unbidden waves of nostalgia

me and a naughty pony of my past - clearly a second place pony with that red ribbon

the past few days, i've had some waves of nostalgia washing over me. i'm not sure i can pinpoint what brought it on and i've been trying to figure that out. it might be because i'm listening to the vinyl café - the simple, but hilarious stories of dave and his family are somehow nostalgic, as many of them involve memories. if you're interested, you can find playlists of them on spotify. 

it's also listening to the new podcast that obama has with bruce springsteen (also on spotify, i swear this isn't a spotify ad). it made me think about when i was introduced to the music of the boss - on a debate tournament trip in a van to the now-long-shuttered university of south dakota - springfield - when our high school english teacher/debate coach talked of the nebraska album. i'm not even sure he played it in the car, except maybe a song came on the radio, but i think it was in the days when things were still on vinyl, so i don't think he could have played it in the car. when that teacher's name popped up, commenting on a post on facebook, i actually sent a friend request. i wanted to tell him that the podcast had made me think of him.

my cousin, normally flitting about the world for her job, is stuck at home in california and sharing old pictures prolifically in a family group on facebook. many of them i've never seen before. it's kind of strange that she has so many family photos since her family's house burned to the ground when i was 5, but i guess other family members have shared pictures with her, as she seems to have a never-ending trove. there's definitely nostalgia in that. and i don't recall having so many family photos around from that side of the family - i guess my dad was the youngest of 9, so there weren't so many left when it was his turn to get some.

i even think that my grocery delivery company has made me feel nostalgic. they're tempting me with the first asparagus of the season (it's from portugal). and that, of course, has me thinking of my dad, who was known for his asparagus. my patch is a bit overwhelmed by last season's weeds and i'm feeling a bit guilty about that. the weather is rubbish this weekend - it's been sleeting out there off and on all day - really more like slushing, if that was a thing - or i'd probably have been out there weeding and maybe digging up the roots and moving them because they're not doing that well where they are. and  i'm feeling like maybe my dad is frowning down on how i've let them go. asparagus was his pride and joy. 

do you think the pandemic is making us nostalgic? i was definitely feeling nostalgic in the past week for the beautiful holiday we had in barcelona one year ago, just before the pandemic was declared. maybe that's it. i'm so glad we had that trip, but i ache to travel again. and to see friends. and to invite them over for dinner and play board games. and to not feel like i have to hesitate. and me, a non-hugger, might even miss hugging people. no wonder i'm nostalgic. we've lost so much. or maybe we haven't lost it, but we've definitely put it on hold.

the end of the innocence

i had a discussion with my sister some weeks ago about don henley's 1989 classic the end of the innocence. go watch it, i'll wait here...

Remember when the days were long
And rolled beneath a deep blue sky
Didn't have a care in the world
With mommy and daddy standing by

When "happily ever after" fails
And we've been poisoned by these fairy tales
The lawyers dwell on small details
Since daddy had to fly

But i know a place where we can go
That's still untouched by man
We'll sit and watch the clouds roll by
And the tall grass wave in the wind

You can lay your head back on the ground
And let your hair fall all around me
Offer up your best defense
But this is the end
This is the end of the innocence

O' beautiful, for spacious skies
But now those skies are threatening
They're beating plowshares into swords
For this tired old man that we elected king

Armchair warriors often fail
And we've been poisoned by these fairy tales
The lawyers clean up all details
Since daddy had to lie

But i know a place where we can go
And wash away this sin
We'll sit and watch the clouds roll by
And the tall grass wave in the wind
Just lay your head back on the ground
And let your hair spill all around me
Offer up your best defense
But this is the end
This is the end of the innocence

Who knows how long this will last
Now we've come so far, so fast
But, somewhere back there in the dust
That same small town in each of us

I need to remember this
So baby give me just one kiss
And let me take a long last look
Before we say good-bye

Just lay your head back on the ground
And let your hair fall all around me
Offer up your best defense
But this is the end
This is the end of the innocence

what was interesting is how different our memories of the song were. she finds it very political, whereas the only politics i can find is the stanza about the tired old man that we elected king (has anyone ever described reagan more aptly?). for me, that summer was the one where i had a very painful broken engagement. i was devastated and lost 17 pounds in a week, mostly in tears shed. that felt like the end of my own innocence and a real transition into adulthood. it caused my life to change course...shifting from plans to attend u.c. irvine to iowa city and the university of iowa. looking back, i think it made me less trusting of potential boyfriends for years afterwards, really ending my own romantic innocence...poisoning my own fairy tale. in other words, i found the song very much about my own situation, even though reading the lyrics now, i can clearly see that it was about one's parents splitting up. my own happily ever after had failed (thank odin now, looking back), so i sang along at the top of my lungs as i drove my little gold pontiac fiero and felt like the song was written specifically for me. especially after i met a handsome summer fling who gave me back some confidence and made those lines about the tall grass in the wind and the small town in each of us ring true. it was really more or less the anthem of the summer of 1989 for me.

