Gone Fishing

Photo by
Today is a Good Day at Flickr

Kids are on spring break.

More Works of Franco Alessandrini

Another of my favorite sculptures that Franco Alessandrini created is in his home country, Italy. It stands, actually it’s seated, on a stone wall at the Monte Casale Monastery overlooking a magical valley.

It is sculpted in white Carrara marble, the same material Michelangelo used to sculpt “David”. Franco and his family live in Italy each summer, where they live on a mountain top near Arezzo. From here he can more easily supervise the quarrying of the stone he will use for his next project.


I remember fondly how, in 2005, they invited all of us (we were a party of fifteen!) to join their Fourth of July celebration on their mountain top. I believe the entire town was present. It was a perfect melding of two cultures, complete with a roasted suckling pig, a Tuscan flag waver, a local rock band, American apple pie and brownies, and fireworks. After the medieval flag-waving demonstration, my niece beamed with utter delight and exclaimed: “This is just like being in the movie ‘Under the Tuscan Sun’”. I smile when I remember how a small group of us, mostly the teens in our party, broke out and sang “America the Beautiful” and other American patriotic songs during the fireworks.

Little did we know that less than two months later, their lives would be turned completely upside down.


The Alessandrinis returned to their home in New Orleans in time to see Hurricane Katrina come looming into the region. The majority of New Orleans’ citizens evacuated frantically and witnessed the effects of the hurricane and subsequent flood through news reports from their scattered destinations. The Alessandrinis first fled to Texas and then to Italy, where they stayed for one year before returning. The feeling of helplessness and disorientation left a deep-seated feeling of displacement in their souls. Over three years after Hurricane Katrina, in November 2008, Franco Alessandrini installed a sculpture on his rooftop to express the collective sense of displacement in New Orleans.

 

Franco writes:

DISPLACEMENT

The wind starts to blow and the rain beats down on her deck. The waves begin to rock her gently at first then become huge swells likened to those you see on the High Seas. She is pitched violently into the dock time and time again. She is beaten. Desperate.

She panics to free herself, to save herself, as a horse would that is tied in its stall as the water rises.

Her mooring lines snap and she is set free. Set free to sail but faces more peril ahead.

The water recedes and she finds herself in a place she never dreamed of being. 

Under her there is no water where she once glided with the wind. Now she is still. Trapped in this foreign land.

I liken this boat to my soul. The soul that I lost in the storm. My soul that I hope to reunite with one day.

I liken this boat to the thousands of people who were beaten by the winds, rain and leve breaks. 

You may wonder how this 30-foot, 5,000 pound boat is secured up on that roof; here is the structure that holds her:

If you have the great fortune of visiting New Orleans, I hope you have a chance to visit Franco’s studio and see the sailboat on their rooftop at 813 Howard Avenue. Be sure to tell them that dutchbaby sent you.

Images from Franco Alessandrini's website. 

A Visit to Franco Alessandrini’s Studio

When I visited New Orleans with my book club in October 2007, we had the great pleasure of meeting up with several of my husband’s of relatives who live there. One evening, a couple of us went to visit Franco Alessandrini and his family for cocktail hour on the roof top of his studio home.

Franco is an internationally-known artist who has produced many public works around the world. He was born near Florence, Italy but came to live in New Orleans when he was the artist in residence for the World’s fair in 1984.

When we arrived at their home, Franco and his wife gave us a tour of the small storefront on the ground floor. I immediately recognized the centerpiece of the space, a model of the Monument to the Immigrants:

It is quite beautiful in this scale; I like how you can easily walk around the entire sculpture and see all features without having to crane your neck. The full-sized, marble statue is now installed on the riverfront near the Aquarium of the Americas in New Orleans where most immigrants actually first set foot on solid American ground.

This is how Franco describes the monument:

At the turn of the century many Italian immigrants came to this country, a large number of them through the port of New Orleans. This monument will commemorate and honor those who left their country to find something better for their future as well as their children's. The female muse is a symbol of hope in different civilizations. The star she holds represents guidance to the explorer toward his desire to find a new place and to achieve his dreams. Her gown, an inspirational and spiritual presence, flows over the figures of four immigrants forming a family nucleus. In each of their faces one can see the grim determination and courage they must have had to leave behind everything they knew. These people are being rendered from real photographs of their time to capture the proper wardrobe, detail and, most of all, the look in their eyes.

