Cat Cameo

Pam’s Pictorama Post: Being in New Jersey inspires me to push along with my mother’s estate and closing out various accounts or putting them in my name. I had been dragging my feet about closing out the credit card as numerous things were tied to it, but there were many charges that started to accumulate which I was unable to track down (New York Times, this means you), and so I decided I really needed to take it on the other day and settled in with the tv and some light work to do as I consigned myself for a marathon phone wait.

The wait turned out to be reasonable and after a litany of questions (I had the special joy that my mom had continued using a card in my dad’s name despite him dying in 2018 – they loved that) which had to be worked through, I finally accomplished it. The next morning, as I went to file the paperwork I had used the day before I realized…there was a second credit card. So later that afternoon, I consigned myself back to the phone fiesta and settled in for a longer wait.

I got the anticipated wait and someone decidedly less sympathetic eventually came on the line. She demanded some info which I needed from my dad’s death certificate and stayed on the line while I went rooting around for it. While I had my arm deep in the file cabinet (where it was tucked to one side) I found a little jewelry box marked APA since 1848.

After I finished my long hassle with the woman from Chase and effectively closed down the “hidden” credit card account, I decided to have a look inside the box. Much to my surprise I found a lovely little cat cameo. This morning after taking a photo of it and blowing it up I confirmed that etched in the back is, 14k 1985. This would coincide with a trip my father and brother took to Greece that year. They stopped over to visit me spending a year living in London.

APA appears to refer to an artisan family descended from a fellow named Giovanni Apa who was a master carver establishing the business in 1848 as per the box. Today there is a showroom Torre del Greco, nestled at the foot of the Mount Vesuvius. From a quick look the showroom is as much museum as salesroom and the artisans work on site. They are primarily known for cameos and jewelry made of coral. Sadly their online shop is not accessible right now however.

I have no memory of my dad bringing this home from my mom but since I wasn’t living home then it is possible I never saw it. He had a great eye for jewelry, inherited from his mother as far as I can tell – I have always believed that my flea market gene came from her via my dad who was an veteran garage sale shopper. It screams of dad’s taste.

While I’m sure mom liked it very much the truth is mom never wore jewelry. She was not even especially attached to her wedding band and engagement rings (which she gave to me and my sister) and I can only remember her wearing them infrequently and until a certain age.

I can barely think of an occasion where she wore a necklace, bracelet or other ring. She had a pair of pearl earrings (which I also have) which she may have worn to a wedding or the like somewhere along the line. (She did have a few pieces of Art Smith and a post on those can be found here.)

This little cat happens to be of a sort I have wanted for a long time. He’s a slightly rotund little fellow, tail wrapped around he feet. One of my all time favorite pieces of jewelry in my collection is a horse cameo where an old cameo was put in a ring. (A post that includes the history of that piece can be found here.) I have always wanted a cat companion, either a cameo or micro-mosaic of a cat ring. Made in the traditional way it is as close to the esthetic of the antique one as possible. Although I may try wearing it as a necklace I suspect I will wear it more as a ring. I will ask my friends at Muriel Chastanet in Los Angeles if she would like to take a try at it – so follow up future post to come. Seems to be a fitting find for someone who inherited five cats and is heading to a new job at the Schwarzman Animal Medical Center.

Feline Greetings from Fair Haven

Posted by Pam's Pictorama

Pam’s Pictorama Post: Today is the annual Christmas card reveal. clearly this year we celebrate the whole Butler crew, all eight kitties, including Hobo.

We are ensconced here at Oxford Avenue for the holiday duration this year. I have inaugurated the holidays by acquiring a violent stomach virus so this may be a bit brief. It’s an odd year, my first without my mom and I am feeling it even more keenly than I thought I would. I am usually pro-Christmas and manage holiday cheer even under duress. This year is tough, although I am curled up here in New Jersey with Kim and all the kitties which helps. Drinking fluids! No baking while this is going on.

*Last year’s card – Blackie and Cookie solo in front of our apartment window.*

The card has a double meaning this year as I leave Jazz at Lincoln Center for the very different world of fundraising for the Schwarzman Animal Medical Center. Animal lover and rescuer of animals as she was, all of us think Mom would find that an appropriate switch; she was always concerned that my job at Jazz was too exhausting for the long haul, with its travel and many nights.