for my sister, her departure for college was on the horizon and she felt the pressure of that. i think we both thought that our parents wouldn't be able to survive the empty nest, having such separate interests. so the words about daddy having to fly spoke to my sister and she felt a heavy weight of responsibility for keeping them together. and watching the video, with its odd 50s feel (aside from the shots of tattered reagan posters and ollie north), it does seem much more political that it ever seemed to me at the time. and though i was home that summer, i definitely didn't feel the same pressure my sister did to be the glue holding our parents together. in the end, their marriage held, though some part of me still wonders why when they shared so little. i suppose staying together was just what you did in their generation (speaking of the 50s).

in these times, where our entire existence is smeared in the nasty politics of our post-truth era, it does seem that our innocence has ended once and for all.

* * *

today's lack of truth has its roots in postmodernism.

i heard about this piece here on T.O.E.
and i'll admit to feeling a little guilty for all that derrida, foucault and baudrilliard i read in college.

* * *

the problem is way deeper than trump. 

long live live theatre!

we saw an updated musical version of the three musketeers last evening at the utzon (he of sydney opera house fame)-designed music house in esbjerg. and the music was...wait for it...80s glam rock with a bit of madonna, cyndy lauper and eurythmics thrown in. and as weird and possibly awful as that sounds, it really wasn't. it was awesome. a cleverly-done update that made the three musketeers story relevant for today and totally struck the right notes of nostalgia for those of us who grew up in the 80s. to take a story that everyone knows so well and has seen a million times and to couple it with music that we've all sung along to a million times transformed both into something new and fresh. it was a bit of what the russian formalists called "making strange," and it just worked. it helped that the acting was great, the music was great and the lighting was very cool. and the way they played with mixing english and danish was brilliant as well. in this day and age with all of the amateur talent competitions in prime time and "reality" television featuring people of limited talent, it was refreshing to see performers who were just genuinely good at what they do. and theatre just lends an immediacy and an intimacy that watching netflix on the iPad just utterly lacks. long live the theatre!

100 happy days :: day 6

last night i woke up soon after falling asleep, my throat covered in those strange dry spots that feel like you've swallowed a bunch of tiny little towels and which signal the onset of a cold. a dull headache soon followed. just breathing in made the dry spots worse, so i got up and made some licorice tea. i've learned to love licorice for its soothing quality. and licorice tea is naturally sweet and doesn't even need any honey, tho' i added a spoonful for its soothing quality as well. i figured doubling up on soothing was best. i tried to go back to sleep, but husband was snoring and it proved impossible for far too long. i must have eventually fallen asleep, but when i awoke this morning, the headache was still there and so was the sore throat. all of this is making today's happinesses seem a bit hard to come by. but, even with a headache, that is usually remedied by taking a good look around me through the lens of my camera.

right now, the little bitty dining room we fixed up last autumn makes me happy. there are a few baggy bubbles in the wallpaper (we just painted, we didn't redo it) and the carpet is utter shit (but odin only knows what's under it), but still, it is a happy and comfortable space. i love our green secondhand chairs and that oh-so-80s table, which used to reside in the city hall and which we got for a song. i love the blue felt table runner and the thrifted candle holders. and the little bowl (also thrifted) filled with scraps from a quilting project that make a perfect nest and some glass easter eggs that i've had for 26 years. and a few springy bulbs in the bowl i bought years ago in nogales. photo memories in colorful frames line one wall and art and maps the others. we eat dinner here. we entertain here. we play cards and board games here. this room can be quiet and contemplative or filled with laughter and love. it is a happy room.

and then there is this cat. frieda. she expects a rather high level of service, but she's also a clown and a sweetheart and she makes me happy.

