MOTHERS' DAY 2025

Dear George, 

Here we are at another Mothers’ Day, definitely the most sentimental day of the year.  My mother, Doris, passed away in 1986 at the age of 76.  Her last years were pretty miserable.  Crippled by circulation problems, depressed, and relying on booze to soothe her pain, she spent a lot of time as a virtual recluse at Farm, our parents’ beloved retirement home.  All of that pain and suffering was the total opposite of most of her adult life in which she was a vivacious, razzmatazz sort of woman.  

Doris grew up as a flapper in the 1920’s, and one of her cardinal values was having fun.  She worried that her children didn’t have as much fun as she and Vic (my dad) had, and I’m sure she was right.  Doris and Vic had a wonderful group of friends, and they got together regularly for parties of all sorts — art parties, poetry parties, music parties, theater parties, and especially costume parties.  Doris loved entertaining, and there was a constant flow of friends into our house,  We children were beneficiaries, since that frequently meant getting together with other kids.  

Doris felt at home when we moved to the country, since she was basically a nature lover.  She planted and maintained a luxurious garden along the west wall of our lawn, and taught me to watch the hummingbirds darting among the flowers.  She supplied a bird feeder outside our dining room window, taught us the names of all the birds, and kept an ongoing list of all the birds she saw during the day.  She and Vic traipsed around the county, bringing home wildflowers to transplant, and for Vic to paint watercolors of.  

Our two Irish Setters, Mike and Micki, were a big part of Doris’s life, and she adored them.  One time she had to go to the hospital for a nasty gash in her arm when she tried to break up a fight between the dogs.  And, as I wrote about recently, she risked her life to save Mike when he fell through the ice on the river.  In her later years Doris had a white Persian cat named Lovely, and she was as fond of the cat as she’d been of the dogs.  

Doris and Vic went on annual trips with friends to see the Metropolitan Opera in Minneapolis, and they went sailboating with friends in the annual Mackinac Island boat race.  They also took us kids each year on a trip to Chicago where we took in the Art Institute, the Museum of Science and Industry, the Maxwell St. Flea Market, and the Kungsholm Restaurant where we enjoyed Swedish smorgasbord.  Our trip to Mexico City in 1952 was a highlight of my brother Steven’s and my young lives.  

Doris performed in community theater, participated in Great Books discussion groups, played bridge with friends, belonged to a long-standing book club, and was a member of the D.A.R. (which she didn’t like to admit).  She was also a super cook: turkey, pot roast, liver sausage, meatloaf, and especially whitefish, caught locally in Green Bay and Lake Michigan.  Thanksgiving and Easter were big meals, and Christmas was the major highlight when our whole extended family joined us.  On my last trip to Farm, she taught me to cook broiled whitefish so I could carry on the tradition.

As a dedicated homemaker, Doris spent a lot of time with her four children: Steven, Peter, Vicki, and myself.  After having three boys, she was thrilled to finally have a girl, and Vicki got special attention.  We weren’t allowed to go swimming until Doris was in the front yard lawn chair, acting as our lifeguard.  She held mini-therapy sessions for Steven and I about bullying, fighting, and sibling jealousy, though it was never very successful.  Most of all, our mother was filled with laughs and was lots of fun.  

In her final days at Marinette General Hospital, her four children flew in from around the country.  I think Doris was shocked by the realization of what that meant.  In her waning hours she asked Peter and I to leave her room so she could be alone.  We stood in the hospital corridor for a while, unsure what to do, and finally went back in.  Doris said, “I’m grateful.”  I think those were her final words.  Having all led happy and successful lives, I’d say we children have also been grateful for many years.  Happy Mothers’ Day, Mom.

Love,

Dave

 

CHINESE BELLS DAY

Dear George, 

When my dad returned at the end of World War II, our family moved out to the country on the shore of the Menominee River. There were no other kids within a mile, and the river became the center of our universe. Swimming all summer long, boating in the autumn. The river froze in early December. We chopped holes in the ice to see how thick it was, and when it reached three inches we were allowed to walk across to Pig Island. Sometimes I did winter camping there, pitching my tent on a bed of pine boughs. Skating, sledding, ice fishing, hiking — the river was nearly as much fun in the winter as in the summer. 

By mid-March temperatures began to rise, the ice softened, and our parents told us not to. go out on it. One day, though, our Irish Setter Mike went for a walk on the ice, and he fell through about thirty feet from the shore. Our mother, home alone with us kids, ordered us to stay in the house, grabbed her winter coat, and raced out to the riverbank. She crawled on her stomach to where Mike was flailing in the freezing water, about to go under. We watched in terror from the dining room window. Grabbing him under his front legs, Mother pulled the 70-pound water-logged dog out of the water, and they made it back to the riverbank and into the house. That was the day our mother became our heroine forever after. 

All 180 miles of the river’s ice went out on a single day in late March or early April, the millions of tiny chunks rubbing together and making an enormous non-stop tinkling sound. My father named it Chinese Bells Day. Every year we carved the date of Chinese Bells Day into the Norway Pine wall that separated our living and dining rooms. The flowing river snatched up flotsam and jetsam along the shore as it made its way to the mouth at Green Bay — tin cans, bottles, stuffed animals, canoe paddles, etc. I put on the hip-waders that my grandfather had used for trout fishing and stepped into the ice flow near the riverbank, trying to haul in floating items with a bamboo pole. I’d always snag a few oddities, but never any true treasures. 

Aside from Christmas, Chinese Bells Day was the most significant holiday of the year for us children. A change in our physical environment, and it signaled the transition from winter to the upcoming swimming/boating season. I left for college at 18, my parents sold the river house in the early seventies, and I never experienced Chinese Bells Day in person again. Though we now live 600 miles away, I do still celebrate Chinese Bells Day in my mind every year at this time. 

