, riding the wave of this nascent media segment with focus and determination not to be left behind.

We would thrill to the likes of Bruno Sammartino, the pride of Pittsburgh, or Andre the Giant--winging each other around, flinging themselves off the ropes to flatten his opponent on the mat. We loved the flying Samoans and their moves of jumping off the ropes to simulate hitting the other guy in the head with their knees. There were the tag team events, and the single events. Each guy bigger and badder than the other--each wearing skimpy bathing suit type bottoms along with leather high top shoes. They were not terribly built (especially by today's standards)--but they had "the moves"....which you can see from this video which included a whole lot of bouncing around on the ring floor (which must have had some kind of engineering to make it that bouncy). We would get up on the furniture and bounce--jumping off (sometimes a little to close to the coffee table) trying to nail either my sister or brother and bring them down like the Flying Samoans...or Tom would get me in one of the famous neck holds and wrestle us to the ground. We too could be wrestlers--right there in the living room...maybe without the audience but much like bowling, we could be there.

We loved it...with the loud, crude people shouting, the forceful brutish referees, the dapper announcers and commentators and the camera man panning the audience for all the odd people who were there, savoring the majesty of Studio Wrestling instead of being in their beige living room.

You tube bringing us a little snippet of the action. I love how bouncy these guys get.

Andre the Giant, doing his thing in the ring.

Wikipedia takes us there:

"At one time, this show was considered one of the top wrestling shows in the United States. Even though the show started on Saturdays at 6 p.m., the lines started to form around the TV station at noon. The show was so popular that it revived the dying Pittsburgh wrestling market. No wrestling promotion can survive without a strong television presence because pro wrestling is not routinely covered by mainstream media."

Let's just put it there. It was art. It was inspiration. It was a pure sport. This was all pre-corporate tie in. There were no studio wrestling promotions at George Aikens (the foul chicken roasting store) or the bastion of pureness, Islays, home of the sublime chip chop ham, milkshakes, hot dogs and of course, the classic, the Klondike. There were no billboards, or even t.v. promos for this wonder. You either were into studio wrestling or you weren't-- You were either insiders or clueless. It was a sport of and for the people...though the crowd at church and the crowd at school were not aficionados. Candidly, this is the first time I have gone public with my love and admiration of the sport as it was too personal and too outside the box...but  YOLO ("you only live once"). And now you know. I hope you do not think any less of me. I would say, studio wrestling helped to form me, my loves and my inspiration.

Truly...I have always held up the posters for wrestling at that time (that I would see downtown on some of my solo safaris hopping around the Diamond Market on Market Square or down Liberty Avenue near the strip joints) some of the best graphic design (vernacular/ and primitive) out there. I have often aspired to their goodness though my corporate clients would have nothing of the sort. Look at the simple use of two color. The sheer excitement that Bruno presents with his active stance, his focus and determination, the key messaging components, easy to read and remember... After all... who would debate the clear statement that Bruno Sammartino was "Strongest Man in the World".  I sure wouldn't.

So, coming down from that sheer excitement was the final stop on our evening's tableaux vivant was the Piece of Resistance...a show that had a studio audience albeit it was not from Pittsburgh (though it was from the fabric of our city that the success of this show was sewn (I would think Buffalo, Detroit, Scranton PA, and others were also key)....it was the divine and truly artful, "Lawrence Welk Show". What wasn't to love? And, his music either stunned with amazement and frightened or off your feet to polka with the best of them. We Eddys did not nor do we polka at our weddings or parties let alone do the "Chicken Dance"-- though I secretly wanted to...so Uncle Lawrence brought that unmentionable into our living rooms--and what with the management being out of the house, we could pretend.

The adorable Lennon Sisters on Lawrence Welk. So sweet your eyeballs got cavities.

There was fun Lawrence whose smile scarily spread from ear to ear, with his hair combed back and held in place by too much pomade. He matched his suit to those in the band and to all the festive "kids" , members of his "Musical Family". We got to know them all...Bobby and Cissy, the Champagne Ladies, the insipid Lennon Sisters with their sugary sweet voices matched with insane (!!) hair and costumes, Arthur Duncan, the amazing tap dancer was often featured, but somehow his placement felt very odd and off-putting as he was the only (I mean only) person of color in the entire show.

And there was always Lawrence ready to transition the acts, announce the new performer or when necessary, step in and do the honors with his accordion in leading his musical family in songs, dances or both. One could never resist the holidays with the Welk Family (ouch) as it was such an amazingly pure, American, and wholesome good time that we at 130 Yorkshire knew nothing about. It was a dream we could not even imagine let alone live. No one was wearing plaid hostess skirts, nor were the boys/men in matching jackets. No one was gathered around the professionally decorated Christmas Tree, singing Irving Berlin in a meaningfully, sincere way.

Our mom did not dress up like these women and present us with toasty casseroles in colorful, painted opal glass dishes with every hair in place, and a smile on her face. Our dad did not beam like our adopted uncle, Uncle Lawrence Welk--leading us in either prayer or song to just keep the fun coming....or even emulate our other uncles, wicked Uncle Nick Perry who teased us to like bowling or the other, Uncle Bruno Sammartino, who had no problem taking on the brutes, but still being a gentleman after all of that.

It was Saturday night...and we could hang  with our Saturday family. We were thankful we didn't have to kiss strangers wearing our pajamas. We were thankful to be an audience to a world we didn't live in...preparing for the already formatted day of Sunday.  And of course, there was always next week to look forward to.

Transition.

