Thoughts on Liege

Rather than viewing Liege through the rose-colored lenses of being an 18-year old exchange student, today I viewed them through a 55-year old world traveling adult. 

I was disappointed and a bit sad.

Part of my feelings are the disappointments I am feeling about my host families. Five years and a half years ago I visited them and stayed with them. The trip was hurried. I promised I'd come back. The pandemic slowed things down. But, I am back.

Despite sending Facebook messages and mailing notes, I have not been able to connect with two of the families. The third one we are meeting up for lunch. I was hoping over a two week span I could also connect with their children, but everyone is busy.

I'm grateful to see host family number two (I had three families), but the disappointment hurts. I tried again today with an "I am here" message. I need to give up and make other plans.

I am thrilled my host son is picking me up on Friday to visit with his family. That is shaping up to be the highlight of the trip.

I am here.

The city feels different.

In about two weeks the much anticipated tram will be up and running. Yes, right after I leave. It is beautiful, and like the shiny Guillemins train station is transforming Liege into a destination.

I have noticed a lot more beggars. I don't remember any from my youth, but why would they have asked a high school student for money. Maybe they have always been there. Maybe there are more now.

I also feel like I am seeing more tourists. People about my age.

Liege is more of a foodie town than I remembered. I'll have to check out the restaurants tomorrow. Tonight I went grocery shopping and bought prepared cauliflower soup that reminded me of living here.

The town feels dirtier than I remembered. It was never a shiny place, but it seems ever dirtier. Am I comparing it to places like Melbourne that sparkle? Maybe. Perhaps the pollution has made it even dirtier and buildings have not been power washed.

As I walked from the train station to the VRBO (a 35 minute walk), I passed the school I attended, and walked past shops I remember from the 1980s. The VRBO is near Place St.-Lambert, now called Vingt-Aout in memory of WWI soldiers who perished on a particularly gruesome battle. It was rechristened in 2013. I recognize places.

Tomorrow I'll walk farther afield. Maybe I'll leave notes in the mailboxes of my host families. But, probably not. 

When I landed in Denmark I felt a weight lifting. It is hard living in the United States. I told a Belgian-Algerian woman not to travel to the United States. It is not safe for her cafe au lait colored skin, even as a tourist. She hears awful things about our gun culture. I can't defend the United States.

I overheard a few businessmen sitting behind me on the 90-minute flight from Copenhagen. They were talking about Trump and how shortsighted his attacks on our healthcare system are. Again, I couldn't defend the United States.

My French has always been lacking in areas including cars and computers. Last time it took days for me to realize WiFi was pronounced wee-fee! Anyone who has studied French knows the "i" is pronounced "eee" when reciting the alphabet. 

As is typical for me when I travel, I am tired but am having troubles sleeping because of all the strange noises. The building I am in is labeled AirBNB, so the global issues of people buying apartments as businesses instead of places to live has spread here, too (and I am not helping the cause, I know). Short term renters treat places differently than people who live there. After midnight I could hear people coming "home" (from where on a Wednesday night, I have no idea). I can hear motorcycles and other traffic three floors below me even though I am on a very quiet street that leads to a parking garage. I know I'll sleep more soundly tomorrow.

I'm going to try another attempt at sleep. I hope to tint my vision back towards pink tomorrow.

Bonne nuit!

I Made it to Belgium

Twenty-two hours after leaving home I walked up to my VRBO apartment home for the next two weeks. For a few more hours, I could have gone back to Australia.

I know these thoughts are coming from a place of tired, so bear with me on my whining.

I arrived at Newark four hours early for my flight and after waiting behind only one couple, I was seated at the gate approximately three hours and 50 minutes before my flight.

I find airports a bit numbing. I think of them as purgatory. There are airports I love filled with much to do and lots of places to walk around, even museums and artwork and silent rooms, and much more. Then there was the leg of Terminal B where I hung out. There were a couple of places to eat, and a couple of places to buy "last minute" souvenirs, but I couldn't even find a crossword puzzle book to replace the one I bought several years ago that is nearly empty. The charging station wasn't working, but I did find another place to top off my phone.

The SAS flight had all the signs of leaving on time. And it did! The pilot even announced there was a chance we would land early because of the wind patterns -- welcome news to the vast majority of us who were using CPH as a hub to our real destination, and each flight had minimal layover. 

Then we sat on the tarmac for about two hours.

You know you are not going anywhere when the pilot tells us to take off our seatbelts and use the bathrooms while we wait.

The reason for the delay seems to be mechanical. They rebooted the computers and sent us on our way. True to his predication, the flight time was an hour late, but with the delay we landed as my next plane took off.

I had an empty seat next to me so I tried to lie down on the two seats. The woman in front of me politely asked if she could lean back, I asked her not to because of my long legs. She leaned back all the way. Why bother asking? I felt trapped. The only way I could get out of my seat was to press against her seat (okay, maybe I did that to make a point).