Love, 

Dave

A PRETTY STRANGE (BUT TERRIFIC) VISIT

 
Dear George, 

Our son Justin came up from New Orleans for the three-day Martin Luther King Jr. weekend. His kids, Alex and Leo, now 16, were home alone, the first time they’d done that other than a one-night stay, but Justin was confident they’d do fine. On Saturday we did the thrift shops, the Clifton Cultural Arts Center (“Fiber is Art”), and the new Tony Trabert Indoor Tennis Complex at Walnut Hills High, plus lunch at Skyline Chili, and dinner at Seasons 52 (Chilean sea bass for Justin, rainbow trout for Katja, and butterfish for me). On Sunday Justin went to the gym, then had brunch with friends. He and I went to the art museum but couldn't get into the Anselm Adams exhibit in its final day. 

Monday morning Justin had coffee with his cousin Chris, and we dropped him off at the airport at noon for his return home. However, his flight to New Orleans was cancelled, and he took an Uber back to our house at 5 p.m. He called the kids. They seemed to be managing all right. 

On Tuesday Justin had made a new flight reservation, but, because of the record-breaking Southern storm, all flights to and from New Orleans were cancelled. We did more thrift shops, watched “The Edge of War” with Jeremy Irons. Alex was sick, and Justin was very worried, but they had no fever and felt better by the next day. 

On Wednesday Justin had scheduled his third flight home but it too was cancelled. He met Katja’s pain doctor, visited his cousin Chris and his family, and we watched “American Primeval” and “The Stranger”. 

On Thursday Justin finally got a nonstop flight to New Orleans on Allegiant. Of course, it too was promptly cancelled. We had lunch at Ruth's Parkside Cafe, dinner at Biaggio’s, and watched “The Conclave” on Amazon. 

On Friday, four days later than planned, Justin made a reservation with American Airlines, and, miracle of miracles, it actually took off. The kids had eaten nothing but pasta and beans all week long, so he encouraged them to go out to a restaurant for lunch. Katja and I bought some booze at the Party Source and headed home. I missed Justin, but Katja was happy that he was getting back to the children. He was a great help to us around the house, and, as always, we found it a joy to be together. Since we got to say goodbye five days in a row it was a one-of-a-kind visit. 

 Love, 

 Dave

CHRISTMAS IN MANHATTAN

 Dear George, 

In our younger married years Katja and I regularly spent the holidays with Ami and Bruce, her sister and brother-in-law, in their Upper West Side condo in New York City. Many happy memories, though it’s been a long time since we’ve done this together. This year it was time for a return trip, and we arrived for an 8-day stay on December 23rd. Here are a few of the highlights. 

AMI AND BRUCE’S. Ami and Bruce live in the penthouse of a high-rise on Riverside Drive at 94th Street in the Upper West Side. They’d redecorated since I’d been there, the walls displaying Ami’s art photo collection, new black leather sofas, a handsome rug. Their balcony overlooks the Hudson, and you can see all the way down to the financial district. Broadway is two blocks to the east with its plethora of markets, shops, elegant restaurants, and Zabars. We felt like real Upper West Siders. 

TAYLOR. During their fifty plus years of marriage Ami and Bruce have always had German Shepherds to whom they've been totally devoted. Taylor is the most sociable of their many dogs. He particularly took to Katja and liked to give her sloppy kisses on her nose. Taylor is getting older and is plagued by arthritis, but he still looks forward to his daily walks in Riverside Park. He lay down in the hallway entrance and didn't bother to move when I tried to make my way through. Clearly in charge. 

TAP AND GO. Public transportation has changed in the city. Now on buses and subways you can tap your credit card on a screen in order to enter. I must admit the technology was a bit beyond me. When I couldn’t make it work after several tries on the M5 bus, a generous woman behind me paid for me with her credit card. I was somewhat more successful in the subway, though I usually had to try 3 or 4 turnstiles before I got to “go”. I got a distinct feeling that I am older than I used to be. 

THE CRAFT FAIR.  On the day before Christmas Katja, Ami, and I went to a gigantic craft fair at Bryant Park on 42nd Street.  There were probably 200 vendors in wooden covered stalls, all featuring high-quality merchandise.  About half of New York City was also there.  Katja bought 2 attractive Tibetan shawls.  I looked but didn't buy.  When I tried to go to the park restroom there were 60 people in line.  

A JEWISH CHRISTMAS. Nearly all the city’s museums were closed for Christmas Day, but the Jewish Museum on the Upper East Side was one exception so we went there. There were multiple enjoyable art exhibits. Our favorite was a two-artist show featuring Philip Guston, a Jewish artist who addressed anti-semitism with cartoon-like paintings of the KKK, along with Trenton Doyle Hancock, an African-American artist who explored racism a generation later with cartoon drawings of the KKK. 

HIKING ON BROADWAY. Ami made a delicious Christmas dinner of pork loin, special potatoes, salad, and lemon meringue pie. After dinner I took a hike on Broadway from 94th Street to 72nd Street and back, some 50 blocks. I’d done this on most trips in the past, but I wasn’t as spry as I used to be and wound up with bothersome leg cramps. Broadway was quieter than usual, but at least a dozen eateries were open for business. Two Hasidic men asked me if I were Jewish, but I said I wasn’t. A panhandler asked for a handout, but I shook my head, then felt like Scrooge since it was Christmas night after all. A middle-aged woman on 94th Street was more demanding, saying she'd beat me up if I didn't give her money, but I just picked up my pace. 

SOLO EXCURSIONS. On our third day Katja became very sick, a condition which was later diagnosed as a combination of pneumonia and the flu. She was bedbound much of the time, and Ami encouraged me to take in the city on my own. I went to the Museum of the City of New York which had exhibits of graffiti, Shirley Chisholm, and NYC postcards (which I especially enjoyed because I own a lot of them in my own collection). The main public library at 42nd and 5th Ave. was wonderful as usual, especially with its exhibit on early 20th century Bohemian culture in Greenwich Village (William Carlos Williams, Edna St. Vincent Millay, e.e. cummings, Man Ray, Emma Goldman, John Reed, Dylan Thomas, Eugene O’Neill, Edward Hopper, and many others). It was hard to imagine all that talent concentrated in a single city neighborhood. 