Friday and Saturday (April 18 and 19), Kitty Cassetti presented her Div 111 Project: "To be Swallowed Whole: Red and the Wolf" in a small theater at Hampshire College. This project is truly a capstone project representing a year of summation, but upon seeing the work, seeing the collaboration and people, and most importantly, seeing our daughter-- it is a summation of the past four years, the growth, the learning, the change and the precipice of diving into a brand new world of the rest of her life. To put it mildly, this was nothing either Rob or I had anticipated.

First off, we had started the journey dropping an unsure girl off at a very offbeat place--to have her struggle with the change, the living situations, the new friends, the work expectations and she met it all head on and grew. Kitty became a person with opinions which were founded in reading and research. She came to love Dr.Seuss once more and embrace the Ramayana, it's color and stories, its depth and fire, it's dance and movement. She started to dance locally to become embraced by a community of dancers up and down the east coast, with friends beyond the school's walls. She has been honored to be part of YDW (Youth Dance Weekend), an invitation only weekend in New England at a camp with some smokin' good dancers as well as friends. She has burned the midnight oil dancing contradances and jazz dances at Flurry in Albany and spun the day and night away at the Brattleboro Dawn Dance each September for years now.

Kitty has learned to sew, to pin, to draw and to listen. She has been nurtured and inspired by costume designers, dance teachers, professors who speak about Victorian Bodies, and all the while pushing forward personally learning how to live with others of every shape, size, description, credo and understanding. She has lived with all sorts of people with special needs, allergies, issues, dietary requirements, in a tight living laboratory they call a Mod (modular apartment). She has become  an advocate for people who are actively changing and trying to become themselves either through work and life or through the gradient of gender query and change. She has learned much from those who would teach her about her own growth and change...and has become her own advocate as well. None of this has been an easy road for her-- and as a parent and coach we have to watch and not hover--allowing her to make these changes and decisions for herself--trusting her to make the right decision for herself at the time--and she has.

I don't  know why all of this change and evolution seems to poignant to me right now--but perhaps it was this presentation of her work that somehow galvanized and presented all this change all in one place. This collection of costumes being walked down a runway in a dramatic way put an image to this personal evolution that was so thrilling, so distilled and so much Kitty that it painted the moment--comprising brush strokes of every experience she has had in the last 4 years.

I walked away from seeing the work twice and having the supreme pleasure of watching the behind the scenes, the prep and dressing of the actors, the sublime production staff and the talent that was brought to the table not only from K. but from the actors who brought this cloth to life, to live, to express Kitty's intent and art. I was amazed by our girl's confidence, poise and grace. She was humbled and still learning each time she calmly put on this production-- while I watched from the sidelines--watching her and watching the audience as the lights came on.

We all were awestruck with the work, the ideas and the presentation. We were stunned, thunderstruck, and stilled. There had to be more.  You could see it in each and everyone of our faces.  Kitty gracefully and bashfully stood as the lights came up,  bowed from the head, smiled and took it all in.  What a moment it was.

I cannot wait for the next chapter.

To see my still photographs of some of the costumes, the presentation, behind the scenes, Kitty and friends, my Facebook album is accessible here>>

The Aspect of Aspic

The ham got me thinking. I guess there are a lot of food horrors brewing in this stew of a brain of mine and as Rob suggests, "you gotta let it out". Thus, the subject of today's amusement, amazement and discussion: Aspic (mispronounced by many as "aspect"...which kills me...). Aspic has a weird place in my precollege days--and then re-emerged fully formed and yet in a new personna in the early 80s when I was in Corning. More on all of that.

Talk about putting something outrageous on the dish to pass sideboard and stand back to see if anyone even tries it. Food from stinking Mars.

The nice thing we all need to remember is that 1) aspect or is it aspic is passe, out outre, done for, not the thing  so we need not sweat having to confront this at our table or anyone else's (though the thought did cross my mind that I should take one of these babies to the Village Dish to Pass and see if anyone would be brave enough...but it seems like a lot of effort for an answer we all know. No.) There the tender aspic would be, my aspect, glittering and jiggling in the late spring evening surrounded by quinoa this, pasta that, steamed this, sliced that. The last girl at the party, our aspic--all alone in the corner with not even a nibble taken out of it's shaking sides. I am tearing up just thinking of the sadness.

I digress.

Aspect. Aspic. Here is why aspic was prized and created in our household growing up.

1. First and foremost (as with most things), these babies were cheap. All you needed was a few (the pros like my Mother had 3-4) molds: a round one "ring mold", a fish shaped one, and two domed/ or decorative ones that looked like large Whitman's Sampler chocolates. Kind of medium sized, but enough to make a big splash on the buffet table. The ingredients were pretty low grade and cheap. Leftovers were fair game.  All you needed were the solids and the liquids-- all of which were variable. You could slam out an aspic with a pile of chopped celery, green olives (with the pimentos), some chopped hard boiled eggs, a little carrot or peppers (green only as we didnt know the red ones at the time), and some sort of liquid to suspend the one or two packages of gelatin in. One of the favorites at my house was either V-8 Juice or canned beef consumme (which to all of our delight, already had gelatin in it...and you could, on a hot day, but the whole darn can in the refrigerator to solidify, and eat with a spritz of lemon juice (my toes are currently curling up).

Every gal needs a fish mold in her bag of cuilnary tricks to make "salmon mousse"

2. Flashy dish that let everyone know you were a pro in the kitchen. Who wouldn't be floored by a dish that was colorful and a really complex shape, that jiggled and had nuggets of deliciousness as little surprises in every cool bite. It is a colorful thing that you can garnish the hell out of. Case in point, the fish mold. There was an extra special aspic, "Salmon Mousse" (read fish aspic) created with canned salmon (that is the solid) which was  pureed in the blender with some other goop (read maybe mayo and some sort of liquid (of course) and the two packages of gelatin). That glop was then poured into the greased fish mold. This whole thing was then wrapped in plastic wrap and slid into the refrigerator for a day or so before the big party or gathering. It is a terrific make ahead. Too bad no one will eat it.