AMC will be unlike anything I have done before and I don’t dismiss the difference and the adjustment – all fundraising is not the same. Still, my brain itches to engage with new challenges and I think building a full fundraising operation for them is the next best chapter.

Blackie is stalking around the New Jersey house; Cookie has returned to her safe spot under a chair in the bedroom. Beau and Blackie had a hissy hello last night. I think the other New Jersey cats remain largely unaware. There is always an adjustment period.

Kim has taken over my office for the duration and, after a few false starts for a new dip pen holder and something for his ink, he is inking away upstairs.

*The original Pam Butler pencil drawing.*

This year’s card was conceived of and drawn by me as a tribute to my new cat family and job – I include my original pencil for the first time. Kim inked it and added the logo which is properly Deitchien. Each cat gets a proper portrait. Kim added a little maniacal twist to Cookie who is chasing her tail (as she still does almost daily at 10 years of age) and Beau and Blackie are facing off a bit.

So our best wishes for the holidays and the New Year from us at Deitch Studio and Pictorama. Hope you enjoy it!

An Ending and the New Year

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: Today is a personal post. For those of you who are just in it for the photos and the toys, you might want to go back to finishing the holiday cards (ours coming up next weekend!), but for others you might want to get that second cup of coffee and settle in.

As I have alluded to in recent prior posts, I am finishing my last few days at Jazz at Lincoln Center. For almost seven years I have been their chief fundraiser and occasionally chronicled my work life here. The early days of figuring it out, nascent traveling with the orchestra, learning the rhythms and pace (very fast) of the place. I have likened it to leaping onto a speeding train.

*JLCO taking a break outside of a Cracker Barrel restaurant during BBH Tour 2017.*

Tonight I will attend my last Big Band Holiday concert as staff. Early in my work life I toured with the orchestra for Big Band Holiday, through Florida and much of the southeast. (That post can be found here.) I had made a nascent trip to Shanghai (and wrote about that here) in the first few months, but it was the Big Band Holiday tour that really made me understand what it was like for the orchestra when they were on the road and what was and was not going to be possible in terms of fundraising on those trips.

I wrote occasionally about the long Zoom-filled pandemic days – especially hard at a performing arts organizing which can no longer perform. I had to dig deep into my creativity to fundraise successfully, always hand in hand with Wynton Marsalis who proved to be an invaluable leader. Coming out of those pandemic days have been hard on managers. We are expected to mitigate both the needs of executive leadership and our staff. First the Great Resignation as folks settled into new careers and lives sometimes across the country from where they started.

*Final evening at Dizzy’s this past week. Mary Stalling and the amazing Emmett Cohen Trio.*

The longing to return to a pre-Covid office life is understandable, but not entirely practical as our staff has become accustom to more flexibility. Ours was a great office culture before Covid so it has been sad to see the office anemically filled, no longer teeming with musicians and bustling with energy. Sadly, longing for something doesn’t make it so. You need to create something new instead. A September mandated five day return to office was not the right catalyst.

As many of you know, my time there also morphed into the period I cared for my mother who had her final illness in New Jersey over the first four months of this year. I am beyond grateful for the thoughtfulness of Jazz at Lincoln Center and my colleagues while I traveled back and forth, frequently working days from there weekly until for a period at the end when I stayed in New Jersey. (Those days and that unusual time is in posts here and here.)

****

Mom died in April and left me her house with five cats (plus Hobo, our outdoor pal). With the addition of Cookie and Blackie (the New York cats) that bring us more or less to eight. I became a crazy cat lady overnight – but I like to say mom had me in training for years! Kim and I packed the cats up and we spent five weeks in Jersey at the end of the summer. (A few posts about our lazy summer days can be found here and here.)

Without realizing it, I guess this brought me to the end of one period of my life and to the threshold of something different. I am not sure I knew that until late this fall someone put me in touch with the Schwarzman Animal Medical Center which was looking for someone to develop its fundraising arm. As I spoke with them I began to get excited about the opportunities I could see for them and my brain started shifting gears.

