Month: April 2024

Mom and Snoopy

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Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: Today’s post is of a family photo, something I haven’t done in a long time, and it is one of my mom. The one year anniversary of her passing is tomorrow.

I wrote frequently about the surprisingly interesting time caring for her at the end of her life, here and here, and at her death I wrote a brief tribute to her here. However, a friend suggested that I find a photo of her to frame for my office as a way of recognizing the anniversary so I dug through some mountains of pictures in New Jersey last weekend and emerged triumphant.

Many years ago my mother’s mom put together a photo album for mom and her brother John for Christmas. I don’t remember seeing my uncle’s, but mom’s, although slim, is made up of wonderful early childhood photos of her that I had never seen. Mom’s father died young of a heart attack. He was much beloved to me during the short time I knew him (Poppy!), but I was only about four or five when he died. There aren’t a huge number of photos of him at all so it is extra nice to find these.

However, in addition to those photos which are mostly Betty and John as small kids with their various pets, mom had tucked a number of other early photos in and today’s photo is from that batch. This would have been taken around 1969, mom was still wearing her hair a bit long – she cut it short a year or so later, Snoopy just out of kittenhood.

Without knowing for sure I am fairly certain that this was taken at our house in Englewood, New Jersey, It was a tiny, cozy two bedroom cottage on Jones Road and across from what seemed to a tiny tot me to be an enormous park. (Actually, a google search shows a very substantial park on Jones Road, so perhaps my childhood estimate was more accurate than I think!)

Mom is holding the very first pussy cat in a long line of pets, Snoopy. I think I named him, for the comic strip and because he had black spots – he was a cow spotted kitty. In retrospect it is hard to believe that my older sister would have allowed me to name him (she was bossy!), but nonetheless that is my memory.

Snoopy was just a great cat. You’ve heard tales of my dressing him up in doll clothes and pushing him in my doll stroller – also playing circus dog with him and the German Shephard, Duchess. He was a lovely, easy going boy cat. He and the dog were buddies and unlike the dog, he rarely got into trouble (there was the time he walked across wet red paint on the porch and then through the kitchen, but that would be the exception that made the rule) and was loved by all equally. I believe his origin was as a barn cat – friends of my parents had a farm in South Jersey and supplied us with rather excellent cats for many years.

It’s funny that seeing him so many years later (his life was sadly cut short by an Akita several years later) his spots and markings are surprisingly immediately familiar. Black over one eye. I can remember petting him when I look at this.

My guess is that dad was trying out a new camera as this has a hallmark of being a rather posed photo. Dad wasn’t typically at his best with still photos. If anything I am better with those and lesser with moving images and he the opposite. He had an extraordinary eye for shooting movies, but somehow it didn’t quite apply to still images. This photo for me is an exception however. It captures mom and Snoopy perfectly and even reminds me of the wonderful garden at that house where these trees likely were. (When we moved to the shore, probably later that year, it was many years before we lived in a place with a garden and our first home was sandy, often salty soil right on the river, which flooded frequently. Mom struggled mightily to at least have a vegetable garden and some scrubby trees. Readers know I now glory in keeping up the garden my mom created at the house I inherited.)

One thing of note for me is that mom appears to be wearing both a watch (although on her right arm and she was right handed) and a wedding band. Mom never wore either later in life. I think she went through a series of wristwatches when she was younger and gave up – her active life and hands constantly in things probably did both that and the ring in. I know that the early version of her wedding band wasn’t gold (turned her finger green!) and she stopped wearing it. Years later my father gave her a gold band which I now have, but to my memory she just almost never wore jewelry. (Early arthritis in her fingers exacerbated this. I fight it in my own hands, especially with the fingers I broke a few years ago running.)

She is wearing a camel colored sweater coat, a very mom color. If it was a few years later jeans would be on the bottom half of her, but this early it was probably a skirt or some other trousers. She has a white (cotton I bet) top under the sweater. Mom was very allergic to wool and gave it up early in life. She wore a lot of polar fleece later on.

There is a little tear on the left of the photo where the color emulsion has peeled. I need to keep this in a not especially light or hot place I think. The color is faded.