Unmolding the jewel: The real fun comes when you gently place the gelatinized canned fish mess in a mold in warm water for just a short time to loosen things up and then invert it quickly onto a plate to be decorated (in our case, sliced radishes and olives--the picture does wonders with almonds and the happy pimento showing us how we should feel to eat this marvel of culinary engineering). There was that amazing fear just before you invert the plate that either you have melted the aspic so when you invert it, it just keeps running and running off the plate. The other horror was that you would miss the plate and hit the sink--or floor and not be able to recover the thing as it was all pretty much what you see is what you get.  Then there was the gelatin malfunction also resulting in glop falling out of the mold--and not the glorious form you expected. No matter how malformed the aspic was after its liberation from the mold, there was the prospect of decoration, of parsley and of some accompanying sauce to fill  the counterspace on the decorated plate. If it didn't taste good, at least it could amuse our guests.

Salmon Mousse was put on the buffet table but could be put out for cocktails if you were having a big group--or just wanted to up the game a bit. Aspic was often a side dish for luncheons (my Mother had quite a few of them for women, and the menus were delicate and odd--things that would never arrive at the dinner table and seemed like combinations not meant to happen but somehow, this was the stuff women liked and no one else). Aspic and combo soups (a favorite was a blend of cream of chicken soup, applesauce, there might have been consomme and curry powder) were top of the list with salad parings with cheap (read bitter) citrus crowning the spinach or iceburg lettuce.

I must not be a real girl because I get all shaky and quivery thinking that this might have been a treat at one time. Where were the tall glasses of wine, fresh salsa and tortilla chips?

Decorated Fish Mold: Salmon Mousse. For a recipe I would make with smoked salmon: http://www.alwaysorderdessert.com/2010/01/retro-recipes-molded-salmon-mousse.html

A sketch of the formidable Curried Deviled Egg Aspic

3. Even if your family hates aspic, you can give it as a token of love to your friends. Both my grandfathers died within 6 months of each other--one in Charleston WV, and the other in Pittsburgh. We, the kids,  were not included in the Charleston family gathering but kept home. The Pittsburgh family funeral was in the summer a little over two weeks after my eldest cousin, Happy was married in Rhode Island. As was the case, no one was anticipating The Colonel (my grandfather was called The Colonel--no other name) to die--but he did in his quiet " no one pay any heed to me" way--and my grandmother, the Matriarch, known to us as Grammy (but didn't fool any of us) kicked into gear with all of the odd family traditions of what we did and did not do at funerals. I guess that is another story to pass on--but it is a full one.

However, I was in seventh grade at the time and as all the grown ups had all sorts of important things to do, I was pressed into service to "receive" flowers, the "funeral meats" and log them into a book, place them either in the kitchen /refrigerator, top off the water and put the flowers among the other floral tributes that arrived at the house.

Sure, there were the requisite pound cakes and plates of cookies, the pyrex dishes of noodly bits with ham (read casseroles) despite the sweltering heat we had that week of The Colonel's calling hours and funeral. There was fruit and some salads but the centerpiece of all of this were the plethora of aspics delivered. There were lots of them from fish to tomato to the showstopper of them all (which my mother replicated until we all forgot it) a beef consomee based aspic with curried deviiled eggs placed delicately and so stylishly in the dark confines of the sparkling gel. The eggs remained intact--as if ready for the picnic, placed almost as flies in amber--an idea of dining alfresco, but frozen in time as much as this time during the week of The Colonel was for me. This was an aspic that took our breath away. The question was how to serve it, to carve it, to present it...but I think that was figured out. So, lesson from that is, if you hate aspic, take it to a grieving family...they will thank you for it- or at least that is what you can hope for. I still think a 30 rack of Bud Heavy, a case of real with sugar Coca Cola, and a few bags of salty treats are much preferred at times of happiness and grief. If you want to lay it on, a white/garlic sheet pizza would fill the bill too. But I have no breeding.

Tiny Marshmallows may make this dish fun but nice people do not entertain with this sort of food. Aspic, absolutely...but tiny marshamallows and canned fruit submerged in cherry gel...forget it.

4. According to those in the know, Jello is not Aspic. Yes, they may both jiggle but jello is more fun, has bright colors that can give you cancer, and jello is lowbrow. Jello "salad" is not salad. Jello salads may incorporate miracle post war foods such as mass produced miniature marshmallows, or canned fruit floating in thick sugary syrup, or have gingerale added in place of water to cause the Jello to tingle and sparkle...but one does not but that out for company.

Jello may be an ingredient to the creation of delightful aspics (lemon may be added to tomato juice or jazzed up with savory things) but jello by itself or even with fruit added is not aspic.  Aspic shows your breeding and education (don't ask me how, it just does--so be quiet and sit down). Aspic is sophisticated like having cold consomme (jelled) with a wedge of lemon unlike green jello which is green and is green flavored.  Koolaid is not elegant nor is the food version of it, jello. Aspic is the Bloody Mary to a glass of cherry Koolaid. Although I have been mean about fruit jello, I think the Jello company saw there were market opportunities with the aspic snobs and introduced some salad jello flavors such as celery and mixed vegetables to bring more folks along for the elegant, jiggly ride.

I am throwing up just a little bit in my mouth over the lime jello filled with "seafood salad" (TUNA). And it doesnt even look good though the image on the right is a direct relation to  Cold Set / Jambon Chaud Froid...only poor man version as it is simple to do but equally as showy. Please do not tempt my summertime appetite with this horror.

So, this is where we end today on the aspect of Aspic. Tomorrow, I will tell you about how aspic entered my life in the form of a lithe spanish man clad in an eighties, spandex leopardskin suit...and what he did with en gelee....