I ended up moving to the empty seat next to me so I could binge watch The Big Bang Theory (yes, it is as funny as my friends have been telling me). When I stayed in my seat, the screen was too close to my face.

There was no wait at customs. A one hour layover at CPH (Copenhagen) is completely do-able.

I went to forage for food. After I bought breakfast I noticed a voucher for free food as compensation for the delay. I used it to acquire a sandwich for later. SAS rebooked me on a flight to Brussels on another airline. Their next flight would have been another two hour delay. As we were landing, they made an announcement with the gate numbers for the flights people had a chance of making, and announcing the new times for the rest of us. It was such a long list they only read it in English instead of also reading it in Swedish.

Nearly four hours later I boarded a Brussels Air flight. Brussels Air reminded me of Peoples Express. The seats were old. There were fees for everything, including water. The plane flapped about in the wind as we landed. I was happy to have a window seat.

I retrieved my bag (it was too heavy for carryon status) and bought a train ticket to Liege. I must have just missed a train because my wait time was nearly an hour. I met a lovely Belgian-Algerian woman. She enjoyed practicing her English on me, and I practiced my French on her. She guided me to the transfer, which cut 20 minutes off our train ride.

I had every intention of taking a train from Guillemins to St.-Lambert, but there was a 45 minute wait and Google maps said it would be a 39 minute walk. I could have taken a bus, but I was too tired to figure out where to go. As I walked I marveled at the new trams which are doing practice runs for the next two weeks. They start running officially after I leave.

Google Maps are amazing. I found my VRBO on a tiny street near Le Carre. Without Google Maps I would still be wandering around, or rather I would have messaged my host for help. 

The apartment is listed as being on the second floor. I translated that to (American) third floor, and I was right. The wooden spiral staircase seems to be a bigger challenge on the way down than it was on the way up. I'll worry about that in a couple of weeks.

I slept from 8:30 pm - 11:30 pm and am wide awake at 3:30 am. I think I'll try reading a book.

Anticipatory Plagiarism

I heard the most delightful phrase yesterday and wanted to make note of it before I forget it again:

Anticipatory plagiarism

The phrase was used during the talkback for the New York City Center's five-day production of "Love Life," a play first produced in 1948 on Broadway and mostly forgotten about ever since. Back in 1948 the strike by the musician's union resulted in "Love Life" never making an original cast recording to then be played on the radio. There was no social media or people carrying cameras in their pockets. Still, they managed to have 252 audiences.

The play grew into a cult favorite. People such as Bob Fosse, Stephen Sondheim, Hal Prince, Fred Ebb (of Kander and Ebb), and other theater legends saw the original production and were inspired by it. Shows such as "Cabaret" and "Company" may not have existed without this concept show. Audiences today see songs and scenes that were lifted from "Love Life" and are now feel Kurt Weill and Alan Jay Lerner stole them from the shows made after them, rather than (obvious) other way because we saw the newer shows first.

The song "I remember it well" was repurposed by Lerner and appears more famously in "Gigi." It is something we reference --You wore a red dress, it was blue. Or some other paraphrase meant to evoke the spirit of the "Gigi" song, even though I've never seen "Gigi."

When a member of the audience asked how it happened that these moments familiar to anyone who has seen "Cabaret," or "Follies," or "Gigi" appear in "Love Letters," after being momentarily silenced, the best answer the person could come up with was anticipatory plagiarism because if after explaining to the entire audience that "Love Letters" first appeared in 1948 and these other productions were years and decades later, clearly Sondheim, Ebb, and Prince were inspired by Weill and Lerner and not the other way around.

Kudos to the interviewee for coining a clever term on the spur of the moment.

As for "Love Letters," if I see it making the rounds again I might see it because I gained an appreciation for it after the talk back, but I could only recommend it to the most die hard theater fans who would be able to appreciate its anticipatory plagiarism and see the roots of American musical theater.

One more tidbit about "Love Letters"...it was originally slated for March 2020. They did hold an invited dress rehearsal before the world shut down for COVID. Then the director, Victoria Clark, went on to become a Tony winner for playing the lead in "Kimberly Akimbo" and life got in the way. Brian Stokes Mitchell was originally asked to play Sam Cooper, but had another commitment for March 2025. At the last minute the person hired to be Sam had to back out, and Brian was able to shift his schedule to play the male lead. During the talk back Victoria said those five years gave everyone a chance to get deeper with their characters. Most of those hired in 2020 were able to make it, which made the experience that much sweeter.

Pandemic Year 5

March 13th, two weeks ago, was the fifth anniversary of the COVID pandemic. For as all consuming as the pandemic was, I can't believe that anniversary slipped by me mostly unnoticed.

I wrote about it at the one year mark and here.

Again at at the 16 month mark when President Biden wanted to declare it over (but the disease had other plans).

