Pam’s Pictorama Post: Today’s Pictorama tidbit comes via our good friend Bruce Simon. Bruce and his wife Jackie live on the other side of the country. My job used to bring me to their doorstep periodically and they have family this way and therefore not-quite-annual meet ups were possible. The Covid years resulted in several years where we were deprived of visits. This year we somehow managed a visit on each coast and we saw them earlier this summer and then a bonus round with Bruce a mere weeks later in San Diego when we flew in for Comic Con.
Kim and Bruce go way back to Kim’s west coast youth, but Bruce won my heart early on with splendid collections of early cartoons he sent. Krazy Kats, Aesop Fable cartoons – he has made a serious contribution to my cultural education. So it is a hats off to Bruce Simon for this post!
Much to my surprise Bruce brought me this splendid Felix tidbit found in his ramblings for the books he produces. (Some of those can be found on Amazon here and here.) This bit of a classified ad hails from The Muskogee Daily Phoenix and the Muskogee Times-Democrat. A quick look online reviews that this is an Oklahoma daily publication still in existence today. It was founded in 1888 so its had quite a run thus far.
This ad would appear to be an ad for the Classified Ad pages of the paper at the bottom while boasting this Kit Kat Klub Revue with the Krazy Kats of Rhythm. A nice swipe of Felix is chuckling in the lower left corner under On the Screen A Woman Rebels starring Katherine Hepburn. You could only see the Krazy Kats on Wednesdays and there is a balloon which informs us that this is A Wliburn Cushman Circuit Unit.
A replay of this pic of Bruce and Kim in San Diego where we had a lunch of waffles one day.
A snippet of another newspaper available online informs that this was a five piece band and Mr. Cholet was the singer and front man for the band. They played sweet hot and swing music. This was back in 1937 and 150 people had the opportunity to see it on a given Wednesday at the Ritz. If you read the fine print at the bottom it seems that putting an ad in the Classified Want Ad would get you one free ticket for the show.
Someone asked me recently how it felt to no longer work for an arts organization and I had to admit, I am missing the many hours of live music I have enjoyed in recent years. Radio Dismuke (I wrote about this rather wonderful online radio station as resource in a post here) helps fill the gap, but it is a big change, as was leaving the Met after many years of enjoying it – more or less like having all that art in your own living room.
Admittedly this ad puts me in the mood. However, it is an itch which is unlikely to get scratched soon as tomorrow I pack Kim and cats up and we head to the New Jersey camp for the remainder of the summer. So more on that annual bivouac tomorrow, stay tuned.
Pam’s Pictorama Post: We announced that we would head out here a few months back when we were told that Kim would be inducted into the Eisner Hall of Fame.
It’s been more than a decade since our last trip to this con, although I made at least one return trip for work subsequently. 150,000 people are said to crowd into this tiny town which does appear to literally be bursting at the seams under the weight of it.
As Kim said, there’s one in every crowd. Although, you actually don’t see many Supermans. A lot more Batmans.
Without getting too into it, travel was difficult and verged on disaster at times – a worldwide meltdown of all international and domestic airports, followed by a fire near our terminal at JFK which meant the evacuation of thousands mere hours before our departure. Add in some sort of traffic mess (3 hours from York and 86th Street to JFK essentially not long enough, we almost missed our flight) and my personal favorite, our hotel reservations turned out to be canceled when we got here at 11:00 at night. Visions of bad films with no place to sleep being the punchline occurred to my sleep deprived state. (2 AM NYC time!)
Seemed sort of classic.Sidewalk stroll at the Con.
San Diego is just clogged with folks. Young, old, those in costume (I Dream of Jeannie anyone?), those not. We are concerned with an ever-shrinking comics related part of the con which is like a snake eating its own tail as first the animation and then action film industry slowing takes over.
From where I sit in our highrise hotel, the Hilton across from us is wrapped in an ad for FX which says, What we do in the Shadows with creepy heads. Gigantic seagulls cartwheel in from of our 20th floor window. Isn’t it too high for them?
View out our window.
Kim was part of an interesting panel on Harvey Kurzman first thing out of the bag Thursday. Luckily a woman named Becky jumped into the fray and got us our badges in time for getting into the session. (The lines to get in are like Disney World long – this apt comparison from our friend Bruce. The lines are like miles long.)