Back to Ham

A member of the QNation scolded me because I was not on the ball and chatting with you all. I apologize, but work has gotten out of hand and thus, the non-paying work slips off the desk. I will attempt to be more sympathetic to your needs, and even if its not much, say hi with a paragraph and or even just post a hint of what is on the drawing board so you know I am still somewhere breathing.

To that, I was cranky coming home from our weekend in Kittyville. It was Easter, I was tired and pissed off at one of the common themes I am often angry about...and pick at it when I am tired. So, my clever husband turned the conversation around and had me laughing and doing research in the way back machine such that I want to share it with you. Be prepared. This roll has to do with Pittsburgh, Ham, Easter, and a very uptight club. Ham is the underlying tie...so hold on tight as we are going to start with the sublime and move to the ridiculous. 

Growing up, we didn't eat out. My mom cooked, packed lunches for the girls (the boys bought their lunch at school and my dad had free range of all the culinary opportunities downtown...with discussion of what was on the lunch menu every night at dinner just to keep the conversational ball going with him). My mom cooked dinner, made soup, made breakfasts and pretty much handled all of the shopping and prepping. She was not raised to cook--having a cook at her house growing up--and even through my childhood with my grandmother she was unable to even open a box or a can to make something to eat. The Cook had Sundays off (poor woman...) so my Grandmother and Grandfather would either take us to the Club for lunch and then have something exotic like a bucket of chicken from Kentucky Fried Chicken that made an exquisite add to the melee at lunch at their house every day.

My grandmother made lists, made menus and did a bit of the matching column a with column b to make leftovers at lunch. She knew how to order and how to buy the groceries...but that is where it stopped. So rolling it forward, my mom had to learn from scratch how to cook--and she did with all of us as her test kitchen. Nothing was ever thrown away...so we ate the good with the ghastly (which she would never acknowledge as bad). As we got older, she got to be better and better and we, the kids, learned how to cook from her by acting as her sous chefs from the time we could look over the top of the counter and hold a dull or dull serrated knife. But this is all a different story for a different time.

For a treat we were sometimes taken out for, as my dad would say "a hotdog" which meant either a hotdog or a chip chopped ham sandwich at Islay's. Islay's was a Pittsburgh tradition, a deli counter with prepared foods that had hotdogs, milk shakes and sold a form of shaved, barbeque ham (better, processed pork product) that you could have prepared for you at the store (to eat in) or take home to doctor with your own Ketchup mixture. Islay's also was the creator of that Pittsburgh culinary tradition known beyond the 'Burgh, the Klondike Bar. Islay's was as synonymous with the real deal Pittsburgh cuisine as Lemon Blennd (a personal favorite) and the now well known Primanti's sandwiches with cole slaw and fries smashed in on top of a murder of eggs, capicola and american cheese (which we would partake of after midnight when they would open for the truckers bringing produce to deliver to the Strip). I get off topic. Ham.

So, shaved ham, or "chipped chopped ham" is a mystery meat shaved from a perfectly square block of pinkness. There is absolutely nothing that says ham. It is Processed and about meatness...but reallly it is more about the sauce (combined barbeque sauce, a little vinegar, a little mustard and a ton of ketchup heated up with the meat and generously plopped on a chintzy white, soft hamburger bun (no seeds, nothing interesting please). The styling is simple, white bun, messy hot meat drenched in ketchup (essentially) with the top of the bun smashed on top and the works put on a thin paper plate that was not designed for that endurance. But it was a treat and on those special Saturdays when we would "rubberneck" with my dad and mom or actually have something to do--it knocked the day up a notch to have a trip to Islay's with this poor man's ham barbeque sandwich thrown into the mix. 

Mystery writer, Cleo Coyne waxes about the Chopped Ham sandwich (with a recipe no less and instructions on how to get the ham just right). Here she is for you>>

Back to ham. Know this. Pittsburgh is a big ham town. Why wouldn't it be? It is a town filled with nuggets and neighborhoods of nationalities that rarely leach across the street from one zone to the next, but the Polish, Hungarians, Czechs, Bohemians, Germans, English, Scots, Irish, French, Italian, Slavic, all embrace ham in their own way--and as you all know--there is ham, and then there is Easter ham.

Growing up, there was also the oddity of meat in a can, the canned ham -- sometimes called "Danish Ham". I pitied the Danes as this was the ham they "had to eat"--though god knows if canned ham had anything beyond marketing that had to do with the cool Danes and their good design. Somehow I doubt it. Ham was ham (prosciutto and lovely local ham were not on that horizon until much later when I started to cook). There was cheap ham (the blocks that were found in the deli case at Islay's for chip chopped ham); danish ham and then ham on the bone or boneless from the grocery store. Ham, to my mother's absolute delight, was cheap--and was something that was parsed beautifully into amazing leftovers that were easy to make from soup with the bone, to ham salad and casseroles with canned soup/noodles and bits of ham.

My mother was not limited to the Dorothy Parker famous quip: "Eternity is a ham and two people"--and frankly, with Jesus' imminent return thanks to the promises made that morning at Shadyside Presbyterian Church, it would be a miracle for us to get through the enormous hams that came home around Easter time to feed nations. Heck, who knows, we might have had leftovers to take with us to ascend to be with Jesus on the great heavenly escalator....(just like Joesph Hornes).

So, Easter, at least for my family, is the ham holiday. Thanksgiving is Turkey. Christmas is a Red Meat event. New Years was always pork because "it doesn't scratch back". Sometimes there was sauerkraut offered with Thanksgiving, and black eyed peas offered with New Years. Snopes says confirming this tradition for New Years' food:

"Food:   A tradition common to the southern states of the USA dictates that the eating of black-eyed peas on New Year's Day will attract both general good luck and financial good fortune in particular to the one doing the dining. Some choose to add other Southern fare (such as ham hocks, collard greens, or cabbage) to this tradition, but the black-eyed peas are key.