Clearly I take after my father’s side of the family in this regard as I consider the purchase and wearing of jewelry to be one of life’s great pleasures! (I have written about some of my favorite finds here and here.) My paternal grandmother loved jewelry (Gertie! There’s a whole post for her here.) and my dad inherited that love and bought us three women in his life jewelry frequently. As a result, I have all of mom’s (virtually unworn) and my sister’s which tended toward a more contemporary design than the vintage pieces I am drawn to.

While it is mostly accepted that I resemble my mom more than my dad, I’ve not been sure about that as I age and look somewhat more like Gertie. Having said that, the resemblance between me and mom is strong in this picture, the differences in our coloring being less evident. (Mom was extremely freckled, fair and green eyed – I am fair but less freckled and brown eyed. Her hair had red tints that mine never had.)

Finding this photo was a gift and I am grateful! To have mom and Snoopy together to consider in this picture is a treat I had not anticipated and I cannot think of a better way to honor her life and the sad anniversary of her passing. Thank you mom.

Cats in Hats

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Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: Good morning! Sunny April day here and today’s picture post presents these three self-possessed looking miscreants curled up in a variety of battered chapeaux. Although this was evidently used as a Valentine greeting (written in admirable script at the bottom), I am thinking of it as a nod to the season and time to break out my straw hat.

The two tabbies, who are remarkably identical, are curled up in the first two hats while my sort of tuxie friend is vacating his black one. The disintegrating straw hat is the most interesting, not sure what is perched on the side – a tossed out cigarette? A bit of paper? What I call a claw paw grips the brim. Comfy kitty in the first hat fits nicely, tail curled around himself, the very tip pointing out. The odd fellow (or gal) out appears to be a tux or tuxie mix of some kind, hard to tell as his entire back half is in this black hat. The bad guy hat!

All three kitties have had their attention drawn off camera in the same direction. To that extent at least they are posed.

Someone has scratched into the negative, The Latest Thing in Hats in Wilawana. PA. According to my (albeit limited) map reading on Google, Wilawana appears to be a small town near the Chemung river and on the border of New York state.

In penned script on the back it reads, With love, From Mrs. ME Knighte and For Beulock Cosaiy [?] Wills NY Hamilton Co. However, there is no stamp so it was hand delivered or ultimately put in an envelope.

Dad in his white hat, more or less dead center of this photo.

My father was a devoted wearer of hats. I have written about Dad’s career as a news cameraman for many decades. (One of those posts can be read here.) At more than 6’5″ and with a ubiquitous fisherman’s hat on his head he was easy to pick out in a crowd and we would look for him on long shots of events on other news stations. Although a cotton fisherman’s cap (usually a fairly crisp, newer one) was most frequently worn to work, the older ones and a series of baseball style caps were employed outside at home. My father kept his hat on a great, small bronze statue of a running horse which I (sadly) no longer have, on a table outside our kitchen with his keys in it. I’m not sure I ever saw my father outside without a hat and prescription sunglasses.

The style of hat most frequently worn by my father.

The rest of the family did not sport hats. I cannot remember my mother wearing one, even on the coldest of winter days. (Mom would head outside with her short hair wet and the ends would freeze. She was hat resistant.) My sister Loren skied and therefore must have worn the occasional winter hat, although I can’t remember it and must feel she eschewed them in general. Edward (who may be reading this) was not especially inclined toward them either. (Ed, have you become a hat wearer?)

The much beloved Buck Jone Rangers hat.

I had an early inclination to hats, but in practice did not really figure them out until well into adulthood. There is my much sweated in cotton baseball cap for running (from the Gap, no logo) which reminds me of Dad’s, keeps the sun and sweat out of my eyes and also helps keep my hair up. Winter running requires a warmer (but washable) hat however – sometimes a hood too – something over my ears. The NJ variant is bright yellow green so I don’t get shot in the woods or runover in the low morning light.