BROADWAY MUSICAL. As her Christmas present, Ami bought us tickets to “Death Becomes Her” on Broadway. This was definitely a highlight of our trip. It’s so wonderful to see a Broadway musical in person. The singing was grand, and the dancing was sensational. We left light in heart. 

LOST IN MIDTOWN. Katja likes to take the bus rather than the subway to midtown and back, so we left the theater and started looking for the M5 Broadway bus. Seventh Avenue was totally crowded, shoulder to shoulder. After walking for a block or two, I turned to check with Katja who had been walking behind me, but she wasn’t there. Just hordes of people in every direction I looked. I raced back a full block but she wasn’t anywhere along the way; then I tried the opposite direction with no better result. I was just panicked, worried for Katja since I was the person who usually got us from one place to another. I tried calling on my cell phone about 20 times, but only got her voicemail. I realized that she’d turned the ringer off at the theater. It took a long time but I did finally reach Katja by phone. She was three blocks away. I hurried there and was amazed at how unflustered she was. A truly urban person. 

A FAMILY PARTY. Ami hosted a party for relatives and friends who were in the city: our son Justin and grandkids Alex and Leo; Justin’s sister-in-law Jayme and her nephew Conrad; our nephew Jacob and his daughter Delphine; and Ami’s friend Jean. We enjoyed a delicious dinner and lots of chitchat. I sort of conked out in the middle, went upstairs, and promptly fell asleep. Bruce said afterwards that we have a delightful family. Kata’s illness put a crimp on our vacation and what we were able to do, though we still had a very pleasant time being with Ami and Bruce. She saw her doctor when we came back to Cincinnati, and the doctor promptly hospitalized her for four days. A scary time. Now she’s 95% or better, and we've just been taking it easy, snowed in by a big storm. 

 Love, 

 Dave

A ROLLER COASTER TRIP

Dear George, 

Earlier this year our daughter-in-law Kiersta died unexpectedly and tragically in New Orleans. She was 55. Our son Justin, Kiersta’s sister Jayme, and several close friends planned a memorial service in New Orleans to honor Kiersta’s life on October 12th. In fact, this was a multi-day event. It started with a family brunch at Justin’s house on Friday morning. On Friday evening there was a welcoming party for 180 out-of-town guests at a Magazine Street venue, including an open bar and a buffet supper of cajun food. Funereal black was discouraged; Mardi Gras costumes with sequins were encouraged. The memorial service itself, attended by 280 guests, was held on Saturday afternoon at a Methodist church on Canal Street. The two-hour service was followed by a one-hour parade through Kiersta and Justin’s long-time neighborhood, led by a troupe of woman dancers in Mardi Gras costumes, a brass jazz band, and a “second line” of attendees from the memorial service, waving white handkerchiefs. That evening guests were invited to a jazz celebration at a neighborhood nightclub. Seventy-five family and friends were also invited to a Sunday morning breakfast at a popular Bywater restaurant. Justin then had an all-day open house for family members and friends at his home. A whirlwind of a time. 

We flew down to New Orleans on Thursday afternoon. The trip started inauspiciously. We left in what seemed like plenty of time, but the rush hour traffic had started, and we barely moved on Martin Luther King Jr. Drive. I-71 was no better — lengthy periods of standing still, then proceeding at 5 or 10 miles an hour. I’d say we didn’t move at a decent pace until we reached Fort Thomas, Kentucky. The upshot was that we boarded the plane just two or three minutes before they closed the door for departure, fortunate that we made the flight at all. We stayed at New Orleans’ newest hotel, the Residence Inn by Marriott. It was in the Central Business District, close to the French Quarter. We had a big suite with a fully stocked kitchen. The location seemed ideal to me since it was right near the junction of the St. Charles Avenue trolley and the Canal Street trolley. I love taking the trolleys in New Orleans since they eke of nostalgia and run along these grand avenues with historical mansions and live oaks. Plus they charge seniors forty cents a ride. 

I am usually intimidated by big crowds of strangers, but we had a great family turnout with relatives coming from Seattle, Brooklyn, California, Arkansas, and Cincinnati. I spent the most time hanging out with my sister Vicki who lives in Santa Cruz. We are very close though we haven’t seen each other in person for a long time. Among other similarities, we both struggle with hearing problems so there was lots of joking and talk about that. Vicki and I promised to get together again in the coming year. 

I’d like to say more about the memorial service itself, but, despite sitting in the front row, my faulty hearing kept me from hearing a lot of the content. I did pick up the love and respect for Kiersta that all of the speakers felt. Lots of fun stories and laughter as well as more serious comments. Five long-time friends gave speeches, as did Justin himself and our teenage grandkids, an emotional effort by all. Three different musical groups of family friends performed. All in all, it was a moving tribute. 

I’m very proud of Justin for organizing this multi-day event and carrying it out. He and Kiersta have a very wide friendship network, and he seemed able to connect with everybody, an overwhelming task. This was truly a celebration of Kiersta’s life, though it was accompanied by an underlying feeling of grief and mourning as well. The gathering and the service provided at least a partial sense of closure and healing. However, our painful loss stays with us. 

Love, 

Dave

THANKSGIVING HIJINX

 

Dear George, 

We usually get together with our sweet NOLA family at Thanksgiving, often in New Orleans but sometimes in Cincinnati. This year it was our turn to be hosts, and parents J and K and kids A and L flew up on Monday evening, arriving here at half past midnight. Such excitement. The kids have grown up more each time that we see them. The family also brought their dog, Little Paws, who had lived with us in Cincinnati for three months at the beginning of the pandemic. I like to think that Little Paws was excited to see his former stepparents, but, realistically, he’s always excited to see anyone. 

I was a little nervous about entertaining, concerned about finding fun things to do for 15-year-olds A and L. I made a list of a dozen attractions, the highlight of which was the Toulouse-Lautrec exhibition at the Dayton Art Institute. Much to my surprise we didn’t wind up doing any of the things on my list. I needn’t have worried. The kids took care of themselves, sometimes with J and K’s initiative, and found ample amusement. 