*Paying a visit to Blackie at AMC. Was crawling on the floor trying to get him to eat tuna from my hand.*

Some of you will remember that a year ago, Blackie was very sick and spent (and very expensive) week there while they saved his life after a dramatic infection suddenly took over his body. Although I mentioned it, I never posted about the very dark week we had while he was there. He was, in their words, a very sick kitty indeed and we are of course very grateful patients.

*Blackie sporting a bright pink bandage after he came home.*

The Animal Medical Center was founded in 1911 by a group of women who were volunteering for the nascent ASPCA and recognized the need for veterinary care for animals as well as their welfare. I plan to dig into this lore and I’m sure I will be sharing tidbits over time.

Today it is the largest animal hospital of its kind in the world, serving more than 50,000 animals a year. It is an elite veterinary facility where young vets train and research is done. I hope to help them expand what they do in these and other areas, including funding the free services they offer to the City’s police dogs and horse, our zoos and rescue animals which need surgical intervention.

*Yoda the police dog being honored at the Top Dog AMC Gala this week.*

I will miss my colleagues at Jazz, especially the endlessly talented musicians in the band, not to mention the nights at Dizzy’s – listening to Bill Charlap while the summer sun sets over Central Park – and the concerts in the hall. Dinners planned around the music and the stunning views of Columbus Circle. I will miss the daily encounters with folks who know me and I know them and we are part of a well-oiled machine together.

I find change painful and as I navigate the first holidays without my mom, this additional parting of the ways has sometimes overwhelmed me. Change is hard. Growing is hard, but you need to pay attention to the voice that urges you forward to the next thing.

Tonight, a final Big Band Holiday concert in the hall. Then we head to New Jersey for three weeks at the end of this week. Obviously I will post from there, but I am hoping it can be a few weeks of cookie baking and reflection. The new gig starts mid-January. So we gently close one chapter and head to the next.

Pickled Pepper Post

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: We haven’t had a recipe post in a very long time and I guess today’s pepper post falls roughly in that category. Jumping back a little, ongoing readers know that Kim and I have been spending a long summer vacation in New Jersey. (Some of those recent posts can be found here, here and here.)

Further back, some folks also know that I lived in this house during the first months of this year with my mom during her final illness, managing a consistent group of two caregivers on every shift during the 24 hours. I have spoken about the extraordinary loving care mom received from this group of women and among them was the major-domo Winsome who remains my New Jersey sister and Chief of Staff now after mom’s passing in late April. (Some of those posts are here and here.)

*This strawberry plant wants to take over the world!*

Part of my summer vacation project has been maintaining and adding to my mom’s beautiful backyard garden. Mom loved the garden and although unable to go outside, she followed its progress from her window perch and worked ongoing with her long-standing gardener.

My additions have largely been of the vegetable and herb nature. Blueberry and strawberry plants (largely enjoyed by the bunnies and chipmonks), a fig tree, an overflowing herb garden. And peppers. Although my lone bell pepper plant produced precisely two peppers, a couple of scotch bonnet plants brought over by a friend and a random jalapeno plant bought from a damaged shelf have produced prodigiously.

Aside from a grilled cheese sporting some chopped jalapenos there was no way I could use (or give away) so many hot peppers before they went bad so Winsome offered to show me how to pickle them. We assembled the bits and Saturday morning we got underway. Winsome hails originally from Jamaica so what follows is a somewhat Jamaican influenced version.

*Pimentas are very much like black peppercorns.*

First Winsome introduced me to a vegetable called a chayote which seemed to be a cross between a turnip and a pear. Under her instruction I peeled it lightly, cut it open and sliced out the seedy center. Carrots, onions (red and white for a variety of color) and of course the peppers were cut in quarter inch strips, not thinner. Peppercorns she called pimientos were used whole but these are similar if not the same as black peppercorns, we pulled about two dozen out.

Strap on your gloves if you haven’t already! Also I recommend using all glass dishes (I ruined some plastic containers) and a plastic cutting board or disposable cutting surface. Remember that once you start cutting the peppers you need to be careful not to touch your face or eyes and also that the knife and surfaces will have pepper oil on them. I nibbled a raw piece of chayote and realized that I had cut some more of it with the pepper covered knife! Ouch!