At the 19 month mark when I realized my calendar was full for the first time in over a year and a half.

The two year mark.

The three year mark.

The four year mark.

If you enter COVID into the search bar on the right, you can find countless other mentions of it in blog posts.

So, why not the fifth year?

I'd like to say it is because the disease is completely eradicated and life has returned to normal, or even the "new normal" that was predicted as it all started.

But the reality is there are so many new crises that I forgot about COVID.

I think our latest health crises are measles and bird flu. I think because the current POTUS has eliminated funding for the NIH and CDC and refuses to educate the population about things that we might be able to prevent.

I do see more people wearing masks in public places, especially in NYC. They are likely the smart ones. I'm at the point where if I get a deadly disease, it might just put me out of my misery so bring it on.

Up until a couple of months ago I heard about friends testing positively for COVID, including one in Australia. I had a cold or maybe it was the flu at New Years, but did not test for anything. Just let it run its course. Sort of how life seems to be in general in the United States. If we close our eyes and ears and block out the noise, maybe, just maybe it will all go away.

That's now how it happens, of course.

COVID is here to stay.

May we get rid of fascism easier.

Glimmers of Hope

In Israel on Monday a happy couple tied the knot. Plans had been carefully made over many months. Families and friends travelled from near and far. Love was in the air despite the ongoing war.

War, though, had other plans, as it often does.

As the couple was about to take their places at the altar air raid sirens could be heard. Those of us watching safely via YouTube live stream were in shock. Voices could be heard in English and in Hebrew. Where is the nearest shelter?

Someone shared the livestream would be on pause while they took care of a “small problem.”

Those of us on the other side of the world held our breath and prayed.

Five minutes later the celebration was back on.

Which brings me to my hope…even in the midst of war, couples still get married and babies are born. Happiness can happen in the middle of tragedy. 

Mazel Tov, Y and M! May you have many years of happiness together.

Color and Light Festival in Asbury Park

I saw a Facebook ad for Color and Light Festival taking place in Asbury Park. The link featured didn't have much information beyond the free show was taking place at 7:00 pm on March 21 and 22 and will be projected on a building on the boardwalk in Asbury Park (where the shops are). It was a rain or shine event. There were links to apply to be a vendor. The projections would be on a continuous loop until about 11 pm. Bring your friends!

The information was that scant.

Don had off on a rare Saturday night, and the weather wasn't bad. I'd say it was nice because the temperatures were in the 50s and it was clear, but it was so windy it felt much colder.

We got to Ocean Grove (the town south of Asbury Park with free parking) and looked for dinner. In the past we have struck out trying to find a place that fits that Goldilocks spot between cheap street food and expensive tablecloth restaurant. Day's Ice Cream is closed for the season. A Google search shows they are closed until May, it would be nice if when they closed their doors for the winter they left a note in the window. We stopped by midweek in September and thought they would be open on weekends. I'm glad they are planning to return in a few weeks.

We discovered the Asbury Park Ale House. It fit all the criteria -- indoor dining, casual, varied menu, friendly staff, only a short wait. I had a yummy maple pecan salmon with Brussel sprouts and cauliflower. Don had the ale burger. We'll be back. Hopefully we'll remember to make a reservation in advance.

We walked back to the grassy area by the Paramount Theater/Convention Hall for the light show. By this point it was 7:54 -- 54 minutes into a show we had no idea how long it was supposed to last. It ended around 8:14, and said it would start up again in 16 minutes. It even had a countdown. 

Whew! 

We moved to a central space to watch the second viewing. At the end, they announced they would keep looping until 10:30 pm. The show was about 30 minutes long. We came in at the nine minute mark.

It was a nice crowd. Lots of families. Some people brought well-behaved dogs. It was not at all crowded. An evening in the summer, or even further into spring, would have filled the lawn and provided more income to the vendors. The wind kept up from buying anything to eat. When we walked past at 6:15 everyone was still setting up. By the time the light show started, it was too dark to appreciate the vendors.

After the show we got to talking to Adam. Adam was wearing a LUMA t-shirt and seemed really into it. He brought his wife and stroller-aged child. He held the child up during the show. They were both mesmerized. I couldn't really see his wife from my angle, but I suspect she was humoring him. They traveled from Binghamton, NY (about three hours away) and were making a weekend out of it. They were staying in the hotel next door to the event and asked for a room overlooking the festival. The hotel tried, but the view of the festival grounds was not what he had in mind. 

LUMA is a volunteer-based company in Binghamton, NY. Every September they have a mini-festival featuring about ten artists showing off their light shows on ten different buildings. You have to travel around town to catch all the displays. Some projection mapped displays are five minutes long, others are 15. By contrast, this had about ten artists displaying their shows on the same building with festival goers staying in the same place. We were glad we parked about a mile away in Ocean Grove (maybe two miles away?) because we could see cars driving around closer to the event trying to find parking, which is already relatively limited in Asbury Park.