Other "lucky" foods are lentil soup (because lentils supposedly look like coins), pork (because poultry scratches backwards, a cow stands still, but a pig roots forward, ergo those who dine upon pork will be moving forward in the new year), and sauerkraut (probably because it goes so well with pork).

Another oft-repeated belief holds that one must not eat chicken or turkey on the first day of the year lest, like the birds in question, diners fate themselves to scratch in the dirt all year for their dinner (that is, bring poverty upon themselves)."

This left ham for the Rebirth of Jesus and the big white bunny. If my mom didn't cook, we would do something wild and go to "The Club" for their Easter Buffet Spectacular, or me, the wildest food moment in the universe that no one paid attention to.

So the Easter schedule of events would be that we would go to Church and then follow it up with lunch and then a quiet afternoon at home. "Church" was The Shadyside Presbyterian Church--where an intimate gathering of thousands (no kidding, this place is a Richardson Romanesque Barn (designed by H.H. Richardson) that even today on the Shadyside site they say) (remember, this is marketing):

"Some might see our impressive stone building as intimidating and surmise that it houses an affluent congregation that might be cold and unfriendly, but we’re eager for you to encounter Christ through some of the warmest and most welcoming folks you’ll ever get to know."

Interior: Shadyside Presbyterian Church, Pittsburgh, PA
Please note the Christmas Trees in the altar area for scale....

I tend to think they are right in the lead in of that sentence. When I was growing up, the deacons wore cut aways and white gloves every Sunday to greet people at the door. With white gloves and white ties, spit shined black shoes,and hands at their backs at leisure. Not super friendly. No, not intimidating at all. These dudes would cruise down the aisles (about 3 in the middle and sides) along with the balcony and pass sterling silver offering plates to the fur coat wearing Republicans who had their self-assigned places in the sanctuary. They would then proceed in lockstep up from the back of the church to the altar (surrounded by bright gold tilework reminiscent of Byzantine {read the Emperor Constantine) tessilation. The huge pipe organ would shake and blast...and the money was laid down on the altar (I assume that was symbolic for the holy blessing with all that theatre). Easter had huge urns of fragrant Easter lilies, and great pious hymns of ressurection and rebirth. The paid choir (many from the Pittsburgh Opera) would soar and herald the greatest day of the Christian Calendar.

And all of this happened on Easter Sunday before lunch--so if your stomach wasn't clenching from hunger, it was out of angst for your inadequacy, oddness or inability to process this odd intersection of conservative people, fur coats, professional choir and organ, silver offering plates and then the discussions on humility and poverty. Never seemed to balance out for me. Loved the theatre and the guilt though. Reality was not present in that sanctuary.  So, rest assured, by the end of that hour or so, you were ready for cold compresses and the fainting couch, but the thrill of being taken to "The Club" for Easter lunch completed the celebration.

So, off we would go to the unassuming "Club" which was less than 10 minutes from the church. We would all peel off to the various cloakrooms adjoining the restroom with chintz sofas, hairbrushes, all sorts of smells and kleenex to "freshen up" and make sure that your knit dress wasn't climbing up your pantyhose clad legs thanks to remarkable static cling or that nothing was hanging out or out of alignment. We would adjust and smooth. We would hang up our coats in the coatroom and progress elegantly on the celery colored carpet surrounded by quiet, tasteful wallpaper and chippendale reproduction furniture.

We would meet the boys and go find our table--reserved for all of us, grandparents or extra friends that would come along. The pre-food activities were drinking for the grown ups and some sort of prescribed "fun" for the kids. The grown-ups stayed upstairs in the dining room area, having drinks and nuts while we where shoo'ed downstairs into the darker regions to make noise and give the grown-ups a break.

The Club would have a person in a bunny rabbit suit there to hand out jelly beans (scary just like a clown) and the other thing for the "kids" was some sort of other "entertainment"--either someone doing card tricks (generally someone not too skilled so it was boring) or a magician but my favorite was the year they had a clown (you know I am horrified of clowns, right?) who also was a stripper during his off "non clown" gigs...and this clown promoted both of his skills openly to all of us "kids". There we were with this clown who had a shaved chest, arms and armpits with big muscles and a tight vest on in addition to the rest of the regular clown stuff (big shoes, makeup etc). Creepy doesn't even begin to describe it. Entertaining, Yes, but not given this particular context and audience.. Not the wholesome, "I have my monogram on everything" kind of way. Let's just say, this was a detail The Club faltered on, but they made up for it in the piece of resistance upstairs in the dining room. I loved it and still do, that this sort of fumble went way over the heads of the grown-ups and many of the kids too. I love it that this way creepy clown stripper ended up in our midst--really off the reservation for all of us...lifting the corner of the tent into a world that did not extend into our prescribe universe framed up by church, school, The Club, Camp and occasional "hot dogs" at Islay's. 

So, when lunch was ready, we were herded back to our table, our home base, first there were the classics. Salad or Vichyssoise? Vichyssoise, of course! Who doesn't like to drink gallons of leek and potato flavored heavy cream with freeze dried chives sprinkled on the top. Then, off to the buffet! The buffet was seemingly miles long--endless lengths of starched white linens with men wielding knives, carving beasts, ladies doling out vegetables and crispy little potato sticks or little swirled piped gems of mashed potatoes, browned with cheese slid onto the side of the plate as a little amuse bouche. Of course there was asparagus with hollandaise. Of course, there was creamed spinach. Of course there was a succinct moment with puff pastry shells and seafood newburg. And then there were the display hams.