*My peppers were supplemented with some W gave me!*

Combine salt, white vinegar and the peppercorns and heat for about 5-10 minutes, just to dissolve. At the same time boil the jars and lids. Begin layering the carrots, chayote, and onions and then the pepper slices. Make sure you drop some of the peppercorns into the lower layers, begin spooning the vinegar and salt solution in. Fill to the top and add liquid to cover.

I didn’t use garlic but you certainly could. An easier method of saving and using the peppers would be to freeze them and cut bits off as needed. I will likely do that with my next batch so I will report back!

*Heat vinegar and sugar with the peppercorns.*

What you need:

Disposable gloves
Chili Peppers
Sugar (teaspoon)
Salt (half teaspoon)
White vinegar (about 1.25 cups to start – you may need more liquid)
Chayote
Red and white onion
Jars
Peppercorns or Pimiento peppercorns
Jars

Kid Stuff

Posted by Pam's Pictorama

Pam’s Pictorama Post: Vacation dawned here in NJ yesterday. Kim and I are officially “off” although I have to report to work one day this week and perhaps another the week after, nonetheless we are kicking up our heels a bit. Pictorama readers who have been following in real time know that although we had some trouble settling in, we have already started to adopt a vacation frame of mind. (Prior posts include ones here, here and here.)

So today, a quick little post devoted to one of a few bits of family art that survived the moves my parents did in the later years of their life. Having gone from a house chock full of art to much smaller digs, sadly not all the art made the moves. (I am most sad about a bronze sculpture of a horse running with a dog along side which my mom gave away.)

The painting I am posting about today was recently pulled out of a closet and hung over our bed. My mom said it was by Carolyn Wyeth (1909-1994), sister to Andrew and daughter of N.C., which is likely because my dad filmed a documentary on her many decades ago. Dad did most of the art buying and he would have found the opportunity like catnip and he held the opinion that she should have been better known.

I can’t find a signature on it but frankly not willing to take it off the wall to see if there’s one on the back. It could probably use at least a light cleaning and perhaps that would reveal a signature on the front. However, stylistically it seems right, especially the trees.

Anyway, I write about it because I have been very enamored of it since it arrived in the house when I was a small child. Although the wintery scene is not the most cheerful, it occupied my imagination for hours on end. I cannot remember what stories I made up about it in my mind, but as soon as I took it out the memory of making up such stories came racing back to me.

The lack of definition in the figures, bundled up against the snow and the cold, bothered me a bit. I guess I had my critical chops as a small child. But the not quite entirely monochromatic nature of it interested me even then. The tiniest bit of red on the figure on the porch was of great interest to me, long before I would have been able to explain why. The texture of the paint is satisfying, even without being thick.

It gave me satisfaction to have it back up and I find myself getting lost in it again, which after all, is what paintings are for.

*Bonus photo of Blackie, embracing his Jersey adventure, earlier today.*

Transformation

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: The last of the Mom posts today, for now anyway.

It is Thursday night and I am back in New Jersey. I worked remotely today and will spend tomorrow preparing for a repast for mom on Saturday – 40-50 people over several hours stopping by to chat and have a nosh. The resident cats are surrounding and circling me endlessly since my arrival last night.

Since my mom died almost three weeks ago I seem to live in a state that is strangely and endlessly anxious. I think it is a constant unconscious feeling that I am forgetting to check on her nagging at the back of my mind. Also a terrible sense of always feeling like I am in the wrong place, a perpetual fish out of water. Being back at the house has eased this slightly, perhaps because I am here with the specific mission of getting ready to receive people on Saturday. Or maybe it is being here and forcing my brain and subconscious to accept that mom is no longer here to be cared for.

*Stormy, dubbed Cat of Mystery by me, is starting to get a bit more social. She also likes to sit in the window.*

Friday and a day of cleaning, shopping and cooking. I thought the house had been deep cleaned right after mom died, but friends showed up today and cleaned some more in preparation for tomorrow. Many hands did make for lighter work and the care of all these women surrounds me in a way that makes me feel like a kid again. In the process of the many cleanings and work that has been done the house is slowly becoming more of a home again, the bed no longer in the kitchen, the roar of the oxygen tank with the cord I was always afraid of tripping over gone.