Adam has been involved with them for about a decade. The head people decided this year to start taking the show on the road and move out of Binghamton. Asbury Park was chosen as their first site. I wonder where they will go next.

I signed up for their email list. Hopefully I'll learn about more events. For now, September 6-7 in Binghamton is marked on my calendar. From there it is an easy road trip to Montreal.

UPDATE: I read a press release that said 12,000 people came over the two days. 

Here are some pictures from the event.

Archaeology School

In college I took an elective in archaeology (the things one takes classes in as a history major in a liberal arts college). Over the ensuing decades that one class has stayed with me more than anything else I took, including history (major) and French (minor) classes. A different path might have taken me to archaeology school. I have a friend who after earning a law degree went on to earn a masters degree in archaeology. That's more of a commitment than I want to make.

As our season at Newlin Grist Mill in West Chester, PA was coming to a close last November, Keith offered a 10-week archaeology class taught on Wednesday mornings at the mill. Every Wednesday from January 8-March 19 (except when there was bad weather), we gathered to learn about archaeology at a very high level. Topics included: paperwork, soil basics, dating techniques, faunal, reporting, artifacts, glass, and internet resources. We even visited two archaeology labs: one at Newlin Grist Mill and the other at West Chester University. The university trip left me with a major case of envy--I wished I could travel back in time and take the path of becoming an archaeologist.

The plan was we would have class for two hours, then dig for a couple of hours. This winter's weather only cooperated the last two weeks. My drive time seemed to increase each week, from an hour fifteen to an hour forty-five some weeks. I really have to plan it will be an hour and a half each week, and make sure I have half a tank of gas before I leave home.

The class was very well organized, and much more fun than I ever anticipated. They are a great group of people. On our last week we enfolded another woman, who is younger than I am. 

For me the highlight of the class was when we went on a field trip to West Chester University's Anthropology Department. Department chair Dr. Heather Wholey showed off their bright, spacious lab filled with gadgets from an electronic Munsell book to a lit microscope that connects to a laptop to ground penetrating equipment to a new database and more! I kept thinking these students are being spoiled and they won't understand that until they are in the field on an underfunded project. The room had space for 32 students with two sinks for messy artifacts, and two sinks for neater reasons. Keith noted there were no chairs near the sinks, likely because they are being used by youngsters and not old people like us. The room had plenty of storage in a variety of sizes (draws and shelves), and lots of outlets. That day they were cataloging a collection of hats that were recently donated to WCU and entering the data into Catalogue It!, their new database. I would do that for free! 

They use their old Munsell books to help identify pottery colors. They also have 32
Mac laptops, and 32 PC laptops with archaeology software loaded on them. Students often use their own laptops. On the low tech side, they have a sandbox they use to line up pottery as the glue is drying.

Items are washed, then they air dry over two days. Back on the dig site in Israel, our pottery dried in a couple of hours.

WCU's anthropology department offers classes in cultural, biological, and linguistical fields. There are cases in the hallway with some of their more exciting finds.

The librarian in me loved hearing about what happens after the artifacts are found -- especially the cataloging process.  

We also visited the field lab at Newlin Grist Mill. Let's just say it is less shiny. It has furniture that was rescued from dumpsters, and many artifacts that still need to be processed. Keith is a full-time site manager, but only spends one day a week on archaeology and lately much of that time has been taken up by our weekly class.

Our class was featured in the Newlin Grist Mill newsletter. Our celebration culminated in volunteering at the March Public Archaeology Day where we were each more confident talking to the 88 visitors, including many young children. We have more answers than we had before the class, but Keith is still there to answer the ones we don't know. 

Our last class was spent applying what we learned in STPs (Shovel Test Pits). The four STPs were conducted near the archive building, each 10 feet apart, to get a sample of what lies underground to determine if it is safe to bury fiberoptic lines. More time, and perhaps we would have dug the whole line, but we did enough to determine there are no features (a collection of objects and/or soils which were caused by human activity but cannot be removed intact from the soil -- think stairs, or a wall, or post hole). We divided ourselves into two teams and worked on this for about 90 minutes after the last class. Then Keith worked with us to properly fill out the paperwork about soil levels and other information -- in other words, a real life example to use as our "final exam."

Keith estimates over the 11 years they have been holding public archaeology days, we have saved Newlin Grist Mill about $290,000 in manual labor. It is nice when you can quantify the benefit provided by volunteers.

My First Tattoo

I'm thinking this title will catch more interest than most. Might even draw double digit clicks.

If you've made it this far and are hoping for a picture, you will be sadly disappointed. No pictures of this are likely to ever be taken, and if they are, it won't look that exciting. 

Last week I went in for my second colonoscopy. 

I see eyes glazing over already.