"Cold Glazed Baked Ham"
www.http://clickamericana.com/topics/food-drink/cold-glazed-baked-ham-recipe-flowers-1965

Stop right there. So, you get the scene...its a buffet line with all sorts of delicate little things encouraged and placed on your plate. There were big strong men carving hams, turkeys, lamb. There was seafood in a cream based stew. It was all very right and tight...and then someone forgot to manage someone's meds, and there was (every year, you could set your calendar by them) a huge arrangement of display hams (and a few turkeys thrown in for fun). This meat art was beyond my wildest dreams--with hams slathered in pastel colored goo and encased in gelatin--with decorations in between of flowers and fruit. The image above is way too tasteful than 2 dozen or so hams at the club that were vertically mounted, standing tall like sentinels in lemon yellow, a bluish pink, pastel orange ('creamcycle"), and even a soft blue with decorations of carrots, peppers in all colors, greens and pimentos to tell the decorative story. A ham backwall to the Easter feast!

Forget the tacky ice carving. Forget frills on the lamb chops. This was the ham version of carved watermelons on cruise ships, or the ham version of carved radishes. And what was this thing called? I was entertained and challenged to find the name and process for this extravagant food art and preparation--but somewhere between Green and Bainbridge NY, I bumped into "Jambon Chaud Froid" detailled by none other than Martha Stewart. Of course, Ms. Stewart makes this Disneyland ham prep tasteful and glorious in her recipe. Then, noodling around some more, found that there was another approach, probably the one the Austrian chefs at the Club used (c. 1965 is this recipe) with mayonnaise (a lovely base for pastel food coloring) and seems a bit less fussy than the approach Ms. Martha suggests.

Who ate these display hams after all the tables were cleared and the clown went home? Who enjoyed the spectacle of hammigoodness that only the very few of us had a chance to witness and only one or two to remember? Who is recreating this marvelous technique today to  enchant our children and friends with all the wonder we can bring to meat?

Is ham still a Pittsburgh hallmark now that Islay's is gone and there is no home for chiip chopped ham? Are we too big in our gourmet boots to relish this culinary folk art? I look back in awe (and shock) at this rare moment that spun around the central moment of the Christian calendar. 

I am totally onboard with eternity with a ham. At least there is enough to keep us all amused.

Creative Quarterly 35: Mother and Son Reunion.

Heya! Both Alex and I were accepted in Creative Quarterly 35. The winning submissions will be printed in the magazine and the runners-up will be published online. Alex is the winner in Clan Cassetti's submissions with 3 winners (the first three photos) ( I got 1) and 2 runners-up (I got 3)...with the  blue jay being the winner. but hey, we both got something in!

Rosy Flash

Rose Flash, Q. Cassetti, 2014 pen and ink, digitally colored.

I have been figuratively running around chasing my tail. Not much amusement to this idiot game, but none the less, I have been running and running and not being able to get that furry puff between these long teeth of mine. Around and around I go, making a path from the skibbling in the dirt--kicking up all sorts of momentum, but really not going very far than round and round and round. I am seeing that maybe this can begin to have branches off the path, but that will take a bit of focus and time to get it together. I have, however, outside of this trot, been doing some flash style drawings of roses for a project I have been honored to be given. I have been taking my inspiration from the recognized tattooist, Sailor Jerry (nee Norman Keith Collins, January 14, 1911- June 12, 1973). Sailor Jerry has inspired a look that Ed Hardy has modelled his tattoo illustrations (flash). My approach has been a bit more uptight and pulled back than the looseness of Sailor Jerry and Ed Hardy. 

Sailor Jerry Roses, Norman Keith Collins (Sailor Jerry).

Rose Paradisis, 1629

I am so pulled back that when the client made a teensy moue around the idea of a tattoo gracing their product, I started spinning the dream around woodcuts...and we were good to go. I love it that by sheer redefinition, the same image goes from bad and difficult to no problem good, holy and acceptable. I guess my roses are a bit of a marriage of both as I am not as loose and fast as the tattoos, and not as totally uptight as the 1629 rose...but a marriage of both. Does that mean the same about me as an illustrator. Heaven forbid!

snapshot.

My focus today are corrections.It seems everything I have done in the last few weeks are all coming back laden with type changes so today is a dig in, and see if it sticks this time. We got two projects off to the printers yesterday (done, and done). So, it's a relief to finally free up a spot for another in the waiting list to come to the fore. It will be nice to feel less frantic about all the things that are piling up way beyond my knees.

It is a glorious day much like yesterday, Bright sky, full yellow rays, and shadows sharp and lovely. The grey softens it all and I forget the razor's edge of focus that we get here up on the plateau. It is a day to smell the fresh air and drink in the Vitamin D. Mei Mei is sitting on the windowsill outside my window looking a bit perturbed that I am not letting her in--but the air is good and she has her nice, long grey feline coat. Get over it, girl.

Blossom to Bloom

My thinking today excerpted from a text to my daughter, Kitty on the eve of the presentation of her work, " To Be Swallowed Whole, Red and the Wolf", her capstone project (Division III) at Hampshire College:

Kitty, April 18, 2014, Q. Cassetti, 2014, Canon EOS-M, 22mm lens.

" I am getting a bit mooshy and wanted to share this with you (Kitty). I am sitting in a hotel room in Boston, on the same weekend we sat in a hotel room ready to go look at Emerson and then off to RISD. It seems a million years ago to me.