* * *

maggie may's post on finding meaning in life was wonderful.

contrasts

on the same day, i picked up a vintage typewriter that we bought on an auction because it reminded me of one dad had at the enterprise during my childhood and i also got a new 21.5" iMac to replace my severely aging 24" iMac from 2008. talk about a contrast in technologies. i can't believe how thin and sleek the iMac is! and fast. and quiet. it is good to upgrade, but it's also nice to do a little old school typing. i think it's a little bit of a shame that today's computers aren't going to be able to be acquired in the future as working machines that can be used in the same way as a good old fashioned typewriter.

sorrow hangs in the air

faded colors.
a bit tired.
once festive.
leaky roof.
past its prime.

laughter fills the air.

good fun among friends.

everyone knows everyone.

everyone knows me.

tho' i don't necessarily remember them.

such are the ways of the small town.

sorrow in the air.

or maybe it's just hanging over me.

perhaps these are the right surroundings.

a bit nostalgic.

faded.

with a bit of color left.

and light pouring in.

and a few stains on the ceiling.

bruised.

battered.

but still there.

despite it all.

still finding a way.

to laugh.

to remember forgotten lines.

to stumble through.

and keep smiling.

even as sorrow hangs in the air.

ruffling the fringe of the crepe paper.

carried by light.

floating in the breeze.

hanging there.

waiting.

for tears to come.

the teachers you remember - a post without pictures

we all have teachers we remember...sometimes for good reasons and sometimes for not so good ones.

~ mrs. polly, who made us try sardines on saltines in kindergarten and who made sheila madsen disappear after she cried at school, leaving one thinking one had better not cry at school or one might disappear oneself. tom pranger also cried and both he and his brother tim, who did not cry, disappeared as well. crying was not a good thing to do in kindergarten.

~ mrs. bushman, who divided us all into blue birds, red birds and yellow birds according to our ability to read "saw" as "saw" and not "was" and to not leave a puddle of pee beneath our desks on a regular basis. come to think of it, you could still be a blue bird and pee your pants regularly, as jody hoekman proved again and again, so it must just have had to do with reading ability.

~ mrs. luze, who was the subject of a horrible joke by my father, who stamped one of my worksheets with a "horseshit" smiley stamp and asked her if that wasn't a little harsh. she stared at him in wide-eyed horror, her jackie o bouffant perfectly coiffed (it was the 70s, but the 60s lingered on in south dakota, we were a little behind, after all).

~ miss maryann. my favorite grade school teacher. she who taught us about chicken soup with rice and allowed us to choose spelling words like uruguay and triskaidekaphobia. she was in a horrible car accident and ended up in a body cast in pierre. i think i had nightmares about that for years afterwards. i think her husband owned the seattle mariners for awhile at one point. or was it the super sonics?

~ mrs. petersen. she put up with horrendous plays we made up ourselves, based on various combinations of nancy drew and the hardy boys. they were interminable and she allowed them, but she punished us by making us sit together in desk groupings with boys.

~ mr. teller. he lived in the apartment across from my grandmother and always had the yuckiest warm coffee breath which he breathed on you in a moist, uncomfortable way if you asked him a question. not that long ago, dad mentioned that he was a vietnam vet with issues. that i did not realize at the time...the vet part at least (tho' of course, for years, i thought veteran's day was veterinarian's day, so there was that aspect), i do, however, think i picked up on the issues.

~ mrs. blunck. she had been a teacher for too long and hated children. i remember when i wore my first pair of high heels to the 6th grade...they had awesome wooden, chunky heels and were brown leather with colorful leather stitches. she told me to wait to grow up. which, in retrospect, might have been wiser than i thought it was at the time. but i still maintain she hated children. and i think she might actually have been a man. a very short, stout, child-hating man.

~ mrs. walker. the superintendent's wife, with her severe haircut, gabardine pantsuits and cowboy boots. on the day ronald reagan was shot, they announced it over the school's pa system. i, perhaps a bit too cheerily, and with more than a tinge of hope in my voice, asked, "is he dead?" and she made the entire class stay after school because of my disrespect for the president (that made me very popular, i tell you). i was already a liberal in the 7th grade. i will say tho', that she taught me how to draw using perspective and for that, i am grateful, tho' i've never been that fond of polyester since then.

~ mrs. tappe. she always seemed classy and a little bit above the fray and like she didn't really need the job but did it just for fun. she taught us girls how to take shorthand and do other officey-things, like filing, that girls should learn in those days. i liked her and i liked shorthand too.

~ mrs. leistra. gabardine and cowboy boots - she and mrs. walker clearly shopped the same fashion crime scene, but she had an even more severe haircut. i learned to type from her on an ibm selectric. i'm still using that skill at this very moment (tho' i have thankfully graduated to an apple product) and no, i don't need to look at my keyboard. tho' maybe i'd have learned it anyway as i'm pretty much bred to be good at typing.