I last wrote as I was about to start the prep. It went as expected. I opted for the pills over the goopy drink. As I was halfway through the second batch of pills at 3 am as my family was blissfully asleep, I started dry heaving, so I slowed down (as instructed) and kept taking them.

The waiting room was fairly boring. The TV was blaring a TV show that I would not have been surprised if it was really an SNL skit about two adult women going through a child's obstacle course. 

Oh the things you fixate on while trying to relax.

It was really loud, and no one was watching so a woman about my age asked if it could be turned off. She was given the best answer I would have ever expected: "No, because we use it for confidentiality to block out conversations we are having, but we can lower it a little." I was impressed with the thoughtfulness of the explanation. That thoughtfulness carried through every experience I had with staff and the medical team at Princeton Gastroenterology Associates. 

While waiting for my turn at a table, a staff member walked by with lunch for a co-worker. They quickly put the bag away, recognizing all of their patients were starving! As I waited to be put under, the anesthesiologist asked me what food I'll be eating afterwards. Someone else asked me about the book I was reading. Another person apologized for taking two stabs to get the IV to work.

Back to the tattoo, as I woke up nearly an hour later (better than the two hours the first colonoscopy took, still much longer than most), Dr. Shriver told me she had to put in two staples and tattooed the spot where she took out a 30mm polyp -- yes, after only three years I grew a polyp that is nearly an inch long. I was sent home with a card to share if I ever need an MRI. As for the tattoo, I'm picturing something cute like the one Phoebe got of "the world" when she and Rachel went out for tattoos.

Now I await my results, and reach out to Dr. Google. On the one hand, the size of the polyp is scary. But, time is on my side. Since I was last cleaned out only three years ago, and colon cancer is slow growing (often taking a minimum of 10 years to develop), I should be able to relax and feel confident it was caught in time.

Still, the doctor's words that "we'll wait for the pathology report before deciding what to do next" keep pinging around my head. 

I'll update this post after I have official word. Meanwhile, it will be a long 1-2 weeks.

Schedule your colonoscopy now. 

UPDATE: All is good. The 30mm polyp was not really a polyp (then why write polyp on the report?) but something they want to keep an eye on in the future. The others were "precancerous in the benign state." Come back in three years.

Colonoscopy #2

T-2 hours until I start taking the horse pills for my second colonoscopy. I am trying to keep to myself as I can feel the creeping crankiness. I am feeling anti-social. 

I survived my first colonoscopy three years ago. As I reread the post I wrote at the time I was under a lot of stress in a lot of different directions. My life has changed a lot since them. I'm no longer working and COVID has faded (though I still anticipate another pandemic), but the new presidency is disrupting life globally. I also went to work that day and even attended a virtual board meeting that night. I am glad I don't have to put up such a front this time around.

After a week of eating a low res diet, and 13 hours of a liquid diet, I am starving. I know this is the season most major religions include fasting in their practices, but it is not one I have included.

Funny stories about colonoscopies...

1) Last night we saw SMASH. There are a couple of lines about one of the characters getting a colonoscopy.

2) Today's latest post from The Holderness Family is about Penn, the husband, getting his first one. 

I'm nervous about the actual procedure. The prep is what the prep is.

Mostly, though, I'm ready for this to be over and be able to return to eating. 

Another Opening....Another Show!

A little over a year ago I won free lottery tickets to see a workshop of SMASH, which the producers were trying to fine tune before sending to Broadway for the 2025 theater season.

We loved it! I loved being in the know -- only a select number of people won tickets, the rest were industry people who know people. After the show we were handed iPad sized gadgets to answer some questions. Instead of watching the show and saying "I love it -- it was better than Cats!" I had to think about what I loved, and also what I didn't love.

It also made me super excited when I received a message that tickets were available. Without asking Don, I ordered two tickets for opening night of previews -- meaning we were in the first audience to see the show.

Waiting to enter the theater people were filming the lines to get reactions. Very meta considering the plot (which strays from the cult TV show from the early 2000s).

 

Inside we saw a Bombshell poster on each seat. Bombshell is the name of the show within the show the actors are building in front of our eyes. A larger version of the poster appears in the show. The poster is available for $20 from their merchandise website. It has been described as the most meta opening gift ever seen.

As the show was about to start, the stage manager came out and welcomed us. She warned they have not had a clean run through yet, meaning there is a chance they will stop the show to redo things (they did not), and that they have not yet rehearsed the intermission so anticipate it will be long enough to get two, three, or even four drinks (it was 30 minutes long).

As I wrote, this comedy about a musical is showing what goes into creating a musical. Every time they referenced the opening night audience, we went wild. We felt part of the show.

There was a standing ovation after what I thought was the last song before intermission, but was just a belting number, I think it was "Don't Forget Me." It was an hour after we started and I was ready for a break. The crowd in the lobby, though, convinced me to stay near my seat. Seems most everyone else wanted to buy a souvenir that night. Speaking of souvenirs, this was the first time we went to a show that there was not a lick of trash in the audience at the end of the night -- every playbill, poster, souvenir cup, and candy wrapper was meticulously scooped up at the end of the show.