Being an immigrant myself, I’m always moved when I see this sculpture. It perfectly captures the ambivalence we felt when we set foot in New York in 1966. It did take a great leap of courage and determination for my parents to once again leave everything behind in hopes of a better future, yet we are still draped by the influence of our muse who points to our past experiences in the Netherlands and Indonesia.

On the mantle nearby, I noticed this sculpture and fell in love with it:

I admire how he celebrated and honored the jazz musicians of New Orleans:

Next we were invited upstairs to his studio where he was working on a plant series.

Right next to the studio is a lovely rooftop garden where we joined Franco and his family and friends for cocktails and hors d’oevres. They personify the image of Southern hospitality, both of the American and European varieties.

After drinks, to our great surprise and delight, Franco and his wife presented each of us with a poster of the Louisiana Alphabet he created. In 1984, it was declared the official alphabet by the governor.

Next time, I will tell you about some of Franco’s other works of art and show you what now graces his rooftop.

Top photo of the Immigrant Monument with the riverboat and the photo of the close-up of the immigrant face are from Franco Alessandrini's website.

Gratitude and Dreams - The Party

I am still feeling the glow of being surrounded by our wonderful friends and reflecting on the sentiments of heartfelt Gratitude and Dreams shared at our party on Saturday.

 

My daughter came through once again with running many errands, including chasing down the last bit of caviar left in Palo Alto (note to self: buy caviar before New Year's Eve, not on the second!), and by cooking homemade peppermint bark, two pies, and 75 tiny red potatoes stuffed with artichoke hearts and topped with lemon zest and minced garlic.

Michelle Bailey, The Roving Gourmet, made the rest of the food. My favorites were the mini blinis that melted like clouds in my mouth. I could have had twenty, but I had my guests to consider. The home-made gravlax, sushi, and herb-stuffed turkey breast were also very popular.

 

Last but not least, I received a package of delectable home-made chocolate truffles from Edi the day before the party. Thank you, Edi, they were out of this world!

I rang the jingle-bell to gather the crowd in the living room to share our journal entries.

 

Here’s a sampling of what our guests shared:

Gratitude 2008:

• My Dad turning 80, on a Sierra wilderness trip with his sons
• Almost finished the back yard greenhouse
• 50 fingers/50 toes are still intact
• The brow beating to complete college applications is over for now
• 45 years of marriage with the prospect of many more
• The end of the dark ages, i.e. The Bush Years
• Having a job in a tough economy
• Moving away from an unloving relationship … moving on with my life to restore my ability to care, love, and create…
• All five of us survived Hurricane Ike as our Partay Garage Tailgate Generator kit saved our day (7 days actually)

Dreams 2009:

• To hear a sweet little voice say for the very first time “Mormor” (grandmother in Swedish)
  
• College goers score summer internships
  
• Wife gets backyard re-model,  post Hurricane Ike
  
• To think less and do more about my dream to own my own little store/studio
  
• Help preserve local history of Palo Alto
  
• We will have enough rain this season for a good crop of apricots and tomatoes
  
• Travel to re-awaken that part of me that loves far away places
  
• Restoring economy
  
• Maybe go see our second solar eclipse

May all your dreams come true in 2009!

Oma's Apartment 6

I used to be a Christmas neurotic. For years and years, I had a goal to be finished with Christmas shopping by Thanksgiving. Some years I actually achieved this goal, which meant I picked up presents year-round and stepped up my game in earnest by about September.

I still buy gifts throughout the year when I see something perfect for someone on my list, but every year I get more relaxed about finishing early. I never got to the frenzied state of last-minute preparations - until this year.

This year, Oma suddenly had a vacant apartment right around Thanksgiving. Up until this year, she was always able to prepare her apartments for the next tenant by herself. Though she is 90 percent recovered, her illness did weaken her. We also can't forget that she is 82 years old, not to mention that the apartment is on the third floor. Oma has five huge pins holding her hip together from an injury thirty years ago, so it is excruciating for her to climb up and down those stairs. By the way, climbing the stairs does have its reward; this is the view from the living room and the bedroom:

And if you squint your eyes and know where to look, you can see the tippy top of the Golden Gate Bridge:

Oma did quite a bit of the work, supervising and working alongside a few favorite workers, but she still needed help. My sister, brother-in-law, and I spent the last few weeks shopping at hardware stores, Benjamin Moore paint stores, lighting stores, and Home Depot, plus we hired some extra workers and managed the tenant selection.

We never had an open house during the holidays before so it was fun to decorate the unit with a few holiday touches. Overall we were all pleased with the end result:

This past Sunday, we held an open house while it was pouring rain outside. It was lightly attended, but we think we found a lovely, responsible tenant.