A certain Pam-ness is starting to exert itself undeniably. Paintings brought up from the basement where they were in exile for some reason. A litany of small repairs are being made. I am having the black front door painted red, just for fun. Circus lights now festoon the back deck. Making it my own was what mom wanted and I believe she approves.

The garden is blooming early this year. Although mom never was able to set foot in it she enjoyed greatly it from the windows and via a series of recordings made for her to celebrate each phase of each season. She’d watch these again and again and share them with friends and family. (Here is a video from last spring that is still up.) Everyone remarks on the beauty of the backyard.

The peonies I gave her several years ago are already bursting as are her roses. Mom was good with roses in an effortless way. Did she just know good spots for them? I never remember her fussing over them especially. My nascent herb garden and tomato plants are slowly gaining traction. A dahlia is shooting up in a planter. Unclear though if I have inherited the green thumb or just having some beginners luck as well as guidance from gifted gardening friends.

Tomorrow some family and a number of her friends will raise a glass to her and nibble on vast piles of fruit salad, cheese sandwiches and cupcakes we purchased and assembled today.

Sunday. Well, it rained hard all day. I said it was because mom was looking on and was worried about the cats getting out with people coming and going. Kim showed up early and was introduced to Hobo who received his third meal of the day from him. That cat must have a hollow leg.

*Hobo on meal number one of three yesterday, at about 6:30 AM.*

The plant people were all pleased about the rain as we haven’t had much and being plant people we walked out in the garden despite the rain. The animal folks were in a group talking about the rescue of a fawn that was unfolding and some left to go help with that. (Mom’s obit with information about her work in animal rescue and welfare can be found here.)

Family, caregivers and one of our neighbors all discovered people in common and mingled and marveled over the few degrees of separation that were unfolding as I guess they do in smallish towns. Like a wedding I don’t spend enough time with any one person while trying to get to all.

I woke up, exhausted this morning, back here in Manhattan, with Kim and cats. (It is Kim’s birthday – shout out to him! We sang a sloppy Happy Birthday over cupcakes to him at the end of the party yesterday.)

The eggshell this layer of protection I felt during mom’s last months has been broken and my time in that liminal space has ended. It’s a hard finding myself back out in the world again with new responsibilities as well as the old ones rushing back in. It is lonely without her, but she left me with new friends and renewed connections. I am so grateful for their ongoing ministrations. The page turns and the next chapter starts now.

Monmouth County Days

Posted by Pam's Pictorama

Pam’s Pictorama Post: When this posts on Saturday I will be making my way to the cemetery to see my mom’s mortal remains off. So I apologize that this will be another brief and Pam-centric post.

As I write it is a dark and damp Thursday morning. Coffee is perking, cats have been fed. I woke at 3:00 and two of the cats strolled into my room and onto my bed to keep me company and fight for my attention. It did distract me from my fretting. Gus had the temerity to chase Beau’s tail!

I cut up a watermelon which has been sitting since before mom passed. A friend had brought it by for her. It’s more watermelon than I can eat so I will share it with friends to take home to their kids. After cooking for large numbers of people it is mostly just me now and the food production and consumption is amping way down except when folks stop by to check on me.

The various machinations of the week have taken me to some locales that I haven’t visited in decades and occasionally requiring amazing feats of memory as I take on the role of navigator for the folks kind enough to drive me on my various rounds.

For example near the funeral home was an ancient poultry farm where my parents used to stop for eggs on our way to or from my grandmother’s house. The friend who was driving me stopped to look at the plants that are now sold outside and the childhood memories flooded back. I probably have not stood in that driveway since I was 12 years old.

Another night someone took me out to dinner at Bahr’s Landing, a waterside seafood restaurant of my childhood. My last trip there was with my sister for my birthday, the year before she died, but it was a family favorite for special occasions as a kid and my late teens and early twenties saw many a late night at the outdoor clam shack for a late night snack and a beer. A week of This is Your Life style fascination.

*Extraordinary clouds over the water at Bahr’s Landing restaurant.*

Some days have seemed long and others zipped by. Uniformly the nights and early mornings (mom’s best time in recent years) have been difficult. The house itself seems to be in a gentle form of revolt starting with a series of roof leaks (which left me facing a very young man who attempted to sell me a new roof, but instead agreed to just overcharge me for what desperately needed to be done to stop the immediate water incursion) and followed by water in the basement as the result of a broken drainpipe.