The 2.5 hour show (with intermission) was 3 hours with the extra applause and extra long intermission. Don and I realized we only had an hour to get back to our car before our parking time expired! Fortunately we used a 24/7 lot in Jersey City, but we still had to walk from the theater to the 33rd Street PATH station, which we arrived at just as a train was leaving. Fortunately they were running about every 15 minutes. Though late, our car did not turn into a pumpkin.

Having been for opening night of previews, I suspect we'll do this again. The air was electric. The audience was engaged before the first drop of the baton. No cell phones went off. No whispering. No one got up mid show. They were all thrilled to be in the room where it was happening.

The reviews have been mixed. I can only think of one friend I would honestly recommend this to (Chris, a Broadway buff) because there are too many inside jokes. I know a lot about Broadway, and some went over my head. You stop feeling like an insider when jokes miss you.

An understudy went on, Chelle Denton, with four hours notice. She was quite impressive! Understudies don't have much rehearsal time until after they are out of previews. When I heard the announcement, I fully expected her on stage with a script. She had her lines memorized and added inflection and joking and really rocked it. Even the guys a few rows behind me were impressed by her going on opening night as an understudy. This was her Broadway debut.

I'd love to dish with someone who saw both the workshop and the full production. It mostly seemed the same to me -- including the warts I hoped they would iron out before charging people upwards of $54 a ticket.

The Gates of Central Park, NYC

For two weeks in February 2005, renowned artists Christo and Jeanne-Claude transformed Central Park with 7,503 saffron-colored gates using fabric across 23 miles of paths.

For two weeks in February 2005, I wanted to see the gates. 

For two weeks, I tried to figure out a day to go.

But, I had two obstacles: snow and a 33-month old toddler.

Sanity prevailed over desire and we did not go.

Fast forward two decades to today.

After visiting the Luna Luna exhibit at The Shed in Manhattan, I noticed they were setting up a new exhibit about The Gates. Once home, I looked into it. I knew I didn't want to spend as much as we had on Luna Luna, so I wasn't too optimistic we would return for this exhibit. Much to my pleasure, it was free! We were able to time it when we were already coming into NYC to see the premier of SMASH on Broadway.

The exhibit included some concept art by Christo which made the gates appear to be fluttering on the page. They had one gate lying down so we could appreciate the size. There was a 3D augmented reality we could watch on iPad-sized gadgets, and time traveling videos of interviews describing the process.

Christo and Jeanne-Claude are fascinating people. He was born and educated in Bulgaria. He was in exile from 1956-1973. After moving to NYC he made a name for himself in the artworld. He first petitioned the city in the late 1970s to create this environmental sculpture. The videos from the time are classic -- "it will confuse the birds," "it is ugly," "what a bad precedence to set." Those are really paraphrases since I didn't take notes.

Two decades later and he approached Mayor Mike Bloomberg, who loved the idea. The city was recovering emotionally from 9/11. Christo and Jeanne-Claude were willing to pay for and oversee the entire project. The initial $4-5 million price tag rose to $20 million in the decades, but as Jeanne-Claude said "how much does it cost to raise a baby."

Jeanne-Claude died in 2020, and Christo in 2009. Thankfully they lived long enough to see this dream come true.

Also included in the exhibit is an augmented reality taking place in Central Park. With the help of an app, there are scanning stations you can click on to see what it looked like in 2005. I'm impressed someone took 3D pictures twenty years ago, stored them and turned them into this project even though in the meantime the artists have passed away. The ones we looked at were amazing -- Don moved his around and a male security guard appeared on the screen wearing a reflective vest right where a female security guard was standing not wearing a vest. He found it humorous. 

The exhibit is free. Not sure how much longer the scanning stations are going to be in the park. I'll update after our next trip.

Hate Filled Conversation

We are a divided nation. A solid third of our country supports one side. A solid third support the exact opposite. And the third left acts like they really don't care what happens as it doesn't impact them.

Imagine my surprise when I bumped into someone I've known for years at an historical event. Too many of my friends know who it is, and probably still have a favorable impression of him, so I don't want to give clues to who shook me to my core during our conversation.

Me: Hi, I didn't expect to see you here. (I think I was smiling when I said it.)

Him: Why not?

Me: This is your busy season.

Him: I had a gig this morning. Can't you see how I'm dressed? (If I described his attire on that March day I would completely give away who it was.)

Me: Um...

Him: You post hateful things on FB.

Me: Um...

Him: I'm a Centrist. I'll tell you why my Orthodox friends would not vote for Kamala Harris. She is not intelligent. She speaks in word salads. She only got the job of VP because Joe said he would hire a Black woman. Goes on to say how Trump is pro-Israel (implying that is the only thing that matters).