Kim with our friend Bruce Simon at lunch on Thursday.
Kim offered to take an afternoon adventure with me and I found an antique mall out beyond the airport here. It was a large place, in the style of the ones we go to in New Jersey.
Being San Diego, it was somewhat open on two sides to the outdoors where furniture and plants were on a sort of porch. Kim found a Dumas novel he hadn’t read – something found and published posthumously. Sadly, I found nothing portable enough or that I was will to solve a shipping issue for. This Felix tea set below tempted me a bit.
In retrospect I am amazed I resisted.The interior of the antiques mall.
*****
The morning (Friday) was taken up with the Eisner Lifetime Achievement awards. Many stories were told – some especially moving ones by the grandchildren of the people being honored. (The family of the guy who created Classic Comics – see my post about those here.) However, Kim and Gary Groth (editor of Fantagraphics, Kim’s publisher) were among the living folks honored.
Kim accepting his lifetime achievement award.
After fighting our way through another morning of crowds at the Con we decided to take a shot at a used bookstore I had read about, Verbatim Books. Unlike yesterday, when the car took us to the middle of industrial wasteland no man’s land, we were delivered to a sort of interesting up and coming part of town about a ten minute car ride away.
The trip through the Balboa Park neighborhood was filled with the most wonderful old cottages. Our driver told us that they, not surprisingly, sell for around $1m. Many were in a Spanish style, but some cute Craftsmen ones as well.
Rather good Mexican food for lunch.Strange ancient pinball machine in Mexican place.
You’ll likely be seeing the loot in future posts, but among other things I found a few interesting books of early 20th Century fiction – let’s see if there’s a new writer for me in it. (I saw but did not buy a vintage Judy Bolton novel. For those of you who are late to the Pictorama game, a post devoted to reading that entire series of mystery books can be found here.)
And I restrained myself from purchasing a very large book on collecting American toys. Restraint ultimately failed me however on one or two other purchases that will require some navigating.
We decided to roll the dice again and had an Uber take us to another bookstore, Bluestocking Books. Much to my surprise, I scored several books and a photograph there. We tried to parley it a bit further and find an antiques shop described to us by the folks at the bookstore, but after a six block walk to a somewhat dodgy neighborhood we gave up and circled back. Our afternoon of adventure at a close and soon our San Diego adventure as well.
Pam’s Pictorama Post: Not often, but occasionally my purchases are essentially practical and today’s purchase was one, although certainly some style here. Somehow in the most recent office move from my last job I failed to pack my letter opener which was of the most utilitarian variety although I had some fondness for it because of the sheer number of years (decades) it had been in my possession, however there was nothing notable about it.
I have been in the work force long enough to have gone through a period with a lot more physical mail than I currently receive. Early in my career I have distinct memories of opening piles of mail every day at the Met. In fact sometimes I worry that the mail at work has failed because we go so long with absolutely none. Physical mail is so seldom now that I had a staffer who didn’t seem to know where to place the stamp on a letter he was sending for me.
Meanwhile, as a fundraiser I was surprised that my current office had never used a business reply envelope. For those not in the know, that’s what those envelopes which allow you to respond for free are called. (There is a permit number on the return address and sometimes it says, A stamp here will save XYZ money.) The postage for each envelope received back is paid by the organization, but hey, if you are sending me money I’ll pay a dollar for your envelope back to me. It’s a good return on investment and removes at least one impediment from making a gift – having to find a stamp.
When I discovered this a few months ago I went down the specifically postal rabbit hole of applying for a permit. I never worked any place without a permit so this was all new to me, nor could I find anyone else who had to apply for one within my circle. After getting an old account out of the way (a ghost account which seemed rather romantic but, not surprisingly, didn’t seem to actually do anything) I spent a lot of time on the USPS website and on the phone with their service people. I, in fact on some bad advice, went to the Main (Farley) Post Office here in NYC. As some might know, the building was purchased by the city and space recently carved out under this grand building to create a new home for Penn Station.
The interior of the post office, the James A. Farley building, is beautiful and I couldn’t resist a few shots despite my disappointment.
It was my first (and likely my last) visit to this post office as they do absolutely nothing there. (Does this mean there is no main post office in NYC?) Yes, you can mail things and yes, you can evidently apply for a passport there, but even an attempt to buy stamps will send you online. As you can imagine, I was told that the administrative office I was seeking was now long gone. They did, to their credit, supply me with the number to phone for help.