~  mr. hirt. they gave him history because it didn't matter that much (maybe they knew we'd eventually be able to google any historical knowledge we needed to know). he was actually the football and wrestling coach. he could be easily led astray during a boring recounting of the civil war and made to tell stories of the brave wrestlers of the university of iowa, which always seemed a little bit like being in a john irving novel, so i liked it. i believe i eventually went to the university of iowa because of him, but oddly, i don't think he went there himself.

~ mr. schaefer. i'll never forget the day he droned on and on about filling out tax forms while dressed as gilligan (tho' i have a more hazy recollection of why he did that). he looked strikingly like gilligan even in his regular attire and it was very difficult not to laugh during the entire hour. i think there was more to him than we realized at the time. he coached girls basketball.

~ mr. harvison. bitter man who, despite the triple major to which he loved to refer, never really seemed to amount to all that much himself. he was, naturally, appointed guidance counselor, as we weren't really supposed to amount to all that much either, being from a small town as we were. we shouldn't have too many aspirations. after all, we could never live up to mr. harvison's own triple major. i was never clear what it was in, but when he taught psychology, he liked to use, by name, various people in town and former students as examples of the various psychoses (there's likely a whole other blog post in recounting those). i spent my time in his physics class reading dostoevsky. i think it's probably why i eventually got a fulbright. funnily, enough, i don't think mr. harvison ever got one of those.

~ mr. markhart. the math teacher. he had a ruler and he wasn't afraid to wack it against a desk. i think i was actually better at geometry than i was supposed to be as a girl, but managed to pull myself back to the level where i belonged where algebra was concerned. mr. markhart wanted us to think he was strict, but actually, he liked kids and got more of a kick out of us than he let on. and we really did learn stuff from him, and not only how much force it took to break a wooden ruler, but actual math and things.

what teachers do you remember?

icons of soviet design

whatever else you say about the soviet union, they did come up with some design classics. these coin-operated fizzy water machines were still in use and to be found on the streets and in train stations when i studied in russia in 1994. the glasses, which you can see below, were always a bit suspect and the water had a strange smell and taste, but it was still a classic and you had to try it at least once. once you had survived it the first time, you felt pretty invincible and oddly unafraid to try it again.

these glasses were ubiquitous in homes and restaurants and on trains throughout russia. you were likely to be served hot tea in one, but they also held cold drinks and, of course, vodka. it has a good heaviness to it and i imagine they wear like iron. they were produced by the millions from 1943 onward.

and its design pedigree isn't too shabby either - sculptor vera mukhina (she did that monument to the new soviet man - the worker and the peasant girl) designed it and it's said her design was influenced by kazimir malevich (he of the black square painting fame). i wish i'd slipped a few into my bag, but alas, i don't have any of them. they're still manufactured to this day and ikea has even copied it!

when i studied in kazan in 1994, the tramvai still looked like this, tho' i never saw one so empty as the one in this photo. they were always stuffed with people. i remember once we were so stuffed in that my feet lifted off the ground and i was just held up by the bodies around me. that was a weird feeling.

this is such a clever little tool. a little coil, perfect for warming up a mug of water for a single cup of tea or coffee. i wish i had one right now. much more economical than warming up an entire kettle.

ahh, the original lomo cameras - leningrad optics and mechanics amalgamation. when i studied in kazan in 1994, there was a store my friends and i referred to as "watch world" - they had watches and cameras. i wasn't into cameras at that time and thought these were just plastic junk, but oh, how i wish i had one (or five) now.

now they're all trendy, and back in production, thanks to the lomographic society. but alas, they're no longer cheap as chips.

the bear chocolate. i don't recall it as anything special, and if i'm honest, i think it tasted kinda gross, but even when i was in russia for the first time in 1994, it was ubiquitous. and the little wrapper with its portrait of a mama bear and her three cubs is a design classic.

speaking of watch world - here are models of raketa watches. i did buy quite a few of them when i was there. they were wonderful little mechanical workhorses, the kind you wind and there was quite a selection of leather bands, and they cost nothing. i still have at least one of them and tho' i seldom wear a watch these days (i use my phone instead), after reading this little book, i may have to dig it out and use it for old times' sake.

since i was out in the backwater of kazan, i don't know whether my raketa watches were produced by actual people or on the assembly line (they began fully automated production in 1980) (who knows how old the stock was in watch world), but they are definitely classic designs.