We usually get our Christmas tree around mid-December. This year, we didn't get our tree until the morning of the open house, December 21st, because I always had to take our big car so I could schlep around light fixtures, curtains, shower heads, and staging props for the apartment.

As for our Christmas preparations, my lovely daughter managed to cook our entire Christmas dinner while I was a wrapping fool at the kitchen table, preparing the rental contract, and trying to perform credit and reference checks while everyone was at the mall instead of answering my phone messages. I abandoned the task of decorating the tree because the Christmas tree lights decided to have a mind of their own. Fortunately, my sister and brother-in-law came to the rescue and decorated the tree before we sat down for Christmas dinner.

While it was hard work, it was also strangely liberating. Our holiday expectations were suddenly brought down to a human level and I was much more relaxed about getting it all done. Next year, I hope to take a page out of the same book.

Sinterklaas

Today, 5 December, is Sinterklaas. On the eve of Sinterklaas, Dutch children set out their shoe, wooden klomp, or boot (favored by my kids due to its greater capacity), by the chimney. They fill the shoes with a little hay and a carrot for Sinterklaas’ white horse. If they’ve been good, one of Sinterklaas’ helpers, Zwarte Piet, fills their shoes with a present, some gingerbread cookies called pepernoten, and a chocolate letter.

The painting above, The Feast of St. Nicholas by Jan Havickszoon Steen (1626-1679), hangs in the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam. It depicts the morning of Sinterklaas in a Dutch household. The golden girl, complete with her golden dress, was obviously very good. She got a beautiful doll and a bucket full of goodies. Her older brother was the naughty one. He must have gotten a piece of coal. You can tell this is a Jan Steen painting right away because there is often a happy chaotic feeling to them. There are little round pepernoten strewn on the floor next to the bread basket and I see a huge beautiful, delicious-looking banket, which is almond paste covered in puff pastry, also on the floor(!). There is even a Dutch expression; a “Jan Steen household” is one where the housekeeping is a bit more…shall we say, lax.

What I remember of Sinterklaas in Holland most fondly is that this is the day when we exchanged presents. Yes, it’s very commercial, just like our Christmas, but it left Christmas as a sacred holiday. The Christmas I remember in Holland is similar to our Thanksgiving. It emphasizes sharing a beautiful meal with family and friends and of course, it also celebrates the birth of Jesus.

This time of year street organs ("draaiorgels") all over the Netherlands are playing Sinterklaas songs. Click here to hear a sample.

I adore Sinterklaas songs; there are dozens of famous classic ones. I used to sing them to my kids when they were babies, even when it wasn’t Sinterklaas.

I mentioned Sinterklaas’ helpers earlier. These helpers are palace pages from Morocco, just across the Mediterranean from Sinterklaas’ palace in Spain. They are usually white people wearing blackface and colorful pageboy costumes. When the political climate questioned why white people are masquerading as black, the immediate answer was that Zwarte Piet is black because of the chimney’s soot. All I know is that Zwarte Piet scared the peep out of me; mostly I’m sure because of the unnatural-looking shiny blackface.

Does all of this sound a bit strange to you? Tangobaby gave me a David Sedaris CD several years ago which contained a hilarious gig about the Zwarte Pieten and the rest of the Sinterklaas traditions:

Happy Sinterklaas!

Draaiorgel photo by marielle at Flickr

Thanksgiving Preparations

Last year, my sisters and I knew we would spend the day before Thanksgiving all day in the hospital with our mother. The turkey was already brining and the stuffing was already made. The night before, I asked my then 16-year-old daughter if she could find a spot in her heart to make the pumpkin pies while we were all at the hospital. We always make two kinds, one regular and one for my brother-in-law who has type I diabetes. We've made them together many times, I knew she could do it.

By 9 am, my daughter texted me: "After the pumpkin pies what should I do?"

"How about the apple pies?" We always have to make our own apple pies because my husband is highly allergic to corn and we have yet to find a decent apple pie that doesn't use corn starch as a thickening agent.

By 11, my daughter texted me: "Now what?"

"Do you know how to make green beans?"

"Is it in 'Joy of Cooking?'"

"Yes it is!" Off she went.

By the time we got home, all the vegetables were made. You can imagine the praise she got from everyone on Thanksgiving Day. I forget who it was that gave her the first shout when we went around the table to list why we were thankful, but it prompted my son to blurt out “Hey, that’s what I was going to say!” We all laughed knowingly. My daughter’s kitchen heroics were definitely the low-hanging fruit on the gratitude list.