We had a delicate bloom of a girl, unsure of what she was interested but unsure...We had a bud that was ready to be transplanted in new soil to grow and grow. Many years ago around this time, we took a trip to Hampshire College, to make a decision about which soil, which school our precious flower was going to be planted to grow and flourish (our hopes) and become ready to take on the world. Daddy, you and I sat in the early spring on the quad at dinner time and watched the Hampshire students do what they do so well, and imaginatively--play, love and blend together--shouting fun things to each other, giving each other piggy back rides, and all sorts of hilarity. We saw the funny bikes all over campus. We met those amazing Div III candidates--the printmaker and the teahouse maker. It seemed such an amazing jump that our Kitty would be doing that someday.

And now today, our Kitty has stepped into those shoes of those Div III candidates. She has had a journey all of her own with dancing, and friends, food and joy....studying everything from Victorian Bodies to Indian Myths. She has drawn and sewn, pinned and written, researched and research and researched to dig into the heart of what she has learned is the truth...or is there truth...show me that truth.

Our Kitty is surrounded by the many communities that she is a sparkling light...from her dancing friends, her theatre friends, her house friends, her old friends, her brand new friends to her secret friends.

Our Kitty has grown into a splendid person--with confidence, even more of a bounce in her step, and her infectious enthusiasm for her life and the amusement she finds around every corner. To say that we are proud is an understatement...(I am right now tearing up and crying...the old bat is crying). We are overwhelmed with you. Be the glorious beast you are...give them wolf and give them girl--and be the only daughter, the best daughter, and my glorious daughter. Show the joy and spread it to all of us.

This has been a long journey (I was reflecting on the shoving around I gave you last summer) to get to this amazing resolution. Now for the lights, the action and the moment to shine. I love you so much. What an amazing time and day. Soak it in!"

Friday 3:42pm

Images from Kitty's outstanding Presentation:

thinking out loud.

Rose Sketches Reversed on lined paper. As you can see, roses on the brain. Q. Cassetti, 2014

Remember the stationery boxes I showed you?  They sold in the silent auction with a tremendous amount of bidding. They were some of the most active items.  However, in thinking about next year, I wanted to put this down in a place I might not forget it....

Lessons about the MANY (Museum Association  of NY) silent auction:

1. Museum are stuff people. When they are at a conference, they are on vacation. Who needs to buy books about the history of the railroad, or notes about the house an ex-Vice President was born in? Stuff people want fun stuff for themselves. Not something from the triple markdown area at the History Center or House Museum's back table. Why buy smart when you can buy either instant gratification ("me me and me"!) or something silly, or fun.

2. Stuff that sells currently: my prints, my cards and card sets (I told you those cigar boxes did the trick...), food stuffs. They might like the odd cameos too. Things that don't sell-- trips and hotel rooms (we bought one for Lake Placid...NICE), fusty dusty books, hand knit baby things (gorgeous...but totally misunderstood by the crew there),things that are not fun. There was a person that brought the complete Wizard of Oz characters crocheted. She does Star Wars characters too. NOW THAT would be a killer....It would be key to presenting it well because it is beyond an odd craft...it is art.

3. We need to be more strategic and canny around the offerings...even creating them just to test the waters. I think we should make up some LUXE easter baskets, some LUXE locavore whiskey/wine/cider baskets, a collection of like things from the present closet (mine) that are cool and curated. Even ebay vintage stuff like Pendleton Blankets or even the blankets I got @Sierra Trading Post (as a close out) that were a steal. I should have bought more of them as they are so useful and universal. This is more a keep your eyes open reminder. Ah Well.

I am going to start building these things now for next year. I want to help them transform this very fun, very expected aspect of their conference. Wouldn't it be amazing if the silent auction was a highlight of the event?

4. We should preview the big stuff on the emails that went out prior to the conference priming the pump for folks to part with their money--pointing them to websites of the spots...so they can come prepped.

Now for other things worth remembering.

--We need to prompt often and regularly to those having the touch put on for the auction. We could take money to build or buy product to auction..

--We could sell ad space in the program to support other conference activities or pay for the printing of the booklet and raise a little capital.

--We should get lounging chairs back by the conference areas...and have the coffee out there to push more camaraderie.

--We should have some meet new people games (everyone gets a map and needs to mingle with others to get a sticker on the map where other folks come from...and a business card to go with it. Whoever gets the most cards, wins something from the gift table (note: have a gift table...the dusty fusty tomes can go there if need be). There are folks that are quiet folks who are not swept into all the friends in place. We need to be able to engage them and bind them to our community.

--The board  and gregarious friends need to be on point to host tables of people and to help bring new folks on board during the day.

--The Sagamore Event should have a table with slides/ signup sheets etc. and should be manned to better "sell this event". It is not loud and proud and needs to be. Sagamore can help with this I would think.

- It would be great to have a sponsor fund a hospitality suite for post reception/post dinner on Monday night. By this time, the conference guests are comfortable with each other and really want to gather and talk their heads off. This networking gives these museum professionals and specialists a new group of people to pick up the phone and get support.

--Is there a sign up for a mentoring/ mentor -ee program? It would be great to be the mediator of this sort of exchange. Thoughts to talk with Rob about.

Gotta go. Sorry to blab on about this obtuse stuff. Top of mind today beyond the vacation my brain has been on.

For Realsies?

I have been fascinated with Instagram. I figured if the cool people in my life, Kitty and Alex are into it (along with Tumblr) then I needed to at least participate to be semi relevant. Plus, why not share those media outlets to see what they are up too, seeing, enjoying and sharing. And, much like Alex promised, it IS Great. It is strictly visual with captions...so why not participate, share those snippets that I come across--and have a place to go back to to see trends, or even time snapshots of what I am thinking, learning. And so, this adventure begins. If you want to follow me (no pressure) I am qcassetti.