i learned all of this and took a little walk down memory lane reading made in russia: unsung icons of soviet design. i guess i've got russia on the brain, what with the upcoming winter olympics in sochi.

taking down the tree

i don't really know why i put off taking down the christmas tree. it was easier to do so this year, because it was set up out in the brewery and so it was a bit out of sight, out of mind. but today, as the sun shone through the windows, i got out the boxes and began the task of dismantling. i was thinking that it should feel like a sorrowful activity somehow, a reminder that all of the festivities are over. but i couldn't really make myself feel badly about it. i think i had the same enjoyment removing each ornament and packing it gently away in the boxes as i had getting them out.

i was thinking that i should have made sabin help me, but she was a friend's house, and really, i found that i enjoyed that it was a solitary activity. it gave me a little moment with each of the ornaments and i found myself remembering back to where and when they were acquired and pondering how many years some of them have been on my tree. it was fun thinking of those trees of christmases past. i had some quiet, happy moments of reverie tucking away my little fish and the precious bouquet of flowers that started me on my way down the purple ornament road, clear back in 1990. if sabin had been here, i wouldn't have been able to have my own internal monologue in the same way and it was what i needed today. it left me feeling happy and satisfied.

now all of the bright baubles and strings of lights and even my purple tinsel (i lose some of it every year, but try to pick most of it off and tuck it into a zippy bag to be used again next year) are tucked away neatly in their boxes, waiting to come out again next year.

the only moment of sadness was for the trees themselves, the sacrifice they made to brighten up our dark december days. since we cut them down ourselves, they are actually still green and fresh and hardly even beginning to drop their needles. but they served nobly and we enjoyed them, so it wasn't all for naught. we'll use them once again in the wood burning stove when they've dried out sufficiently, so they will serve another purpose and be useful and enjoyed one more time.

and already today, where the welcome sun shined most of the day, we could begin to see the return of the light, it's still light enough to be outdoors doing chores at nearly 5 and just a week or so ago, you'd better be out there by 4. so it was time for the tree to come down and the ornaments to be packed away until we need their shining warmth again next year.

* * *

52 places to go in 2014.

the soundtrack of our lives

i recently went to hear a storyteller. he had fully embraced the hippie lifestyle back in the 60s and it seems that he even managed to remember a lot of it. as he began, he read some introductory remarks from prepared notes. he was a bit stiff in his presentation and i was a bit worried about how the evening would go. but then, he took off his reading glasses, abandoned his notes and began to really tell his story. he was transformed into a different person - warm, lively, authentic and real.

he had brought a record player along and real LPs and he used music throughout to tell his story, which began clear back when he was in the fourth grade. a substitute teacher introduced the kids to the kind of jazz that was performed by a Danish jazz musician called Papa Bue and it was a revelation for him. in my ears, it sounded much more like 20s and 30s dixieland music, not 60s, but my musical upbringing came later and in a different cultural context.

what i loved was the way he used music to underline his story and to trigger his memories. and even tho' much of the music was before my time, it still brought forth my own memories of music. for him, the radio station you had to tune into was radio luxembourg. he sat with his ear glued to it and even recorded favorite songs from the radio, being frustrated when they interrupted a song before it was over. it made me recall tuning in late at night to AM station KOMA in oklahoma, where they played the beegee's tragedy every evening around 10 p.m. during one long summer in the early 80s. we couldn't get KOMA during the day, only at night, but even that was pretty amazing, considering there were two whole states in between us and them.

it got me reminiscing about my own musical memories. one of the earliest is of sonny and cher. i can remember listening to cher's gypsies, tramps and thieves on our very advanced 8-track player. i recall the feel of the buttons and the click as it moved between tracks and the scratchy blue carpet that was on the floor in front of the stereo. cher's hair and costumes were just spectacular, and i could picture them as i listened to the stories she told with her songs.

there were a lot of country music stations in the area where i grew up, and i remember singing along to the oak ridge boys and alabama and swingin' by john andersen. some of the first non-country music i had, on LP, was barry manilow. "oh mandy, well you came and you gave without taking..." along with the soundtrack to grease, i practically wore those records out. it was difficult to be a rebel when you were listening to barry manilow, so it may give you an idea of what a tame sort of child i was.