I am here to report that, once you get through the red tape of an annoying phone system and get to the folks (all women in this case and I spoke to several) to help you they are a great, smart and helpful group. My hat goes off to Ana, Sabriya, and Arkeda. They know their stuff and they were dogged in their efforts to help me. They coached me through filling out arduous forms, filing them and then shepherding them through the various routing. They even told me when they would be on vacation and who I could work with during that time. I praised them unstintingly in a series of final surveys and thanked them profusely. Frankly, I would hire any of them in a heartbeat if I could.
But come on, they don’t even sell stamps?
It has left me with mixed feelings about the post office. At their instruction I went to the local post office to my job to file the forms with a check to cover the annual fee and open the account. The staff was rude and at one point stood around in a group talking about me in the third person and told me to shut up when I tried to speak. What’s more, I probably shouldn’t need someone to coach me through a labyrinth site and series of mystical forms. So although I give the women above the highest grades, I give the USPS a failing grade in general. My experience as it relates to this interaction is that these women are an island of competent help in a morass of sub par service. (With apologies to others at the USPS who are hard working and doing their job!)
This was the Plain Jane variety opener I had been using for decades.
Anyway, all this to say, if I have my way more mail will come to my office shortly, hopefully in the form of contribution checks. And, to bring us back to my recent purchase, I actually like to open envelopes neatly with a letter opener. When you are handling money coming into an office for various reasons the envelope can be important (proof of mailing date, return address) so better if you don’t end up tearing it to shreds to get it open. I have keenly felt the lost of my letter opener, but did decide that rather than purchase another ubiquitous one from Staples that I would look for something a bit more interesting.
Of course my mind turned first to cats and if I had been willing to invest some real money in a vintage letter opener I found on eBay I could have had a honey. For a variety of reasons this wasn’t a moment I was inclined to do that.
Top of a very nice cat letter opener I deemed to expensive to buy. Tempting though…
A week or so ago one of the dealers I purchase from on Instagram (@Reds_Antiques or via eBay at www.ebay.com/usr/reds_antiques) had a bunch of smalls he was selling and I picked out two advertising letter openers he had listed. I’ve bought some lamps, photos and other bits from Reds, he’s a dealer on the west coast and he lists some cabinets and tables I drool over but can’t see getting across the country to us. The vibe of his stock is a little masculine for me overall (think gas and oil signs, vintage tools and car related ephemera), but we align on certain things and he has a good eye.
Anyway, I figured one opener goes to the office and one stays here or goes to Jersey. That still leaves room in my life for a good cat one should I come across it.
Detail of the top of the letter opener.
As is clearly stated on the back it is solid copper and it is from Red Lodge Montana. The top boasts a somewhat cheesy scene of a teepee and two figures, one on a horse. A tiny banner declares Festival of Nations.
Back markings.
First of all, Red Lodge (for the ignorant like myself) is a town, not a lodge as such, found at the entrance to Yellowstone national park. The area, full of skiing and hiking, looks stunningly beautiful with a downtown full of period buildings that have been preserved. (For a post on the adventure Kim and I had at a whorehouse museum in Butte, Montana, go here.)
Starting in the 1950’s the Festival of Nations was launched as an annual festival to celebrate the various (European) cultures of the area which had never much mixed beyond some tentative cultural experiments such as a unified local band, all this according to a local historical society website. It seems to still run in August of each year.
I think this one is likely to stay in the apartment. Stay tuned for tomorrow’s post and the other one I purchased which will head to the office, reporting for envelope duty, next week. Could be a cat one in my future as well.
Pam’s Pictorama Post: A few different things conspired to prompt a rather wonderful childhood memory recently. The first was our friend Bruce bringing over a bag of Ranier cherries – the ones that are sort of orange fading to a bright red, rather than the dark maroon of the more common ones. Despite the story I am going to tell, I somehow came to gobbling cherries late in life, but have eaten them with an abandon to make up for lost time. I generally buy the dark red ones, but cast no shade on the Ranier variety.
The next things was this little device shown at top – a cherry pitter. I also use it for pitting olives. I was in New Jersey a few weeks back and realized that I only had my decades old one, acquired in cooking school tucked happily away in our New York apartment.