Me: Umm... Many of my friends would say HE (T) speaks in word salads. 

Him: Clearly we don't listen to the same news sources.

Me: Um... (Wildly thinking how to diffuse this as he keeps shouting at me.)

Me: Well, these are my beliefs, you can protest whatever you want.

Him: I'm a Centrist. I'm not going to protest.

Me: (Well, that didn't diffuse anything.)

Him: My grandparents came here legally. All immigrants should be sent away.

Me: (Were we talking about immigrants?) Well, I believe we should have accepted more Jews during WWII.

Him: We didn't so these people should go back.

Me: I'm upset my friends with USAID are out of work. (Trying to find common ground.)

Him: All immigrants should leave. MY grandparents came here legally. 

Me: (Many immigrants came here legally, perhaps overstayed visas, perhaps are here as refugees. He is not in a frame of mind to listen to logic or a nuanced conversation.) I wasn't talking about immigrants, I was talking about USAID, my friends live overseas and are trying to help people.

Him: (Raising his voice even higher) My son is afraid to walk on the campus at Columbia University wearing his yarmulke because he is afraid he will be killed.

Me: That's wrong. (Meaning, no one should live in fear they would be killed for being openly Jewish (or Muslim or Black or a woman or trans or gay)).

Him: You are anti-semite! You are an unkind person! I have to unfriend you!

Storms out.

By this point I am shaking so I turn to someone I know to be calm.

Him2: I am an independent. 

Proceeds to tell me a theory he woke up today to that would involve JD Vance rising to the presidency because Putin takes out Trump, then Putin being taken out of power similar to others who have been mysteriously killed over the years.

By this point I know I am wading deep in an alternate universe with an independent not claiming their role in today's mess. (Meanwhile the stock market dropped 5.5% today.)

I shift to a woman who I think of as a sane calming force.

She: The bible talks about the end times. I think we are there now. Have you read Revelations? This is what they've predicted.

Me: People have thought over the years the end times were near, I wouldn't count on it.

Her: My pastor growing up had me convinced the end times would come before I turned 16. (Which I guess was at least 40 years ago.)

Me: They didn't happen then, they might not now.

Her: (Smiling) They might. 

Meanwhile, no one who heard the interaction between us stepped in. Not one person walked up to him and told him to calm down. Not one person came up to me and asked if I was okay.

This, dear friends, is why we have such a large problem in the United States.

The Centrist insists his friends are the ones with those wild beliefs, implying he does not believe that, but is passionate about my standing up for democracy to tell me I am wrong.

The Independent believes it is not his fault, he can see the problems with both sides, and the solution is for someone else to take out those at the head.

The Religious person believes the end times are near, so no reason to worry about politics. 

No one felt it was their place to get involved and make sure people are okay.

I see why people just want to live by putting their heads in the sand. It reminded me of some lines in Here there are Blueberries. The doctor said it wasn't his fault because someone rounded up people in the towns and brought them to Auschwitz. Not his fault he put them in two lines (one to work, one to die). The man flipping the switch for the gas chambers said it wasn't his fault since someone else sent them to the room. 

No one took responsibility. It was all someone else's fault.

If we keep living that way, we may be happier in the short term, but many needless deaths will take place. If we've been saying "Never Again," then why do we accept this happening again?

I failed to mention this all took place inside a sanctuary surrounded by stained glass windows of Witherspoon, Knox, and other classic Presbyterian figures.

Around the World in a Loco-Mobile

About a decade ago I heard a presentation at the Benjamin Temple House in Ewing about a journey around the world. That was my first introduction to the Ewing Township Historic Preservation Society located at the Benjamin Temple House on Federal City Road.

Rebecca Urban, the granddaughter of Harold Brooks, the man who kept Harriett White Fisher and her entourage safe as they travelled from Ewing to Europe to India to Japan to San Francisco and back to Ewing told the impressive tale using digitized photos he took, and a digitized, edited recording of him in 1956 (at age 68) telling a family member about the extraordinary journey that took place over 13 months from 1909-1910. Harold used to give talks with his glass slides.

This month, Rebecca repeated her talk in front of 100 people at the 1867 Sanctuary in Ewing (formerly Ewing Presbyterian Church). The extra space allowed room for spreading out early 20th century treasures, helping to bring the story the life.

The presentation started with an introduction by a man named Frank who has been researching Harriet White Fisher's life over the past 40 years. He is determined to finally publish his findings. Trouble is, every time he thinks is is just about finished, he finds out something new about her -- new letters or diaries or new facts come to life.

Harriet White was a self-promoter. She was related to Nathan Fisher, a Revolutionary War hero. She married Clark Fisher, also a distant cousin to Nathan. Even more extraordinary is that Frank is also related to Nathan making them all cousins to each other.