This year, my daughter announced," I want to make all the same dishes I made last year." I had to pinch myself; how did I get so lucky? So, on Wednesday, my daughter and I cooked up a storm, with the under-the-counter iPod player blaring at high-volume. Actually, I didn't do much cooking at all. I was mostly a consultant and sous-chef this year, plus I set the table and made the centerpieces from left-over Wreath Clinic supplies. Talk about role reversal; setting the table used to be the kids’ job.

I can’t believe that the holiday preparation baton is already getting passed from mother to daughter.

Image from hillstockimages.com

Veterans Day

Today I would like to honor the military servicemen who served our great country in the past and those currently fighting for us in the Middle East. Your service continues to protect the constitution that made last week’s election and the promise of a bloodless transition of leadership possible. I thank you, and all others whose lives you touch, from the bottom of my heart!

I actually did remember it was a school holiday today. The last time my son had a school holiday, I forgot and woke him up at 7 a.m. He was not amused. This time he took a precautionary measure:

How well does he know his mother?

Flags at Arlington photo by Adam Skoczylas

Oma on the Mend

Before I continue with more eye-candy from the this year's quilt festival, I forgot to share the fantastically wonderful news about my mother. She is much, much better! I attribute her healing to all of you who have prayed for her and kept her in your thoughts since April 22nd. She is fifty pounds lighter, which I'm sure aided her healing, and 90 percent better. She is off all her meds except for one half tablet of one drug per day. These months have been very challenging for our entire family and we all appreciate your support!


The quilt featured here is one Oma made in 2003; it was selected to be shown at the Pacific International Quilt Festival that year. My daughter was 12 years old and going through a serious butterfly phase at the time:

The tulips are of course a nod to Oma's Dutch roots:

She was particularly proud of the scalloped edging, made of patched strips of fabric.

The machine quilting was done by a professional quilter. I will post her name as soon as possible.
Once again, thank you, thank you, thank you, one thousand thank yous!

A Weekend in Connecticut

Oma’s cat scan came out clear. We still don’t know what’s wrong, but I am relieved that we got good news on this test. The other good news is that she appears to be feeling better every day. Thank you to everyone who sent well wishes and stories about Oma. I think they had a very positive effect on her! I will definitely be writing posts about her amazing quilts and her home town of Lübeck, Germany, but I have to transfer the photos from another computer before I can tell the full story. Watch this space!

In the mean time, I have some photos from my trip to Connecticut on hand. About a month ago, I visited a small town close to the New York border named Kent. It is along the Housatonic River., which inspired Robert Underwood Johnson’s poem “The Housatonic at Stockbridge”

Contented river in thy dreamy realm
The cloudy willow and the plumy elm:
Thou beautiful! from ev'ry dreamy hill
What eye but wanders with thee at thy will.

Contented river! And yet overshy
To mask thy beauty from the eager eye;
Hast thou a thought to hide from field and town?
In some deep current of the sunlit brown.

Ah! there's a restive ripple,
And the swift red leaves
September's firstlings faster drift;
Wouldst thou away, dear stream?

Come, whisper near!
I also of much resting have a fear;
Let me tomorrow thy companion be,
By fall and shallow to the adventurous sea!

Well okay, it wasn’t September, instead it was May. If I was more talented I would write the May counterpart to the poem. I would not speak of the restive ripple and the swift red leaves, instead I would wax on about how the perfectly still waters reflect bright green juvenile leaves…

…and how the fishermen cast their flies (can you see them? they are about 3 pixels wide)

…and how nature always balances a perfect palette.

I will leave that poem for someone else to write.

Everywhere, the blossoms were at their peak:

We don’t get to see enough dogwoods here in California:

The coffee shop in town has a bulletin board where townspeople can purchase coffee futures for each other:

I fell in love with a basket shop with this shelf of Nantucket baskets:

Which is your favorite? Mine was this purse (or pocketbook, as they say on the East Coast):

It turned out to be just a tad too small to house all the electronics I tote around everywhere - a blessing, given that I don't need another purse, or another hole in my head.

When I had to make a U-turn, I pulled into a random driveway and saw this flanking the left side of the driveway:

and this on the right side:

On our way to visit Bard College, my daughter and I saw this farm:

We city slickers are not accustomed to seeing this!

We both liked the cow with the white face:

We visited my sister-in-law in Westport. Her one-year-old
Weimereiner, named Daisy, loves my daughter.

When we drove off, Daisy bid us good-bye.

We’ll be back, Daisy!