I am very devoted to hat wearing in the cold in general and have a series of wool hats, always one stuffed in my purse in the transitional seasons, just in case. I lean toward a loose black wool one these days. As a kid I delighted in stocking caps and went through a stage of rather electric long ski hats that were popular for a bit. I was employing a wool cowboy style one in winter (sun protection, but good in light precipitation) until it was accidentally taken from a party. It was returned to the hostess, but I have yet to retrieve it from her. That one came from a hat store in Red Bank, NJ near where I like to have brunch if I first come into town on the weekend, the Dublin House.

This time of the year I break out one of a few straw hats. I like a small brim fedora style straw hat, although it has been pointed out to me that if keeping the sun off my face is my motive (which it is in large part) that a wider brim would serve better, but I don’t seem to be able to commit to those hats the way I can to a smaller one. For one thing my head size is small and it has helped to learn that a large hat is awkward on me. I like being able to smush it into my bag if needed. Like Dad I have adopted prescription sunglasses.

These days the favored hat is an aging straw one purchased in the airport on the way back from a business trip. I was in an airport in Arizona I think, on a leg back from California, San Diego I want to say which makes it a number of years ago now. I was killing time and vaguely in the market for a new summer hat. As these things go, I had no idea that I would still be wearing it daily for 2.5 seasons a year for so many years to come. It has only become every so slightly disreputable.

Recently purchased and subsequently installed hat and coat rack in NJ.

It’s elderly cousin is a blue straw version which was purchased in San Francisco on a donor visit years ago when I worked at the Met Museum. I had gone to visit an elderly (and remarkably fashionable) woman out there, Mona Picket, who was appalled that I was wandering around California in spring time without a hat so we went to a department store and bought me this one. Mona has subsequently passed on and I do think fondly of her when I wear that hat. It is very nicely made (and terribly expensive) and will probably outlast me if I continue to care for it.

Last summer Kim and I were on our way to meet people for dinner on the lower Eastside and I stopped us in our tracks to go into a store and buy a rather electric blue one. It was actually a yellow cousin which caught my eye but they did not have that color in my size. This blue one got a lot of action last summer and is my “good” work hat now.

Kim is an inveterate hat wearer in the tradition of my Dad. I’ve seen him through numerous baseball caps since we met, all of which somehow crossed his path and acquired somewhat (although not entirely) indiscriminately. To my memory, in some order or other, the following baseball hats have been employed: a blue Tar Heels one, a favorite was one acquired at a reading he did in Seattle for Fantagraphics, and the sort of stone favorite was a Buck Jones Rangers hat – the remains of which sit on a shelf over my head even as I write.

Seasonally a series of straw cowboy hats followed and there was one purchased at a K-Mart on a trip to Butte, Montana; a business trip for Kim. (Read about that trip which featured a whorehouse museum here!) For a cheap hat it lasted a good long while.

Kim keeps a bright Kelly green leprechaun-ish bowler around for wearing on someday other than St. Pat’s. Early in our relationship I stretched my wallet and purchased him a very good Stetson as a gift. It languished for several decades before it evolved into use and has now been his daily hat for a number of years. It is getting a good worn-in look and gets frequent compliments.

Kim was willing to pose for this out-the-door pic earlier.

I just installed a coat and hat rack in NJ. However, much in the style of my father, our hats are piled near the front door, some decorating an unused lamp. I do try to resist the temptation to put hats on the cats, but sometimes the Devil wins on that one.

Miltie, senior feline of NJ, in a hat from a post earlier this year.

Scaredy Cat in Bloom

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Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: Although I purchased this card from a US vendor it appears to be European. There is something written in a language I cannot recognize or discern. I assumed it was American as it reminds me of one in my collection from Seattle. Nothing other than that pencil note is written on the back and it was never sent.

I am not positive of the type of flowers on this float although they might be daffodils. Kitty sports a big bow. Big hard whiskers stick out of the sides of his mouth – tail in the air, sticking straight up in a traditional scaredy cat pose. Of course once start I thinking it is European then I can decide that the houses in the background are European.

Plants awaiting planting! Strawberries and pansies, a sad bit of basil in the back.

From the women’s hats we can more or less date the photo to the thirties. It doesn’t look especially warm, definitely spring not summer, there are jackets and layers. It’s interesting that although there is a big crowd, no other floats are at all visible if they do exist – or is this one the only one?