We all slept in on the first morning. Then we headed out to Skyline Chili — our family’s indispensablel dining place — and followed it up with ice cream at Graeter’s. J took the kids to see “Priscilla” at the Esquire. Then he and I took A and L to the thrift store. While the moms are less interested in thrift store outings, it’s the favorite activity of dads and kids. I suggested the Bulk Outlet store since they’d never been there, and it was a big hit. This is Saint Vincent de Paul’s end-of-the line discount store. All of the merchandise is dumped into huge 800-gallon storage bins, about 40 of them filled with used clothing and another 20 or so with books, toys, electronics, kitchen ware, and miscellany. Clothing costs $1.49 a pound, books $0.49. My impression is that the Bulk Outlet draws more customers than any of the mall stores in Cincinnati, and the treasure-hunters sort through the clothing bins frantically, filled up their grocery baskets. A and L didn’t fill a full grocery basket, but they did very well, including A’s buying a boutique knapsack that retails for over a hundred dollars. 

We worked in several movies during the four-day stay and a couple on TV as well. On Wednesday J and I took the kids to Saltburn, a British class warfare movie which had gotten 69% on Rotten Tomatoes. Probably the adults should have investigated more thoroughly. Along with its highbrow character studies, Saltburn offered several explicit intercourse scenes (both gay and straight), explicit masturbation scenes, and plenty of male frontal nudity. The children didn’t say much. J held his hands over his eyes and later said he was a terrible father. I didn’t feel like an exemplary grandparent either. (I can’t imagine my own grandfather taking me to see Saltburn.) 

Katja put together a marvelous Thanksgiving dinner which was the highlight of the visit: roast turkey, dressing, cranberry sauce, Scottish mashed potatoes, whipped sweet potatoes with maple syrup, creamed spinach. green bean casserole, apple and pumpkin pies, and red wine from Spain. After dinner we played a word game called Codenames that our family had brought along with them. We divided into two teams, each having a spymaster who knows the secret identities of 25 agents. The spymaster gives one-word clues that can point to multiple words on the table that their teammates try to guess. Everybody was competitive and excited, and it was an occasion where all the generations were fully engaged together. A and L were the most astute spymasters; myself and Katja, the most bumbling. 

L was eager to go shopping on Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, and so K, J, and Katja took them to Kenwood Towne Center. The kids picked the stores they were interested in. A constructed a large stuffed green frog at the Build-A-Bear store which they named Leonard. Then another Skyline family lunch and “Napoleon” at the Oakley Cinemark. 

We played a few more rounds of Codenames on Saturday morning, then enjoyed takeout from the Whole Bowl down the street. To get more reasonable ticket prices, the family had flown in to Louisville, and they set out for their return in the early afternoon. Sad and mopy, Katja and I sat down to watch the second half of the Michigan-Ohio State football game. Despite our pessimism, we were ecstatic with Michigan’s decisive win. It definitely helped us get through the rest of the weekend. 

Love, 

Dave

POEM OF THE DAY: "MY MOTHER"

 

Dear George, 

I don’t know how I got started on it, but recently I’ve been working on a poem titled “My Mother”. It’s been a very engrossing task, and it’s brought back many happy memories. Here’s my current version. 

Love, 

Dave 

                         MY MOTHER 

My mother grew up in the flapper age 

The Roaring Twenties, the Charleston the rage 

Her life path was shaped by that stage 

My mother met my father in school 

She found him charming and cool 

And he felt that she was a jewel 

My mother could have been a Hollywood star 

Her beauty cream was kept in a porcelain jar 

The fairest of the P.T.A. mothers by far 

My mother birthed a girl and three boys 

The boys made commotion and noise 

But she taught the girl style and poise 

My mother was enamored of flowers 

Cultivating her garden for hours 

Her green thumb had wondersome powers 

My mother liked riding a horse 

Which gave her a sense of brute force 

When the stable shut down, much remorse 

My mother was an actress on stage 

Played a tiger who escaped from its cage 

“That’s my mom!” I yelled, three years of age 

My mother was an avid jazz fan 

For her, Louis Armstrong was the man 

Play some Louis, she’d dance the can-can 

My mother took me to my first movie 

“Meet Me in St. Louis,” so groovy 

My most exciting outing as a juvie 

My mother taught us all the birds’ names 

Bird-watching was one of our games 

Wild turkeys and pheasants, our aims 

My mother was a razzmatazz cook 

She mastered Irma’s joyous cookbook 

Broiled whitefish, fresh off the hook 

My mother did La Parlor de Beauty 

The homies, great gossip, never snooty 

Enter frazzled, walk out as a cutie 

My mother enjoyed a big party 

Hanging out with Jackie and Marty 

Costumes, poetry, oil paintings, so arty 

My mother would boat on Green Bay 

Mike and Jean, the whole gang for the day 

Fish Creek and Egg Harbor on the way 

My mother planned a Christmas Eve soiree 

All our cousins came over to play 

Uncle Karl’s fancy gifts made the day 

My mother saved our Irish Setter Mike 

Who fell through the ice on a hike 

She risked her own life for that tyke 

My mother and dad loved their Farm 

She decorated the cabin with charm 

A family escape, safe from harm 

My mother adored Lovey, her cat 

hite Angora and just a smidge fat 

Lovey’d jump on her lap for a chat 

My mother expired in Eighty-Six 

Of afflictions the docs couldn’t fix 

My plan: Meet for lunch near the Styx

OUR QUICK SWEET MICHIGAN TRIP

Dear George, 

Painful to all, our daughter-in-law K’s mom, Linda, passed away in New Orleans in late April, and the family arranged for a mid-June memorial service in East Lansing, next door to her home town. We had had to cancel an earlier planned trip to New Orleans because of our coming down with covid, so this was the first time in a while that we’ve seen our family and really gone anywhere. Our cleaning lady Jan and her husband take care of Iko when we go out of town, and we brought him over on Thursday evening, the night before our departure. Iko loves Jan, but he sensed that something was up when we carried in his bed and a large container of food. Iko promptly peed on the living room curtain, which I interpreted as him saying, “I’m not the sort of dog you want to stay here in your house.” Iko got very clingy and started whimpering as we started to leave, staring up at me with his soulful eyes. Jan grabbed him by the collar, and we made our way out the door. We felt guilty for the next three days. 