after that came the gogos and the cars and steve miller band's abracadabra. there were other storytellers, like john cougar mellencamp, tho' i don't think i ever owned any of his albums. (why oh why don't songs tell stories anymore?) and then there was madonna. and cyndy lauper. i couldn't choose between them, i loved them both, they spoke to my very soul. and prince, i remember thinking his song kiss was a message to all of us ordinary people, that we had a chance (you don't have to watch dynasty, to have an attitude...). there are so many memories attached to all of that music. much of it involving long drives in the car. i can still picture a stretch of road between madison and brookings where i heard dire straits' money for nothing on my way back to college one sunday night.

some music i came to late. i was only able to ascribe meaning to the eagles' hotel california after i lived in california for a couple of years and experienced for myself the soullessness of orange county in the late 80s. then that whole, "you can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave" line made so much more sense to me.

we all have an individual soundtrack to our lives. some of it shared. most of it deeply private. some of it indelibly linked to memories, some of it just washed over us, leaving no trace. it was nice to be reminded of that by hearing someone else's story. we need more storytelling in our lives, good old-fashioned spoken word.

taking the time it takes

my grandmother made dozens of sequined ornaments way back when. i don't recall helping her make them, but i remember fondly getting them out each christmas and hanging them on the tree. i think i have only one of them today - a little golden boot.  but when i spotted some little kits featuring sequins, pins and styrofoam forms today at the grocery store, i had to try my hand at it. i can tell you that grandma was very patient. but sometimes it does a person good to slow down and just take the time it takes to make something.

community building takes passion and hard work

i think a lot about community-building these days - both in a work and a volunteer context. this summer, when we were visiting the little town where i grew up, we had a chance to visit the local museum that volunteers are setting up there.

it's housed in a building at the north end of main street. i can't really remember what used to be in there - perhaps it was a garage that belonged to a car dealership? (it's been awhile and my memory is increasingly like a sieve). but that doesn't really matter.

what matters is that the community has come together to create a little museum, showing mostly what the town used to be like (as museums are wont to do). there are beds from the local hospital, mailboxes from the old post office, uniforms from hometown boys (and girls?) who have served in the military over the years, tools, machinery...

there are areas which replicate the local drug store, a local grocery store - which was still open when i was a kid, a home, the local newspaper (which i know a little something about) and they had just begun putting together an exhibit featuring the local jail.

there are all kinds of things which make you feel nostalgic, from bicycles to a horse-drawn carriage, to machinery, tools and even a lovely doll collection that a local family has curated and shared.

local artists have done murals depicting rural life across the decades. the town itself became a town in 1900 when the railroad came. a number of buildings were moved to the end of the railroad line from little towns in the area and platte was incorporated.

i can remember from my childhood that this linotype was still in use. i can picture my mom sitting at it, typing away. not too long after, they updated to some compugraphic machines that she had at the house in a back room. there were two of them (they're not at the museum) - one where she typed everything in, creating a long, yellow punch tape, which was then fed into the other machine, which created the set newspaper columns, which were then waxed and stuck to the page to be burned as plates and then printed into newspapers.

but the old-fashioned way, with type cases and heavy boxes of letters, was still the way it was done within my own lifetime and even my memory.

i do wish i'd learned now to run this press, because people are making beautiful things these days with such machinery (not that i'd be able to check it on a plane and get it to denmark very easily). i can actually still hear the sound this press made, just looking at it, and smell the smell of the ink. all kinds of posters, letterhead, cards, etc. were printed on it when i was a kid. it still works and could be used. if i lived back there, i'd learn how to do use it and do demos at the museum.

here's dad standing next to some of the machinery at the museum. i have a clear picture of him in my head from my childhood, standing up inside the press, fiddling with something or other, covered in ink. it must have been pretty frustrating for him when things weren't working, because he's not really much of a mechanic, but oddly i don't remember much swearing.

that big heavy, marble-topped wooden block table in the middle, i clearly remember standing at, stuffing inserts into the paper, the smell of ink in the air.  i rode countless times in the stationwagon as a kid when my mom drove every wednesday to nebraska to have the paper printed in o'neill before a cooperative printing plant was built closer to home. all those miles on winding roads with bags of freshly-printed newspapers in the back, bring back memories of being carsick and even today, if i take a deep breath of newsprint and ink, i still feel a bit carsick.

another display is of the local pharmacy - eastman drug. it was open when i was a child and the owner was the one who never let me live down calling myself snow white at the random bible school that time. i always dreaded seeing him because he could never forget that.  best about eastman's was that it had an old-fashioned soda fountain, with stools and ice cream and malt machines. that was awesome. there should be more of those around.

for me, eastman's was far more the soda fountain and far less about medicines, tho' looking at the bottles and boxes on the shelves in the museum is fun to see how far we've come. i wish packaging was still romantic and simple like it was, instead of how it is today with so much waste.