As I write from New Jersey today the cats are romping around the house. Beau has found a bright pink mouse and has decided to chase Stormy – ending in a nice scratch on a new, catnip infused scratching box. He slept on top of me all night which is his habit when I come here, but he’s all wound up now.

My tulips and daffodils in the front yard.

I found that my efforts last fall have paid off in the garden, tulips managed to make their way up, as have daffodils, somehow making their way despite hungry deer, squirrels and their brethren. Today will be spent planting some early lettuce, cucumbers and pansies which are a cheerful favorite. It turns out that the strawberries and many of the herbs have wintered over. My fig tree has tripled in size living inside this winter, but some of our nights might still be too chilly to bring it outside. I also bought a small grapevine and raspberry which I will find a place for in the yard.

Lettuce, grapevine, raspberries and cucumbers hiding. A nice dahlia and peony waiting to be planted as well.

So I leave you as I head to my first day of digging for the season. More and the fruits of my labor to come.

Tiled

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: Today’s item was one of those now you see it now you don’t – and back again items on eBay. I was surprised and disappointed when it was pulled from sale and equally delighted when mysteriously it was relisted. Evidently it was from an estate sale of tiles. It was listed as from the 1930’s and it is in very good condition so it is hard to say.

I immediately had a vision of a fireplace in an Arts and Crafts style cottage somewhere lost in time, decorated with cheerful Felix tiles! Clearly I would buy the house just for that. (I have a friend whose father heard of a house being torn down with great fireplace tiles and he got permission to go and take them out. They are at the Met Museum now.)

Felix appears to be going somewhere and pointing in that direction, and he has an umbrella which seriously makes me wonder about what the other ones in a series might have looked like. Were they all weather related? Felix in the sun and snow? There are a few minor imperfections in the tile, a small chip or two where the glaze bubbled. It is a very good likeness of the cat though, I must say.

Pams-Pictorama.com Collection.

In all my years of looking at vast amounts of Felix items I have never seen another. I have, in my years of collecting, seen an odd thing where sometimes you find something you never saw before and then you start seeing a few more. That happened with the these Felix holiday cards below which I wrote about here.

One other cartoon tile was being sold and I am sorry I didn’t try to snatch it up, but I got so confused by this one being pulled off I lost my focus. It is below and sold for about the same price. This one (is it Betty Boop’s sidekick Bimbo?) was identified as being from Mission Art Tile California. I can’t really find tracks on that either however. It appears to be in similar mint condition.

Not in the Pams-Pictorama.com Collection.

I grew up in a house with two massive brick fireplaces. My parents purchased old bricks before that was popular in building and they also bought an enormous beam from a barn which was halved and used as mantels for both. The ancient wood fascinated me, full of worm holes!

We used the downstairs fireplace constantly in the winter months and I do really love sitting by an open fire. My mom later converted it to gas which was somewhat disappointing, but we still used it a lot. The house she left me in NJ has a small brick fireplace, but to reline the chimney (it seems they would pour a ceramic liner into it?) and make it truly safe would cost a bundle so I doubt we will have fires there. I have purchased and set a small fire pit in the backyard to make up for this loss and I hope to be able to engage in using it in the coming warming months.

It makes me happy to imagine a world where fireplaces might have been decorated with jolly cartoon characters. Now that I know about these I will look for more – you never know, I might be able to remodel mine one day!

Felix in the Nursery

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: I pulled this photo off of a small pile on my desk this morning. Purchased several months back, it has awaited its turn up at bat. It is neither professional, nor significantly profound, but delightful in its own way.

It is a 2″x 4″ photo with nothing written and no identifying information on the back, although it appears to have been printed by a skilled hand. The Felix is the only thing really to date the image and I would assume that it was during the zenith of his popularity, most likely the 1920’s, but perhaps as late as the early 1930’s is my guess.