We had planned to leave Cincinnati between 9 and 10 on Friday morning, and, as is typical, we left at 1 p.m., heading north on I-75 on the 300-mile journey. We stopped at three Ohio rest areas so I could gather up tourist brochures to use in a scrapbook project, and I bought a marvelous liquor bottle sculpted as a volunteer fireman for only two dollars at a Goodwill. To enjoy more of the small town scenery, we left I-75 at Lima and continued on US-127 the rest of the way to Lansing. The two-lane highway was a more interesting route, though I did get lost and drove 20 miles out of our way. 

We got to East Lansing about 8 p.m. and went straight to our hotel, the Executive East Lansing, located across the street from the Michigan State campus and a block away from the memorial service location. Totally out of character for me, we picked the Executive not only because of its location but also because it was the most expensive lodging in the city. It turned out that we also paid an annoying sixty dollars to park our car in the hotel garage. The lobby of the Executive was quite elegant, and the hotel was technologically on the cutting edge. We had to use our digital room card to operate the elevator, open the door to our room, and turn on the lights. I depended on the kindness of strangers to operate the elevator, and it took several tries to turn on the lights in our room. 

We went out for a late supper, but the first three restaurants we tried were closed, and the only place we found was Murphy’s Brewery, a hangout for MSU college students. I doubt they’ve ever had patrons in the 80s age group. It was so noisy inside that we opted for an outdoors table and watched as the parade of twenty-something students showed their IDs to the bouncer at the door. We haven’t been in a collegiate bar scene for many decades and the energy level was remarkable. The girls and boys came in separate groups of three or four, the boys sporting mod haircuts shaved on the sides and the girls dressed in clothing designed to accentuate their torsos. After a while our son J and grandkids A and L joined us, and the children got our firsthand view of what their lives would be like in 5 or 6 years. The crowd was active and happy, and we were happy too. 

We slept in on Saturday morning, then had brunch at the Thieve’s Banquet, the memorial service site. After eating we drove up the street to the MSU art museum and enjoyed a display concerning “working at home.” Afterwards I went to get the car a couple of blocks away, arranging with Katja to pick her up at the drop-off point in front of the museum. When I returned, however, I didn’t see Katja anywhere. I waited about ten minutes in the car, then got out and walked around the area, hollering “Katja” at the top of my voice. No luck. After five or so minutes Katja did show up. She had been waiting on the bench at a nearby bus stop, finding it more comfortable than the benchless dropoff point. She didn’t see me drive by; I didn’t see her. 

J encouraged us to come promptly for the 4:00 memorial, and the large room was already jam-packed when we arrived. Linda had a big family and a lot of friends in the area, some 90 attendees in total. The mood was literally a “celebration of life,” lots of chatter, catching up, laughter. At 5:00 speeches began by family, friends, and professional legal colleagues. I think it’s amazing to learn so much about a person, and it’s clear that Linda was beloved and respected. Many funny and affectionate stories. J gave a speech about what a wonderful mother-in-law Linda had been, and he had to hold back tears multiple times. K, still more emotional, talked about the final weeks of her mom’s life and the courage and thoughtfulness with which she had dealt with it. The memorial was scheduled for four to six, but half the crowd was still there when we left at seven.

Sunday was Father’s Day. J, K, A and L, K’s sister Jayme, her nephew Con, and K’s dad Ted were staying at a gothic-themed airbnb in Lansing, and Katja and I drove over for a holiday brunch. J made pancakes, the kids wrote greeting cards for the three dads, and Jayme gave Ted and myself T-shirts with an image of a elegant vintage car and a legend that proclaimed, “I’m Not Old — I’m Classic.” We were sad to leave at 1:30 and get on the road. 

On our way home we took a detour through Ann Arbor, a mere fifty miles out of our way, so that Katja could buy a loaf of avocado bread at Zingelman’s Deli. They were out of avocado bread, but Katja bought pumpernickel instead and a basket full of other deli delights. I was disappointed that the Ann Arbor thrift shop was closed on Sunday, but that’s the breaks. We headed south on US-23 and then I-75, eating subs at Hungry Howie’s, and getting back to Cincinnati about 9 p.m. Iko was out of his mind to see us, and we were happy to see him too. Our trip had gone by quickly, but it was packed with good feelings. 

Love, 

Dave

NOLA TRIP PIX

 Dear George, 

We’re recently back from a weeklong family Thanksgiving trip to New Orleans. It was a special time to visit. Our family has recently moved from Mid-City to their new Uptown home. Our grandkids, A and L, are in their final year of junior high and will soon be taking a big test to get into the high school of their choice. K’s parents, Linda and Ted, have both recently returned to New Orleans, Ted staying in J and K’s basement apartment for the winter months and Linda in her nearby apartment complex. Here are some of the highlights of our visit.

On our first full day K took us to see the newly established Museum of the Southern Jewish Experience. It’s a very excellently done coverage of the adaptation of European Jewish immigrants to the rural South, often in situations where they were the only Jewish family in the community. Many tears and smiles and highly recommended if you visit NOLA.

 

On Thanksgiving Day J roasted a 20-pound turkey, filling it with butter under its skin, and other family members prepared sides for the holiday feast. Here are a few of the hard-working cooks (Katja, L, and A).

Before Thanksgiving dinner J took a group of us to the horse races at the fairgrounds where the local citizenry dress up in colorful and wacky costumes. My reckless associates lost all of their bets on the horses.