i also clearly remember little graff's grocery, run by mr. and mrs. graff. my grandmother liked shopping there best, because it was sweet, small and personal. grocery stores today don't feel very personal and you feel like you have to rush in and out as fast as you can, with your cart loaded to the gills. there was no room for carts in the aisles of graff's.

everything i love from antique stores was reflected in the model home - with an icebox and a big retro stove, wooden ironing board, hurricane lamp, nostalgic dishes. tho' i feel nostalgic when i see these things, i am grateful we have the kind of washing machines we have today.

so as i work on building communities around a new school and a new culture house, i think a lot about what it is that makes communities function. and every time it comes back to the people who are involved. danish has a great word for them - ildsjæl (fire souls) - people who are passionate, driven and care to get things up and running and keep them going. they're hard working, but they are driven by a sense of really caring. every community project needs a number of those.

when istanbul was constantinople

i just read about orhan pamuk's newly-opened museum of innocence in istanbul. it's a brilliant concept, actually - because the museum is an extension of his novel of the same name. a novel and a museum as two representations of the same story - quite clever, really. and it makes me long to go to istanbul. i haven't read that novel (am ordering it immediately from the library), but from what i can gather, it is permeated with nostalgia for an instanbul that is no more. there's something about balkan writers - they walk a fine line between kitsch and nostalgia and usually, they walk it well. go and read the piece about the museum. then i'll meet you there!

slipping through my fingers

what is it about mama mia! that just makes you want to cry...i recall the first time i saw it, on a KLM flight to manila. i was happily the only one awake to see me blubbering like a baby. i can't find a proper version of the video on youtube, but here's the best i could find....and tho' sabin is only 9, it still brings tears to my eyes...



and while i'm not sentimental and generally despise sentimentality, how do you hold onto the goodness of right now, treasure it and memorize it and not let it slip through your fingers? if you know how, do tell me...

travel and driving and thinking and antiquing

we drove for eight hours today along stretches of not-very-busy interstate highways. and tho' we had three kids in the backseat, they were pretty content with iPhones, a DVD player and a nintendo DS or two, so it wasn't a bad trip, aside from the begging to stop at all of the snack villages (courtesy of my youngest nephew, our family name for those well-stocked truckstops). but there were quiet moments and they enabled a lot of thinking and some crocheting (when it wasn't my turn to drive).

i can feel on this trip that i was in need of the change of scenery that travel brings - new impulses, new impressions, new thoughts. it just realigns you in a way that staying at home can't do (even if you've just moved, apparently). all of the new input brings fresh inspiration and new configurations in the way you think about things.

there's something about being on the prairie that makes me feel nostalgic. it's partially going back home (which will be covered in another post), it's partially telling stories to sabin, and partially the purposeful nostalgia that is wandering around antique shops, plus a little bit of laura ingalls wilder. it's the winds blowing summer grass and seeing as far as your eyes will allow and the golden light of a prairie sunset.

so during those moments in the car when i had time to think, i found myself mulling over the textiles i had seen in the antique shop, the care that had gone into the stitches and the care that had gone into displaying them - they were washed and bright and charmingly displayed. little bits and pieces of lives gone before, lives lived on these prairies - handmade lives. pieces of a time both gone by and one which we find ourselves yearning for to the point where we scribble notes about them in the notes app on our iPhones. so i was thinking of how to marry that nostalgia with the present. how to live with a foot in both worlds. and whether it's even possible....

a stroll down memory lane: scenes from business class

the view from the business class bathrooms on SAS

i'm feeling nostalgic after having meetings with loads of vendors and old friends from my previous professional life. you know, back three years ago when my suitcase was never unpacked and i didn't know what time zone i was in or which continent i was on without checking my blackberry.  tho' it feels good to be back in the hugo boss suit these days, now i'm all iPhone and ecological and stuff. but those days of jetting around in business class were well, da bizness. i asked a friend yesterday if we properly enjoyed them and he said, "yes, we definitely did."

a few moments for your enjoyment:

~ my first time in business class was on a upgrade that a kind gate agent in atlanta bestowed upon me and a colleague after i got sent back to the check-in by security so i could check in the small kitchen blow torch i'd bought at williams sonoma. he got such a kick out of us, he upgraded us as a surprise and we didn't know it 'til we got to the gate. i still have the souvenir glass i took from that flight. and would you believe the airline was actually air france?