Baby is playing with a baby doll which is always a touch of irony for me – and this doll looks remarkably like the kid. The Felix surveying all around him is a very classic chalkware or composition model. Oddly, I don’t actually own this particular very popular item – in part perhaps because they are fragile and I have a general aversion to large, easily broken items. Still, in considering him here and online this morning, I will say I should wait for a nice example and grab it. He would look splendid surveying the living room or bedroom in New Jersey. Let’s see if I achieve that goal in coming months.

These Felix-es are touted as carnival prizes, but I have never really accepted that as their origin. There are slightly cheaper, more slightly off-model versions which I assume fit this bill, but these always seemed a bit nicer than that. Evidently some have mobile arms and this fellow looks like he might be a candidate for being such a high class item.

The kid, as far as the viewer can tell, wears only shoes (nice sheepskin trimmed ones, perhaps all the better to start to walk in?) and we’ll assume a diaper. He or she is sitting in such a very nice sunny spot it gives me a cat-like yen to locate it and curl up in it – and nap. The curtains are helping the composition of this photo considerably, creating a pattern through out and catching the sun up in front. The shadows play nicely across the baby and around him. These are massive windows (I vaguely assume that the child is on the floor so they go all the way up!), and the sun streams in at the front and is in deep shade in the back of the room.

As I write it is in fact a sunny Sunday morning here in Manhattan, a relief after a week of pouring and sometimes teeming rain, so perhaps I am sun sensitive and craving as I write. I doggedly remind myself of April showers bringing May flowers, but we are soggy here and revel in the relief. Next weekend I will go to Jersey and check out the garden there and try to turn my mind to spring and summer. Time to put the lettuces in I think, or soon anyway. Growing things and time out in the yard will be the best harbingers of the season and the remedy for the blues, not to mention a visit with the New Jersey kitties.

Within

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: This is a tiny post – at least in that it refers to two petit specimens that arrived in the mail recently, about 30% smaller than I had estimated. These boxes are however still so charming that I am taken with them despite not knowing what use I can put them to. They appeared on my Instagram feed (via @marsh.and.meadow) and on a whim I bought them.

Some of you readers already know I can’t resist a box. I have opined on my love of them before in posts here and here. There is something endlessly comforting about containers – those which promise to hold things, give them a place, put them away appropriately. (In all honesty, it isn’t like I actually always employ them for these rarified purposes once I have them, but it is the thought that counts.)

My original inspirations was that the larger of the two could hold the unruly pushpins on my desk in my office. The fact is that my office is such a mess these days I can’t begin to imagine how I could have focused on pushpins.

Due to construction at our main building I work in a mostly residential high rise tower about a block away. There is a hallway which houses a disparate bunch of us – my fellow fundraisers, various administrative staff, a clutch of doctors and a few data scientists who have recently joined the ranks. My office is spacious enough if remarkably blue in color – I am talking walls. (It lends a certain Smurfness to my Zoom encounters.) We only have partial walls so remarks are occasionally tossed over the wall to the pathologist on one side or the educator on the other – while we simultaneously pretend we can’t hear everyone’s conversations. My job requires a lot of talking, on the phone and with staff, so I am sorry for them as I know I have destroyed any peace and quiet.

The undeniably jolly Rescue container. I have less stress just playing with it!

However, the main point about my office is that it leaks terribly. Skylights that are river facing and given rain and wind coming off the river water pours into my office. The landlord does not seem able or inclined to fix it so this week I packed up the whole thing and we rearranged the cabinets and furniture so my desk is no longer under the leak. I lost about a day of work and am still not unpacked, but I have the additional advantage of being in a sunnier spot under said skylights and my weekends and evenings will be calmer not thinking about whether or not I remembered to stick a plastic kitty litter bin under the leak.

However, somehow in all of that I managed to have a moment to be annoyed that the pushpins for the bulletin board were in an ugly plastic container that tends to spill. This was my solution. And, in all fairness, the larger of the two would probably hold sufficient pushpins for daily desktop needs, even if a tad smaller than planned.

The larger of the two is emblazoned with Pastilles Halda and some related prose which roughly translates to being the best for mouth and throat irritations, larynx and bronchial affections (infections?). Pastilles, melt in your mouth sugar pills, were for various maladies having made their first appearance in France in 1825. Those appear to have been for stomach trouble.