Here is our group at dinner: (from the left), A, Conrad (a family relative), Eddie (as family friend), our daughter-in-law K, K’s dad Ted, the back of my head, L, Linda (K’s mom), and J taking the photo. A happy and filled up bunch.

New Orleans, of course, is a great town for eating out. We had family dinners out at Dat Dog (with the fanciest hot dogs on the planet) and La Crepe Nanou, an elegant French Restaurant. We lunched at the Redfish Grill on Bourbon Street (raw oysters for Katja, a fried oyster po-boy for me), Freret Faire at Rouse’s Market, and Ted’s Frostop, a 1950’s style diner. Above is Katja enjoying her oysters at Redfish Grill, a happy trio at La Crepe Nanou, and Ted’s Frostop.

J took the kids and us to the Historic Orleans Collection which featured a digital tour of the Notre Dame Cathedral post-fire renovation, and then we visited M. S. Rau Fine Arts and Antiques on Royal Street (Picasso, Chagall, Matisse, etc., with price tags up to $2 million, including a million-dollar ornate chess set).

J also took us to see the top high school football player in the nation and University of Texas recruit, quarterback Arch Manning (Peyton’s and Eli’s nephew), in his last home game for local Newman High. Unfortunately Arch had an off day and his team got blown out by upstarts from Baton Rouge.

 

One of our favorite places is the New Orleans Art Museum. This time we saw an exhibition of Black studio photographers in New Orleans and works by surrealist painter Louise Bourgeois. 

Our week went by too quickly and we miss our sweet family. Hopefully we’ll be back in the spring. 

Love, 

Dave

"I Am A City Girl" (by Katja L.)

 

Dear George, 

This summer Katja and I have been attending an informal OLLI-initiated poetry group that meets on Thursday mornings. Last week one of our members suggested that we write a poem about “Where I am from.” People responded with enthusiasm. Katja’s and my poems could not be more different. Hers about growing up in center city Philadelphia; mine about growing up in the country outside Menominee. I’m posting Katja’s here, will follow with mine in a week or so. 

Love, 

Dave 

             I Am A City Girl 

                by Katja L.  

I am a city girl 

Born from a flurry of sounds and smells 

Father and mother — two people and a 

four year old singing their way through 

the Blue Ridge mountains in a boxy 

old Chevy 

from Roanoke to our forever home — Philadelphia: 

     “It’s a long, long trail a winding 

     Into the land of my dreams 

     where the nightingale is singing

     and the white moon gleams “ 

I am a city girl 

Raised in a noisy, colorful world 

of trolley cars that clickety clacked 

across the cobblestone streets; ten 

cents to get me across town to Spring Garden School 

Lining up outside in perfect lines 

Eager to hear the buzzer — signaling 

our race to “home room” and snacks 

Apples, Twinkies, peanut butter and grape jelly, no crusts 

Every Monday lunch: 

Boiled Hot Dogs 

Boiled Sauerkraut 

Steamed Baked Beans 

Milk 

Junior High — so far away 

Trolley car, subway, bus — twenty five cents 

Eighteen hundred students 

Pushing, jostling, cursing, angry 

fourteen years old 

Algebra, English, Phys Ed 

So many smells 

Don’t forget homework, papers, deadlines, 

food, money! 

Missed the bus 

Wait until 4:30 for the next one 

Home by 5:30 

Help Dad with the animals. 

Clean cages. 

Hold the Tabbies. 

Feed the pups. 

Mom upstairs — home from her job. 

Tired and grouchy. 

The smells from the animals wafting 

up through the air vents — mixing with the aroma of hamburgers 

and onions frying. 

My father’s veterinary practice on the 

first floor 

My mother’s domain on the second 

a combination that drove the two 

of them into perpetual angry retreats 

Center City Philadelphia 

     The border between the ghetto and the Gilded Age. 

    Saturdays were the best. Grandfather

came and took me to the movies. 

Betty Grable in technicolor or 

Randolph Scott in a double header. 

Lassie Come Home 

National Velvet 

Popcorn and chocolate covered mints. 

My mother’s beloved father 

kind and gentle. A tailor from the 

“old country” living in a new world 

that had no need of bespoke tailored 

suits and, thus, had little need of him. 

Germantown — a large niche in the 

fabric of Philadelphia. 

His business was on the first floor — in front. The 

smells of dry cleaning fluid and musty 

fabric mixed with the aromas of his 

kitchen where my grandmother made 

borscht and black pumpernickel throughout 

the week. 

     Some Saturdays we would sit 

together in the kitchen before an old 

wooden cased radio listening to the 

Metropolitan Opera, marveling at the 

drama taking place before 

us — in our very own kitchen. 

Upstairs — the parlor. 

Covered in dark, prickly, plush 

fabric 

on the walls, two large black, velvet 

pictures of oriental ladies wearing 

pink geisha girl costumes — beckoning 

the onlooker in knowing ways. 

I would caress their velour bodies and 

wonder at their softness. 

 I am a city girl. 

     Years of piano lessons — another 

subway ride to Little Italy and Miss Theresa’s house. 

     The smells of Braciola and Ragu 

permeating my embrace of Grieg 

and Tschaikowsky while Miss Theresa, 

totally blind since birth, reminded

me to sit up straight and try “pianissimo”. 

 I am a city girl 

     Walking through Rittenhouse Square —

     pushing brother and sister in a royal 

     wicker pram up to Mickey’s Garage 

     where I stand — gorging 

     on gas fumes that left us swooning. 

 I am a city girl 

     I come from holiday dinners and loud, noisy eaters — each trying 

to capture the last matzoh ball 

or lightest knish. Three months of study 

with Rabbi Jacobs over in a blink! I ask 

the four Seder questions and am showered 

with gilded chocolate coins. My reward 

is candy and loud murmurings of 

“congratulations”. 

     I am the result of Sunday dinners 

at City Line Horn & Hardarts. 

Chicken a la King, Mashed Potatoes, 

Creamed Spinach, and cherry jello topped 

with real whipped cream for dessert. 