~ my first actual trip where i was booked in business class and there intentionally was together with a colleague who had spent most of his childhood in business class and related how world-shattering it was for him when he realized that all those people downstairs on the plane got to the destination at the same time. sigh.

~  the time we got upgraded from business to first class on thai, but only on the short flight from bangkok to phuket. first class on thai airways is so heavenly - with the softest, cushiest purple leather seats you've ever seen and room for dinner guests and their pony - we said we were staging an environmental protest when it was time to leave the plane. the protest was that we refused to leave that environment. when we encountered the customs officials, it turned out that we should definitely have stayed on the plane. corrupt bastards.

~ the time on south african airlines where i sat next to a hilarious guy from finland (seriously, finnish humor is totally underrated) who insisted we try ALL of the wines (south african, of course) and then do away with most of a bottle of amarula, all while regaling me with stories of his travels that kept me laughing the whole way and not even minding the lack of sleep. strangely, i don't even think i learned the guy's name.

~ one time in chennai when a lufthansa flight was delayed by several hours - really a drag because they tend to be scheduled for 1 a.m. anyway. we were finally let on the plane and seated and served our champagne, only to have the whole plane flash and go dark. a few worrying minutes later, the captain came on and said the plane had blown a fuse and they were looking for it. a little disconcerting in light of how old and un-modernized the biz class seats were on the 747. we said to the stewardesses flight attendants that we didn't really mind that much at that point, as long as they kept the G&Ts coming. it got even more interesting once we arrived in frankfurt, hours late, missing our gate and found that someone had forgotten to order stairs, so we waited on the tarmac another 45 minutes before some were brought out to us. so much for german efficiency. and in the end, we flew back to copenhagen on the same flight with skeptical environmentalist bjørn lomborg, who was wearing his signature tight black t-shirt and trying to act like he wasn't pleased to see the recognition in people's eyes. (i have actually written about this before, but it was a memorable flight.)

~ hurrying through the airport in tokyo to make our SAS flight and we overtake some really elderly SAS stewardesses flight attendants hobbling along making their way to the gate. my colleague says, "i'm sure those geriatric specimens will be the flight attendants on our flight and they'll ignore us the whole way." sure enough, they were, tho' they did keep the wine coming, which was all that really mattered. SAS stands for Sexy After Sixty, i tell you, so it's not too late yet for my dream of becoming a stewardess, unless, of course, they go bust, which just might happen.

~ with the same colleague, we used to choose the same movie our individual screens, then count down and start it simultaneously, since it would be annoying to watch the same movie but be at different points in the film.

ahh, those really were the days and sometimes i do miss them. i blame the hugo boss suit for bringing it all back and making me feel a bit nostalgic.

tripping down memory lane

i'm clearing a whole lot of boxes out of the attic. i had saved loads of sabin's baby clothes up there, for some unknown reason. perhaps for a sibling that never materialized. perhaps because they seemed so precious i couldn't bear to part with them. perhaps saving them for a rainy day. maybe because in my last life, i was in the siege of leningrad. maybe i'm part squirrel? or maybe just because i'm an incurable packrat.  but in any case, i've gotten them down and i'm going through them. i've decided it's time to wash them all up and save the ones i want to use to make her a quilt of her baby and toddler life and to donate the rest.

and i'm finding it strangely difficult. all those sweet little bitty clothes that i remember her wearing. it brings tears to my eyes to see them again and think of all the times i dressed her in them and washed them and folded them. remembering occasions when she wore them. me, feeling sentimental, imagine that? i hate sentimental, but i can't help it. just looking at these little shoes makes me tear up like a big baby. and i'm honestly not sure i can part with them. what is it about them? some lucky little girl out there could probably really use them, the toes are scuffed a little bit, but it's nearly in a charming way and there's really a lot of use left in them. they should be of use to someone, not tucked away in a box in our attic. i wish i could think of a way to incorporate them into a quilt that's a topography of her life thus far, but one doesn't spring readily to mind. why oh why is it so hard to face giving them away?

it's a bit strange, because i love the big girl sabin is becoming and in many ways don't miss her babyhood. i love how much she does for herself and how much fun she is now - she was also fun then, but in a different, more needy way. but tiny little clothes and shoes are just so sweet. now her big old long toes poke holes out the ends of her tights, back then, they were just so sweet and little. maybe that's it, i just have a thing for miniature things. maybe i'll just keep the red shoes and donate the rest (including the most precious pair ever of silver and pink nike shox). i've even got the original box for those. hmm, why is it so hard to let go of things?