Not much to look at yet it is perfectly adequate for these two tasks and if you are trying to cook with either cherries or olives it is a much needed and appreciated tool. To be without it means any chance of a perfectly sliced cherries or olives for decorative effect will likely not happen. I promptly ordered the contemporary equivalent from Amazon. I searched cherry olive pitter and there is was. The beauty of the internet age. I sent it to NJ and it was waiting for me when I got here on Wednesday; it is a decidedly zippier, upgraded version. A happy summer of cherry and olive pitting awaits.
Meanwhile, the memory in question was one of an annual cherry picking at my grandmother’s house. She had an enormous Ranier cherry tree in the backyard. In retrospect as an adult I don’t think I realized that cherry trees got that big. It required a proper ladder to get to the top.
Was actually a bit hard to find a photo online of a large-ish one. My grandmother’s was much larger than this!It makes me remember it being in bloom though.
Anyway, the kids, spouses of kids and grandkids were all assembled and we picked cherries all day. There were sea green plastic buckets I can still see in my mind and we filled them with those orangey red cherries. My grandmother would then take them and cook them down and can them. They would supply pie filling and get spread on toast for the rest of the year and long winter ahead. (Mom’s mom who I have written about before here with a historic photo of that yard – sadly the tree was in the other direction and would have been tiny!)
These are exactly as I remember them.
Oddly, I don’t remember eating them off the tree. Now, I was at the time probably the youngest family member of the team, probably about five or six at the time I am describing before my brother was born. Perhaps my mother, always a worrier, didn’t want me eating pit filled cherries. I can see her fretting about that. Anyway, I didn’t and somehow didn’t really get into the swing of eating cherries until I was more or less an adult. If I were able to visit that tree today I’d be popping half in my mouth as I went, eating my body weight in cherries off the tree.
On one of those days I remember it ending in, if not a barbeque at least a picnic. (My Italian grandmother wasn’t really much into barbeque – she liked to cook her food on her stove and in her oven and make the table grown with delicacies which were not of the grilled burger variety.) I wandered around and found my way to a small tree. Much to my horror, as I touched the tree I was immediately covered with ants! I screamed the way only a small child shocked by ants can scream. It took a minute for mom to figure out what was wrong with me, get them off and set me right. (Tree must not have been well to be full of ants, but I don’t remember much about it.)
Dusk on the deck with the fairy lights on. Deck (and lights) had to be completely redone last fall – boards were all rotted! This is my first evening of return on investment! Well worth it.
Perhaps that memory came back to me because as I write this I am sitting on my deck in New Jersey, in the evening of July 4. Next to me on the fence I share with my neighbor, I discovered a huge and evidently industrious ant colony. I can see those hard working fellows even by the dim light of my fairy lights out here. Do ants ever stop and rest? These don’t appear to as I spotted them early this morning and they are still at it.
On of the solar lights I have around which I love!
A gentle boom, boom of distant fireworks is going off, but not enough to bother either me or the five New Jersey cats who have had their dinner and are largely sleeping. Fireflies have come out and look like miniature versions of the fairy lights. (People ask me if we still have fireflies and I am glad to assure them we do – have they really disappeared from places?) The mosquitoes, whose enthusiasm for my flesh has been somewhat tempered by some spray will chase me in soon. But my first evening on the deck this year and I guess summer has begun.
The back gate! Newly installed light here also last fall – so we have a bit of light coming and going at night. It is motion activated.
Pam’s Pictorama Post: One of my favorite new hobbies is purchasing bits of local memorabilia to decorate the New Jersey house. Having grown up in the area I have always found local history interesting and I am having fun finding ways to celebrate and embrace it as well as my own history there. Along those lines I picked up this postcard recently with the intention of framing it for the house there. This is a bit of a long summer and childhood post so settle in if it appeals. I guess I am kicking off summer officially today.
In a parallel universe I think I bought a tiny wooden house in Highlands on the water and live there. In that world I either live with and/or disregard the constant flooding of the area and I have no idea what I do for a living. There was a moment in this world where I gave serious consideration to such a purchase for a weekend house (affordably due to the aforementioned flooding), but my ever practical minded mother talked me out of it. I lived through enough flooding to hear her talking sense about it. Nonetheless, my heart does remain with the idea of a few rooms in a wooden house, just a few minutes walk from the river and ten or so minutes over the bridge to Sandy Hook beach.