*A farm stop in Holmdel where geraniums were procured.*

My bouts of manic energy have gone into cleaning and the redistribution of things no longer needed. It has also resulted in some gardening which seems to calm me down. Some of those efforts shown on the deck above, a new favorite spot.

After I get through tomorrow on Sunday I will head back to Manhattan and to the office on Monday. The shell will be thoroughly broken and back into the world I go.

Mourning in NJ

Posted by Pam's Pictorama

Pam’s Pictorama Post: It is a morning of heavy mist to drizzle here in Monmouth County and like the day I am weeping on and off as mom died early yesterday morning. It is challenging my desire to go out for a run. (A violent stomach virus wiped me out for running starting last week and between mom and the weather I have not yet been able to return.) A half eaten yogurt in the fridge or a favorite purple pillow can send me boo hooing again.

*Undated Halloween photo of Mom, Dad, me and Loren.*

I have written about the time I have spent here in New Jersey caring for mom and the special space and time the bubble of her care created here. (A few of those posts can be found here and here.) However, in recent weeks she began to deteriorate at an alarming rate. She was determined that she would not leave the house so at times we struggled with limited options to relieve her trouble breathing and discomfort. I watched as her caregivers employed feats of engineering with pillows to maximize her comfort and ability to breathe. In the end we accomplished the feat of keeping her here and yet reasonably comfortable.

*The boy cats are assembled on mom’s chair this morning.*

We could not have wished for her to linger and suffer longer, but we were reluctant to let go nonetheless. I may write more about all of it at a future time but for now I am left wandering an empty house (if one can have five cats and call it lonely) after hosting a myriad of care givers, various house tradesmen and friends.

The reality of a house after living my entire adult life in one room, most recently spending all day and night in it with Kim and the cats throughout the pandemic. Although a small Cape Cod, I wander rooms now which seem too many and very quiet despite cats and televisions left on. I am used to either the bustle of our tiny apartment or nurses tucked into corners and recliner chairs here. I am comforted by the site of the flowers recently placed in planters on the deck and have moved my computer from the upstairs office to the kitchen where the cats are gathered on my mother’s chair. I think my friend had that in mind when she encouraged me to plant them recently.

*Beau was mom’s most special friend and he is guarding me and the chair now.*

So today I am just writing because I know my consistent (and wonderful) readers know I never miss a post and I did yesterday. I had been up since midnight the prior night and exhaustion permeated a day that was busy by necessity. Today I hope to start gathering my wits and thoughts and organizing the next chapter here.

Sowing

Posted by Pam's Pictorama

Pam’s Pictorama Post: These are strange days for me as spring arrives in New Jersey this year. I am here for a stay of indeterminate length during what appears to be my mother’s lingering last illness. I have written before about the sense of being in a liminal space – between two periods in my life that in many ways will define the before and the after. That sense has only increased recently as I perch on the threshold of this personal sized seismic shift.

*Helleborus is an early bloomer which deer are not fond of so it is all the talk of gardeners here right now.*

I miss my daily life in Manhattan: my husband, my cats, my bed (we have an unbelievably hard mattress), and I miss actually sitting down with my co-workers daily. Still, it is human nature to make things as pleasant as possible where we are and I have done this by largely by dint of cooking and running. (I have written about that previously in posts that can be found here and here.) Earlier this week a friend dropped flats of pansies off for me saying it was nice to do do something for the future and today I added planting to the list.

*My simple potting assignment, complete on the deck for all to admire.*

While I have been around a lot of gardening as an observer, I have in fact never gardened. I suppose this is not surprising given that I have lived my entire adult life in Manhattan without so much as a fire escape. Kim has a green thumb and under his casual attention plants do seem to thrive in our bright living room window. Still, if my ability to keep houseplants alive was anyway indicative of my ability say, to care for pets or people it would be a not-green thumbs down I am afraid.

However, in her day my mother was a superb gardener. One of my earliest memories is of a huge rock garden in the back of our house in North Jersey and watching her work in it, our cat and dog sniffing around. I must have been just three or four.