     I am a survivor of the Philadelphia 

High School for Girls. A test to get in — a test 

to get out! Rules, discipline, competition. 

Miss Wilhemina — Geometry. Failed again. 

Told to try harder — or else. 

     On to Shakespeare, French, Physics, Phys Ed. 

An opening in the orchestra. 

Hallelujah! Out of the gym, into the symphony. 

A percussionist. Big noisy me! Father comes 

every Friday to the school’s back door and off we go with the 

Timpani, snare drum, tambourines, and 

castanets to our little home where I 

practice like crazy. Poor Mr. Finkelstein 

and Mrs. Alberti next door. 

     Terrified of being cast back into 

     Phys Ed, my percussion skills improve 

     and warrant a solo performance in the 

     Girls’ High “Olympic” band. 

     My roots are in the city — 

     I come from a flurry of smells and 

     sounds that form the moving screen 

     of my life. 

     I am a city girl.

GOOD TIMES IN WATER WONDERLAND

Me, L, Katja, and A at Farm

Dear George, 

Katja and I are just back from our weeklong trip to the U.P. and Northern Michigan. Our son J persuaded us to come up to our family farm in Menominee. He and his family were there, along with our nephew Jacob, his wife Kazandra, and their kids August and Delphine, all of whom had come from Brooklyn. We had a great time. It was a treat to see our grandkids, and we hadn’t seen Jacob and Kazandra’s family in over a decade. Their twelve-year-old daughter Delphine overheard me saying that my sister Vicki and I rarely talk on the telephone, so she called Vicki and said I was on the line, then told me that Vicki was on the line for me. Vicki and I had a nice talk, and it wasn’t till later that I learned that Delphine had arranged the whole thing to repair our fragile brother-sister connection. 

I’d had my 85th birthday just two weeks before, and J arranged for a family birthday celebration at Berg’s Landing, our favorite Menominee restaurant. My grandkids, A and L, gave me thoughtful and fun presents that they’d bought in New York City, and my grand-niece Delphine gave me an artistic birthday card that she’d drawn. I don’t think I’ve had a birthday party with a family group since high school, so it was a memorable occasion. 

As always, we had a good time in Menominee. This included visits to Henes Park, the marina and historic district, the House of Yesteryear and Main Street antique malls, the Rusty Wolfe art gallery, the Goodwill and St. Vincent de Paul stores, the Menominee County Museum, the Stephenson Library (with its bargain book sale), and meals out at the Watermark, Culvers, and Mickey-Lu Bar-B-Q. I found being at Farm very peaceful. I think it’s because I associate it so strongly with our parents and with wonderful family get-togethers over the years. Everybody was happy to be there.  My cousins Ann and John Buscher came to Farm for lunch, and Ann brought along her amazing family genealogy book.  Then Jacob interviewed me about our family history, an interesting and fun conversation. 

After four days in Menominee, we drove up to St. Ignace where we had whitefish at the Village Inn and stayed overnight at the Budget Host. Katja bought her supply of Murdick’s Fudge for friends, and then we crossed the Mackinac Bridge, driving down the Lake Michigan coast through Petoskey, Charlevoix, Traverse City, Manistee, Pentwater, Ludington, Grand Haven, and South Haven. These are such pristine towns, filled with boutiques and restaurants, and offering magnificent views of Lake Michigan. We stayed overnight in Ludington, did an eight-hour drive back to Cincinnati, and picked up our little dog Iko the following evening.  Now we're resting up and enjoying happy memories.  

Love, Dave 

AN IMAGINED CONVERSATION WITH ARNIE EPPO

 
Dear George, 

It seems like every ten years or so I run into Arnie Eppo, one of my high school friends who lives in lower Michigan. Arnie’s always curious about my goings on and asks me lots of questions. Here’s a sample of how our conversation goes. (This, of course, is recreated from memory and imagination, so some parts may reflect a real-life conversation more than others.) 

Love, 

Dave 

 Arnie (A): So you’ve been retired for quite a while now. 

D (Dave): It’s actually been thirteen and a half years. Whew! That’s gone by so quickly. I’m trying to figure out some way of slowing time down. 

 A: I know the feeling. How has it gone so far? 

D: At first I would usually say that I liked working better, mostly because I missed contact with colleagues. But now I find retirement much more relaxing and less stressful. No bosses, no demands, I enjoy lots of freedom and spend my time doing things that give me pleasure. 

 A: Do you miss teaching? 

D (laughs): Actually I never wish that I were back in a classroom. I always found teaching stressful, even though I think I did o.k. at it. Every now and then I walk past my old classroom and feel a momentary pang of nostalgia. But it’s very momentary.

 A: I know you’ve also been married over sixty years. That’s pretty amazing. 

D: It is amazing. Katja’s really the first girl I ever dated seriously. I knew from the minute I saw her that she was the person I wanted to marry. It was a rocky process though. I was such a shy, introverted kid. Katja’s parents were certain that we would get divorced, and her father told my father that on the night before our wedding. My dad told us in no uncertain terms that nobody in our family had ever been divorced (and that no one ever would). It made a big impression. It probably helps account for why we’ve made it through sixty-two years. 

 A: You and Katja must share a lot of similarities to have stayed together so long. 

 D: If anything, it’s probably that old truism that “opposites attract”. Katja’s from Philadelphia; I’m from Menominee. She went to a prestigious big-city college prep school; I went to a small-town public high school. Her parents were staunch Roosevelt Democrats; mine, Eisenhower Republicans. She grew up with classical music; my family listened to big bands and jazz. Katja is very free with money; I’m very stingy.  She's very outgoing; I'm very introverted.  We did, of course, both go to Antioch College, we agree on most political and social issues, and we were both attracted to academic careers. But basically we’re more different than we are similar. 

 A: It’s sort of strange that you wound up going to Antioch, such a hotbed left-wing politics. 