I am doing this for the visual, for the sharing of images of my life, and to join the community of my friends doing the same--so you will get illustration, art history, family pix, one eyed cat pix (he is very photogenic and will stand still), recipes and things I see. For others who fascinate me, Instagram is a medium to build a myth, to tell their fabricated stories to a wide audience of followers. These folks twitter up a storm with brilliant insights into their tedious little non worlds--and use Instagram to do the same. These are the "I am famous because I want to be famous" celebrities like Paris Hilton, All the K Kardashians, The Housewives, and the single name fame bachelors and bachelorettes. There is nothing that these folks have done to change the world for the beter, to cure cancer, to make someone else's journey easier or their load lighter. These celebrities live to consume, to pose as big consumers whose YOLO ("you only live once") lifestyle has become a model for many. I love these faux celebrities and they have during my immobile time-- been my go to to watch in a fascinated, almost social anthropoligical way--trying to understand this phenom and wrap my head around it. Why is this life of la dolce vita far more sublime than the smelly, less than perfect lives we all live--with edges, dirty windows, crumb filled cars, sincere, fact based opinions, and positive change for the community that these people crown as a cherry on the top of the American dream? Seems so upside down...but, candidly, their vacuous lives are like watching real live Ken and Barbie having real life adventures and dates. There is absolutely nothing real about it...and if only they would really crank up the makeup, hair, clothes and environment to the fantasy the Barbie World would have...it would and could be art. The problem is that these shows try to keep it relevant and "real" by the personalities having jobs and stuff. But there really is nothing better than Snookie drunk on the beach falling down in her gigantic fluffy slippers...or the typecasting on the Bachelor combined with the inane and regular exclamations like "I think she is opening up to me" or " I am here to find a wife". I mean, come ON. I think the antique word for all of this is not fun, but vulgar. And, as a marketing person, vulgar sells.

Okay. So that's the lead in to todays fascination. Meet Dan. Dan Blizerian, the real live James Bondian, YOLO personal favorite. If you do not follow Dan, do it for amusement and to remind yourself (in your cube in front of your computer creating XCel spreadsheets, or writing copy about the newest bloodtest, or responding to the crapload of emails that are coming your way) that someone out there is living the Las Vegas lifestyle...and not leaving it there, but sharing with you. Also, maybe you will puzzle over this (like I do)...Is Dan Bilzerian real? or is he a model who is being shot and Instagrammed by the NRA? or Las Vegas Travel and Tourism? Crystal? This is just all too well done, too funny in the Howard Stern universe, and too unreal to be real.

Dan Bilzarian, Instagram

There is Dan....and he is perfect. He is a man's man...from his body building to his military career, ability to shoot, to fly airplanes and helicopters. There is Dan, the collector of sublime, severe, and heavy duty, high tech weapons that he transports on his private plane, or helicopter that he pilots. There is Dan, the ladies' man-- topless or topless with cuffs and a collar pouring Perrier- Jouet for the bevy of bikini (that is the most many of these women wear) clad babilicious babes. There is Dan, the professional gambler who finances all of this world of wonder from his earnings at the tables. There's more! There is Dan who gets and gives fabulous gifts (quoting directly from the man, 1 month ago- -"Bobby & @bjbaldwin just gave me this badass RZR custom built by @928_powersports... Let's get it @dipsexxxxy @jayayers @franknapoli#GoodToHaveRichFriends

Dan is an actor. He gets parts in action movies as "bad guys" and flies down for his time on set....taking a break from the fun poolside or at the practice range. Dan uses Instagram to get input and do research on his future purchases like this Bra Bus ( I assume, it is a car to transport Bros as Bra is an alt of that word and not about the feminine undergarment).

The naked girls in Dan's life are pretty amazing. My favorite is the naked bowling shot (with pasties for discretion). Then there are pictures of money, and of stacks of red $25,000 chips of Vegas money.  His bags are full of chips. He has tables stacked with money. He has cars galore and shares the wheels with all of us.

And Dan is a softie because he loves his cat, @Smushball (who also has an instagram site) who Dan brags watches Dan have sex. Even Smushball has 42,000 followers but no following. It seems that Smushball may be an indicator that Dan might be setting down with one fox...versus the bevy in the boat party pix. Smushball refers to Dan as "daddy" and is often photographed with I would assume,  with "mommy". Smushball travels in a totebag on the private plane with Mommy. So who knows. Dan might have a soft, more sensitive side than what is projected with the guns, money, babes and anything with a motor.

Did I mention that Dan has a Wikipedia Page?

It never stops. Am I nuts? Is this real? or a myth...If it is a myth--why or who is building this story. Love it as it has nothing to do with me, my life, my beliefs...but what is it doing to those who think this is "making it"?

Money raising fool

So, While I wait for the damned new drivers to load for Mr. Fussy, the futzy printer...I made up two stationery secretaries out of two of the amazingly gorgeous cigar boxes I bought for  Sundrees and other businesses to show off my wares. Did you know I LOVE cigar boxes...? and these being fire engine red really work for me. They have big, ballsy, embossed labels with gold and green...with of course, the appropriate stamps and taxation identification, that a girl like me swoons just at the thought of them. So, I have a little stack to make stuff with. The  ultimate gift basket. The boxes are stuffed with about $60 worth of cards, tattoos, and goodies along with a cheese ball cameo to spruce up the box/presentation a bit. I should throw in an autographed card with my stamp to give it some value other than crap from Mrs. Cassetti's and Santa's stationery workshop.  There are boxes of cards and singletons--some three panel cards, some birthday cards, some smaller note cards, floral predominantly though a few boxes of holiday cards are thrown in too. Maybe a few CDs too? Hmmmmm. 

And thankfully, Rob was right. If the printer continues it's stubborn behavior, I do have some spare prints I can sign and bag and away we go. Done and done.