Surprise! Found inside the larger container.

Both boxes are of a hard cardboard, but it is still a bit amazing that they reached down decades to us intact. I will try to be good stewards of them. The sides of each is brightly patterned making them attractive and festive which likely contributed to their longevity.

When I opened the blue one, there was this lovely tiny photo below saying hello. Thank you @marsh.and.meadow! That was a wonderful little surprise. I could do a whole post on this amazing little girl in a huge hat. More or less a one inch square she peers out from under the huge brim, a mass of curls falling behind her. Her attention has been caught looking off to the side where someone was clearly trying to induce her to smile – in the end I think they got the best photo anyway.

Pams-Pictorama.com Collection.

Meanwhile, pastilles remain with us today – cough drops and the like. They have slid toward gummies more than hard confections. I’m a fan of a good gummie (am devoted to Rescue Remedy ones that have melatonin to help me sleep), but to soothe a sore throat I like a hard, cherry Ludens myself.

This larger of these two sport eucalyptus and menthol as ingredients. It brings childhood to mind and the various types of cough drops I was plied with. There were the honey and menthol ones that were the most serious, the soft Smith Brothers ones that also came in a honey flavor and then the cherry Ludens which, although I liked them best, were probably lowest on the scale for effectiveness but the most like candy.

These days I reach for Riccola when I need a serious cough drop. They appeared late in my childhood, closer to young adulthood. I usually keep a few on hand in case a fit of coughing overcomes me or a guest in my office. I still lean toward cherry, but they are very no nonsense it doesn’t really matter.

The Ludens box of my youth.

My friends over at Bach, who make the Rescue products as mentioned above, serve up their line of stress reducing pastilles in a most charming yellow tin with a very satisfying and clever pop top. It is worth having one around just to play with the tin. Sadly the aforementioned melatonin gummies come in a very average bottle, and are in fact too large for this jolly receptacle.

The smaller box appears to have held saffron from Belgium – not medicinal at all. Saffron, which is a notoriously expensive spice, generally comes in tiny receptacles (glass mostly these days, not much bigger than a pill casing) and is of course bright orange. There is no sign of this on the interior of the box so the saffron must have been further wrapped.

Neither of the companies associated with these boxes appear to exist today, although there is a Valda rather than Halda French pastille company that seems to have a fair amount of market share. I could not find a history for it so I don’t know if these are the roots of same or not.

Perhaps once everything is once again put away at work I will share photos of the new office rearranged. I think it could use a few more photos and maybe another toy or two before it is really home away from home however.

Enchanted

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: I guess I should put out a sort of spoiler alert here if you have a hankering to watch one of these versions before reading this post today! This post will be musings on both the 1924 (recent restoration) and the 1945 film. It’s likely I will touch on plot points. In addition to these two films, there is a 2016 version which I have not seen and I do not endeavor to comment on.

The first time I saw the 1945 version of The Enchanted Cottage I was in high school and getting ready to leave one morning and it was on television. I can’t imagine now what channel it could have been on since this was in the days before TCM. I must have caught about half of it. It was long before the internet so I had to hold onto this snippet of film for many years before I was able to catch up with it or even know much about it.

Full radio version with the 1945 cast.

Eventually I was able to catch up with it and have enjoyed multiple viewings over the years. (As a total aside, in researching this I also found a full contemporaneous radio version by Young and McGuire as above.) For those who aren’t in the know, the story centers around an unlikely couple who find happiness in a gently enchanted cottage in the British countryside. The man is a wealthy former bon vivant who has been disfigured in the war and the woman is an unattractive (in a plain Jane sort of way) local who helps out at the house. They enter into a marriage of convenience and thus the story unfolds.

Only image from the play I could find available. A bit confusing if she is to be the unattractive maid here getting married.

The genesis of the plot appears to be a play of 1921 by the English playwright Arthur Wing Pinero. The outline of the play’s history is somewhat scant, appears to have premiered on Broadway in ’23 with Katherine Cornell and run for a scant 65 performances. For something that has had such legs on film, it did not have an auspicious beginning.