D: It is strange. My conservative parents picked out Antioch for me based on conversations with an Antioch alumnus who worked at Ansul Chemical Co. in Marinette. But I don’t think they had any idea of the college’s political orientation. The alumnus reassured my mother that that there was a strong Greek system at Antioch (totally untrue) with ballroom dances practically every weekend (equally untrue). Needless to say, my first year at Antioch involved a total culture shock. I think I was probably the only student from the U.P. to ever attend Antioch. 

 A: Are you glad you went there? 

D: Definitely yes. It was an eye-opening experience, and my fellow students were exceptional – intelligent, value-oriented, creative. In many ways the most exceptional people that I’ve met during my life. Antioch, without a doubt, changed my life in important ways and shaped all that was to come, including my marriage, my career, and even our long-time residence in Cincinnati (which I picked in part because of its proximity to Yellow Springs). 

 A: So you met Katja at Antioch? 

D: Yes, I first saw her across the lawn at a freshman mixer, and she was so pretty and gregarious that I decided on the spot that she was the girl I would like to marry. I was much too shy to say hello, but I watched her from a distance for the next year and a half. By chance, I was on my first coop job in Madison, while two of my freshman hallmates and Katja were working at mental hospitals in Milwaukee. I came down for a weekend with my friends, met Katja, and things just developed from there. 

 A: How did you win her over? 

D: I can’t imagine. It’s amazing. Katja was very popular, and she told me at one point that 18 of our college classmates had proposed to her during her freshmen year. Not all of these proposals were serious, but some of them were. On our first date I told her that I’d thought that she was the person I’d like to marry the first time I saw her. Katja got really angry and said that that was the worst line she’d ever heard. I, of course, was completely serious. 

 A: Then what happened? 

D: At the end of our three-months stays in Madison and Milwaukee, I invited Katja to come home to Menominee with me over quarter break, and she accepted. I think she didn’t want to go home to Philadelphia. In any case, she was very taken with my parents and their friends, and they with her. My mother told her that she was the first girl that I had ever brought home. Katja wondered what she’d gotten herself into. 

 A: How about your son J? 

D: He probably thinks we’re sort of a weird couple. Like his mom, J is more gregarious and has better social skills than I do. He likes to travel like Katja does. Temperamentally, he’s may be a little more like me. As a teenager J would sometimes say that he’s a sort of balance between the two of us and that it wasn’t easy for him to integrate these opposite influences. 

 A: So, unlike your parents, you wound up having just one child. 

D: Yes, I think that was mainly Katja’s preference, though I went along with it. J often wishes that he had siblings, although when we asked him as a kid, he wasn’t interested. There were some advantages to having a solo child. In contrast to my own family which was sharply divided into separate parent and child sub-groups, Katja, J, and I operated pretty much as a cohesive threesome, and I think J wound up a lot more mature as a result from all that adult interaction. When J went off to college, he went sort of wild in immersing himself in his peer culture, something he’d never done in the process of growing up in Cincinnati. 

 A: Now, of course, you’re grandparents. 

D: Yes, that’s the biggest life change for us in our older years. Our grandchildren, A and L, are very bright and interesting. They’ll turn fourteen in September, are a lot more mature than we ever were at that age, and are doing very well in school. I’m sorry that they’re so far away in New Orleans, and the pandemic has put a crimp in our traveling. I hope we’ll do more trips during the coming year.

FAST TIMES IN NOLA

Dear George, 

 It felt like ages since we’d been to New Orleans to visit our family (i.e., before the pandemic), so our recent trip was very special. Here are some photos that capture the highlights. 

Love, 

Dave

J and K recently bought a spacious new house in Uptown, close to Tulane University, Audubon Park, the kids’ school, and an excellent restaurant strip on Freret St. All our family members are overjoyed with their new home.

Katja and I enjoyed eating at Dat Dog on Freret St. which has the best frankfurters, bratwursts, and alligator sausages we’ve ever tasted. We went once, and then Katja treated the whole family there for a second visit.

We went to see the Queen Nefertari’s Egypt exhibit at the New Orleans Art Museum in City Park. A trip to ancient times. In front: L, A, J, Katja. In back: Ted, K’s dad.

Then we went next door and visited the Bischoff Sculpture Garden, our favorite outdoor place in New Orleans. The Sculpture Garden has recently doubled in size.

Getting beignets at Cafe du Monde in City Park is a lot easier than in the tourist-crowded French Quarter location.

We missed Iko a lot, but his little brother Lil Paws was just as much fun.

Here is our group enjoying dinner at the chic Israeli restaurant, Saba. I had Harissa roasted chicken, and Katja had lamb kofta. From the left: Katja, A, K, L, J.

On Sunday we picnicked at Audubon Park, famed for its live oaks. J and L practiced distance running, in preparation for the upcoming Crescent City race.

Monday J took us on a trip to Biloxi and to Ocean Springs, Mississippi, where we visited the wonderful Walter Anderson Museum and the Shearwater Pottery.

Dickie Brennan’s Bourbon House on Bourbon Street in the French Quarter is one of our favorite oyster places.

Katja and I went to the Historic Orleans Collection in the French Quarter where they were featuring a “Streetcar Named Desire” exhibition.

We lunched at Pesch in the Arts District, A stranger asked Katja if she could take her picture because she looked so pretty in her outfit.

We loved the paintings of Luis Cruz Azaceta at the Ogden Museum of Southern Art.

J and K took us to the concert by Louisiana Philharmonic cellists and dancers at the Marigny Opera House.  Eight cellists, no less.

On Thursday St. Andrews Episcopal School had Grandparents Day. These are the seventh graders, including A and L, performing a song with the bells. We were very impressed with the school and our grandkids’ accomplishments.

Katja and I enjoyed our annual oyster lunch at Desire in the Royal Sonesta on Bourbon Street.

On our last day we had a family brunch at the Ruby Slipper in the Marigny. That’s J, L, and Jayme, K’s sister who arrived from California. J’s artwork is on the rear wall at the right.

Our last big outing was to the Audubon Aquarium. A very attractive facility with many interesting fishies.

It looks like we needed a nap by the end of the trip.