Harriet told perhaps some tall tales about her life that have since become part of her legend. Frank is sifting fact from fiction. She was born around 1861, and married Clark in the late 1890s. By 1899 Clark is too ill to run his anvil factory, so she runs it in order to keep the business afloat. Imagine ... a woman running such a masculine business! She bluffed her way through everything, learning how to do every job in the factory and eventually winning over the men.

In 1902 they were injured in a train wreck. It was thought she would never walk again. She moved into a suite at the Waldorf Astoria and relearned how to walk. On December 31, 1903, Clark died. She returned to the anvil factory where she worked until her death in 1939. The business grew under her watch.

She kept reinventing herself, hating the gender norms of the the era. She became a leading industrialist in her time. While she praised women who stayed home, she never had children and was not about to sit at home. 

According to Frank, no one has written a biography about her.

In 1908 three teams of men raced around the world. Not one of them did all of the driving. One group took nine years to finish. Harold Brooks was the first private citizen to drive around the world at a time when there were not always roads. He kept the car working, and shipped fuel and oil ahead to each destination since there were not always places to acquire such items along the route.

Harriet and Harold met in 1907 when he fixed her motorboat in Italy. She convinced him to leave his job with a large raise and become her mechanical engineer.

Harold, aged 22-23, was the driver, hunter, mechanic and photographer. He took
about 300 pictures. Also on the trip were the butler/cook Albert Batcheler (34) and Maria Boggia (28), the maid/caretaker. After the trip, Albert and Maria married and lived with Harriet at Bella Vista for the rest of their lives. They were accompanied by Honk-Honk, a Boston Bull Terrier. 

The trip took place in a 1908 Type A Loco-Mobile touring car. It did not have electric lights, or a self-starter. It was a right-hand drive. It was modified to have two 40 gallon gas tanks and an extra large oil reserve allowing it to travel about 400 miles. They had to carry everything they needed -- from sleeping bags to a repair kit and extra clothes. Albert was an expert packer. Boxes were always sent ahead so they would be in place when they arrived.

Once in Paris they purchased camping equipment, which came in handy. They received permission to camp in Place Vendome so they could check it out.

The talk was peppered with such details as when they left through the gates of Paris their gas levels were measured since there was a tax if the levels were higher when they returned to Paris. 

Audiences in the early 20th century must have eaten up the pictures from such far flung places. They went to a car show, and one first prize for best decorated. They participated in a race where the passenger had to carry a full glass of water during the drive -- the one with the most water in it at the end won (Harriet won). They attended a airplane meet in Italy. In 1909. The Wright Brothers' first public flight was only a year earlier.

From Genoa they shipped the car to India. Honk Honk was sent ahead to Japan. The group stopped in Cairo to see the pyramids. His pictures look like postcards in their perfection.

They moved on to Bombay, India. There were no hotels outside the big cities, so they stayed in Dak bungalos. They crossed the river in Thana. In Poona they had to pay to use the road. They met the maharaja, who they met later on in Japan.

Harold (or was it Harriet) mailed the first aerial postcard in the world from Allahad, India. This predated the US program by six months. Just another first in their list of accomplishments.

In the Bengal Jungle locals gathered around them, even though no one spoke the others' language. Everyone was curious about each other.

In Calcutta no one couple believe they drove through India, even though water, because no one had done it before.

The car was then crated and shipped to Japan. The humans took a different boat.

In Kobe, Japan they stayed at the Mikado Hotel, where they met up with the maharajah. The two groups caravanned for a while until the Maharajah grew tired of the slow pace. Fortunately they were still together when Harriet's car landed in a ditch.

After Japan, the car was shipped to San Francisco. Harriet and her group stopped off in Honolulu along the way.

Before I heard the talk, I would have thought the hard part was behind them. I would have been wrong. There were very few paved roads between California and New York, and many stretches of prairie. Also, very little food, hotels, or even gas stations. They graveled through prairies and slept in tents. They followed the Union Pacific Railroad tracks as much as possible.

In Sandusky, OH they received a speeding ticket for going over the allowed EIGHT miles per hour. In every other city they were treated with respect. Here they insisted they stay overnight for a trial, and pay a fine of $13.50.

Afterwards Rebecca answered questions.

Harold changed about 2-3 pig skin tires a day.

Harold took care of most of the repairs, but there were a couple of times he needed someone else for a larger repair.

After the trip, the company took the car back and used it as advertising. They gave her a new Loco-Mobile. The company stayed in business until about 1930.

Harold used a Kodak a3 Flex camera -- open it up, handheld, with a tiny view finder. Lantern slides were made afterwards from the film.

Harriet bought new clothes along the route because she didn't want to be seen wearing the same outfit. Maria shipped her hats and clothes back to Ewing.

They also acquired a monkey in India named Bilikins. 

Harriet often had stomach issues, so they would stop and rest along the way.

Not very long ago a German man (Frank L. Jung) bought a 1916 Loco-mobile to try to recreate part of her route starting at Lake Como.