However, it was clearly enough to kick the early film production launching the 1924 version which Edward Lorussa has recently so thoughtfully and thoroughly restored and released via a Kickstarter campaign. (The info on the restoration and the availability of the disk can be found here.)

Although we generally get on board with supporting all of Mr. Lorussa’s restorations, I was bouncing up and down excited for this one. Kim and I had seen a really ratty print a long time ago, I believe, at a branch of the New York Public Library – what used to be the branch across the street from MoMA. It really only served to make me want to see a better restoration.

A ghostly couple considers the plight of these two, joined in a marriage of convenience only.

By now the 1945 film has become a longstanding, much viewed favorite of mine. (It does not appear to be available in full on Youtube, but you can find it on most streaming services.) Robert Young is the young war vet. In this version he and his fiance visit the cottage with the intention of renting it after they are married. They are gaily happy and somewhat dismissive of those around them. However, the war interrupts their plans and he returns from the battlefield a scarred and broken man.

Refusing to marry her after witnessing the shock that his transformation has had on her, he returns to the cottage alone where he shuts himself up and away from family and friends.

Pre-transformation McGuire and Young.

He eventually meets a blind Herbert Marshall and in this version I believe the allusion is to Marshall’s blindness having occurred as a result of the earlier world war. He is well adapted and embracing of his own life, complete with a nephew and pup who are his companions and help him navigate the world. Dorothy McGuire is the female lead. Always tricky to have to make an actress look unattractive or even plain. I would say they do a reasonable job with it.

Post transformation McGuire and Young.

At the heart of the film is the transformation of the couple, by their growing affection and an allusion to the magic of the cottage. This is tricky. You need Robert Young to change, but should his disabilities actually heal? They do a good job of transforming him short of his full-on Hollywood self. A variation would apply to Dorothy McGuire too. While it is a bit hard not to at least see her as a diamond in the rough, she is dutifully dulled down and restored to her requisite glory.

Barthemess with his sister – the specter of her coming to live with him chases him into his marriage of convenience.

Cold water is thrown on their cocoon of grace as they realize the outside world does not in fact see them as transformed. Their love ultimately conquers this turn and the cottage rewards them with it’s only real moment of magic in this version, when it spontaneously inscribes their name on a lovers window in the cottage.

At 91 minutes this version is somehow infused with a bit more background story and color than the 1924 version which is a scant ten minutes shorter. The ’24 version is darker, both literally and in essence. We have no opportunity to meet the vet in better days and while his fawning weak mother is a bigger part in the ’45 film a somewhat masculine and very bossy sister is added to a good effect. She even bosses the mother and father. In this version the fiance is also made fairly short shrift of as well.

Friendly female ghost visitation.

This cottage is kept quite dark for much of the film and unlike the later version we are treated to ghostly couples of the past romping throughout and one assumes they play a helpful role in getting this couple together. This time the lovers are played by Richard Barthelmess and May McAvoy.

Barthelmess has impairment of leg and arm on one side, in addition to scars on his face. Even transformed, he maintains some trouble walking and a limited use of his arm. Meanwhile, May McAvoy is taunted by unthinking schoolchildren for looking like a witch. They walk a good line with her looking quite plain and her transformation is, I think, more pronounced than the Dorothy McGuire one.

McAvoy before being transformed.

I think the real difference here is there is a rawness post WWI which plays out differently in the post WWII version. The blind Major Hillgrove (Holmes Herbert in this version) is perhaps the most poignant difference. In this version they were actually in a war torn hospital together briefly and his own pain over his blindness is still visceral. At one point when asked about their transformation he longs for it to be true so that maybe he too will be healed. Perhaps the very real and sometimes raw sadness of the film accounts for the fact that it did not do well upon release. It was dubbed too cerebral among other things by critics.

The couple transformed in the ’24 version.

Mr. Lorusso has done a splendid job (as always!) with the restoration. Rodney Sauer of the Mont Alto Motion Picture Orchestra to create a piano and violin score for the film which helps create the overall ambiance. As you will see if you read the above description by Lorusso, you will see it was made from a rare 35mm print and it is largely beautiful if a bit soft in places. He speculates that there was originally tinting.