When I was a tad older we had moved to the shore and I can remember my mother coaxing vegetables and flowers out of the sandy and salty soil, and fighting a freakishly high water table. I had a child’s joy over the immensity of sunflowers which towered over us and tomato plants which delighted me . Laawn never interested mom and hers was nominal. (Dad traveled for work and never really had anything to do with the yard. Mom did it all.) She was and is all about plants and trees.

*Didn’t buy these sporty petunias with the stripes but was very tempted – I was very entertained by them.*

In the house subsequent to that one, but still on the waterfront the garden was somewhat more elaborate with herbs, strawberry and grapevines. Bunnies and squirrels helped themselves liberally to those edibles as well as dandelions and other delectables .

So earlier this week the same friend took me to Lowe’s where I assembled a cache of potting soil, a spade, some clippers and a lone adolescent tomato plant – Jersey tomatoes being a summer delicacy for this Jersey girl. Shop Rite (as big as several city blocks) produced a length of lightweight hose. The Dollar Tree provided some lightweight garden gloves. It seems I was ready to plant some pansies.

*Someone brought these by for mom and I am greatly enamored of the daffodils with the apricot centers!*

Luckily this project was pretty low stakes as said pansies were already in bloom and just pleading for soil and water, a straightforward assignment for the rookie me. However, the pots I thought I would use proved too small and too deep. Luckily rooting around in the basement coughed up some appropriate vessels. The nozzle on the new hose proved unexpectedly challenging I am somewhat embarrassed to admit, but we came to an agreement without my getting entirely soaked.

Somehow, all the plants found their way to pots, fit appropriately and were watered – which was good because the promised rain never showed. Mom was pleased with my efforts on behalf of the yard and a rakish stake with a whirligig red bird stuck in the tomato plant container for a finishing touch.

Cowgirl

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: This great photo postcard appealed to the latent cowgirl in me. I know very little about these things so I don’t know if this nice fringed outfit is real or costume – even her nifty boots have fringe. She wears it with aplomb and a good bit of attitude, riding crop in hand. Undeniably she is an indoor cowgirl here on a living room carpet and in front of a curtained window. Her kerchief and hat are both at jaunty angles.

While I have never been on horseback (nor have I ever resided on a farm, let alone a ranch) I had an early enthusiasm for a fantasy version of them as evidenced by my being an early and avid adopter of the Jane West toys.

There was something endlessly satisfying about the sturdy plastic, jointed limbs. She had a cowgirl outfit molded to her body and heavy rubbery accessories. She was made to stand with some authority (unlike my beloved Barbies who of course had feet designed for perpetual, fashionable high heels) and somehow the fact that she was cast entirely in blue plastic did not detract from her appearance. Jane had a wonderful palomino horse which she could sit astride on.

*Since I am not in NYC I cannot show my own example of Jane West, but instead this more complete one along with her horse!*

In my otherwise Barbie-oriented childhood it is a bit hard in retrospect to know what the cowgirl thing was about. Unlike Barbie’s adventures (my Barbie was named for Jo in Little Women and she was a globe trotting journalist), I do not remember the play I dreamed up for her.

Notably Jane did not need a cowboy equivalent of Ken, at least mine did not. In my world she stood on her own and didn’t even deign to date GI Joe – my Barbie’s fallback companion. I believe she is a head taller than both.

My mother was horse-y as a young woman. I am not sure how she started riding, but I know that not coming from a wealthy family she worked mucking stalls along with her childhood friend Jackie so they were able to ride. I gather Mom was mad about horses until one day while they were riding her friend was badly thrown onto a fence. Luckily for her the fence was old and just gave under her otherwise he back would have been broken. It left mom skittish about riding and although my older sister had a few desultory riding lessons I never had the chance to even start.

As a teenager a good friend gave me an excellent vintage Annie Oakley jacket of the softest butterscotch colored suede which she found in her attic. As a very little girls she and her mom had had matching jackets! It was much beloved by me and I wore it until it literally fell to pieces. This was perhaps my best personal cowgirl moment. It was as close as I was to come. (During the pandemic I also read all of the volumes of the Ranch Girls series. A post that touches on them can be found here.)

I came across a Jane West doll several years ago and snatched her up for my toy collection. It felt good to have Jane in the house again and she lives on my shelf, ever ready for some cowgirl action.