Also, freakishly, this print was somehow made over the sound track of an entirely different film. The story about how that came about is lost to the sands of time. Fortunately however the film is not and I highly recommend purchasing a copy and settling in to watch a double feature with it and the 1945 version. Three cheers for Edward Lorusso!

Springing?

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: Things have been quiet on the acquisition front so I thought I would spend today with just a bit of a life update. Here on the east coast, spring made some real inroads recently, only to roll back temperatures. New spring dresses and trousers hang in the closet with a come hither appeal and anticipation, however temperatures have not risen much above the mid-50’s and the windy morning chill has been more like the 43 degrees it is as I write. Still, the cherry and other flowering trees are in bloom and daffodils and other harbingers of the season are here.

Photos from the NJ garden are coming my way and I am anxious to get there and see them in person, the fruits of some later summer and early fall labor, an afternoon of planting stolen one day. Given some work commitments it will be another couple of weeks before I am out there. I hope to grab a couple of consecutive days though and it will likely be around the anniversary of mom going at the end of the month.

A picture of daffodils from my NJ garden, sent by a friend.

The new job is going well, but it is new which is tiring I think by its very nature. Still learning who is who and where to go for what and how to get anything done. Deciding what the right style for leading this group will be is part of it. They are few but seasoned professionals which is very different than the young green kids I found at JALC when I got there. It is a complex organization and that kind of learning is slow – I was lucky to have grown up at the Met and didn’t have to learn it cold like I am here and it is unlike Jazz where I was thrown into the deep end with a great sense of urgency about raising money immediately.

To date I’ve hired three staff people so the dynamic is already changing before I got at all familiar with it. Having many openings meant people were doing too many jobs and hiring as quickly as possible seemed like the nicest thing I could do for them. The energy is very different and the pace is undeniably slower and more sane.

The job pulls more on my experience at the Metropolitan Museum than Jazz at Lincoln Center did so I also find myself immersed in that period of my life as I sort through files I brought with me when I left there, adding to the layered confusion of what period of my past I am spending time in. I even see more people from the Met these days so I am rolling back time in some ways. (I wrote about my long history working at the Met here.) However, the world has certainly changed in the past seven years and work and managing staff will never go back to being the same. We will always be somewhat hybrid at an office now and need to be nimble and agile in new ways – some of which I, like many managers, are still figuring out.

A low calorie version of French Toast I am fond of these days, perched on a plate I bought on my birthday this year from Fishes Eddy which specializes in selling off whole sets as well as individual dishes.

Meanwhile, in the past twelve months and since caring for mom before her death, many good habits have fallen by the wayside I am afraid. I am picking them back up the best I can. Running has been sporadic and has been put entirely aside between oral surgery and the new job at the top of the year.

I have instituted a diet (when I diet I count calories, although I will grant that what you eat does also make a difference) and I exercise. However I have to rebuild the real habit of either lifting and the gym or get back to running now that the weather is better. I am doing my best to tame my new work schedule to figure that out. It is the first time in years I have not had a steady workout routine and fell the loss of it without quite being able to reconcile it. I am hoping for muscle memory when the time does come.

Pot of soup simmering is always cheerful!

I realized the other day I haven’t made soup in months (two of my recipes can be found here and here) and stocked up on the fixings to do so tomorrow. Nice to get a few pots in before the weather largely grows too warm for it. Soup can take a big bite out of a week of meal planning. I have wanted my weekends away from the stove, but am ready to get back on it. (As I write bags of food from Fresh Direct which just arrived sitting at the front door, awaiting my attention.)

So despite best efforts I have not quite yet emerged as the new next version of me and continue to work on it. As one friend said, I am still in my larvae stage, a gooey not quite moth and not yet butterfly. On a larger scale I think about the looming total solar eclipse in a few days, the comets and planetary activity surrounding it that seems to be in play. I don’t think it is a coincidence that here, in the path of the upcoming eclipse, we would have a rare earthquake as we had yesterday; even the heavens are changing and realigning themselves this spring.