Back in the early days when Bahr’s was still a rooming house and bait and tackle shop.
When I was very young, we had a house – one sold by Sears and Roebuck – on the nearby spit of land in Sea Bright we call the North Beach. I adored that house and did consider making it my home when my parents sold it in my early 20’s. My earliest summer memories are there, with beach access across the (incredibly busy) street and clubs with pools where I would ultimately learn to swim. In recent years, the bridge between the two, Sea Bright and Highlands, has been remade from a simple old fashioned one (up from the glorified foot bridge that would have existed at the time of this postcard) to a very high, super highway version which I guess you can walk over, but seems a bit threatening.
Anyway, Highlands and its kissin’ cousin tucked nearby, Atlantic Highlands, were always there as part of my childhood. It has an interesting mix of real estate, multimillion dollar homes on the steep hilly incline overlooking the water (mom and dad would speculate on how terrible winter driveways and roads they must have) and down to the small, wooden homes near the shoreline. For those of you who followed my nascent ferry adventures to and fro Manhattan, this is where the ferry leaves you, or conversely picks you up. As a child we mostly drove through it as a way of avoiding round trip beach traffic to Sea Bright or a to get out on the highway.
Nearby ferry landing.
One of the fixtures of Highlands is Bahr’s Landing restaurant. It is currently billed as the oldest restaurant in New Jersey, dating back to its earliest incarnation as a seasonal houseboat chowder and boarding house for those working the waterfront in 1917. Boats were rented and on the off season the family went back to their necktie business in Newark.
Eventually the business took off sufficiently in the 40’s to become year round and, according to the article I found, the original houseboat established the existing building today. Oddly, I only learned recently that the family is one I know – I went all through school (kindergarten through high school) with the current generation owner, Jay Cosgrove. Yay Jay!
Undated photo from their site but maybe not too far off from when this postcard was made.
In an unconscious way, Bahr’s played out through my childhood, young adulthood and has come back for me in middle age. As a small child I remember off-season celebratory birthdays there – as year round residents my parents preferred it in any season but summer when the local traffic would increase ten fold overnight. I could be wrong, but they may have introduced oyster crackers into my life which I adored as a child.
Postcard not in my collection shows rickety original bridge between Highlands and Sea Bright to Sandy Hook beach.
As teenagers and on summers home from college we didn’t care and braved the traffic cheerfully. The restaurant proper was too expensive however and we were instead content (very content indeed) to sit next door on benches near the water for services outside until late in the evening, eating lobster rolls and juicy fried clams. There was a movie theater a few blocks away which showed second run and old films for 99 cents and so a reasonably affordable date night was established.
I had not been inside the restaurant for many years when my sister Loren suggested it for a birthday lunch one year, shortly before she died and we celebrated our childhood there. Bittersweet, it was my first and last time there for a number of years as I thought going back would make me sad.
Bars from the water side in an undated photo.
However, in my mother’s final year or so we ordered in food a fair amount and I figured out Doordash from there on a few occasions which we enjoyed. I did it weekly or so until they could no longer find drivers. Mom was a vegan, but there were a few vegetable dishes she liked and everything we ordered from there was delicious and a wonderful change of pace.
In the subsequent year since mom died, a good friend and I have taken it up again as our occasional treat. We generally go at lunchtime during the week, occasionally dinner, when even the summer traffic is more bearable, taking an inland route which spares us some tussle.
Yup, the mug I purchased full of the chowder and some of those oyster crackers from my childhood shown here.
I wish I had copies of the old photos the interior of Bahr’s is decorated with – some go back to the days of it as a houseboat, renting rooms. Others show fishing in the immediate area – I always take time to study them. There was also a time when it had an early life as a ferry stop for cruise ships that would head down to the South from New York City. Ancient majolica oyster plates fill another vitrine. A small gift shop is at the front, near the bar and the oldest part of the building. I recently purchased chowder size mugs, one for the house in NJ and one for 86 Street.
This is the bar area where for some reason I have never eaten. I think we favor the water views. I always like to go and look at the photos and art in it though when I can.
The fare at Bahr’s is the absolute top shelf of what you expect and want from a local seafood restaurant, perched right over the water. Plates groan with ultra fresh local scallops, clams, oysters, lobster and various other kinds of fish. I remain partial to a warm lobster roll which has come to define this item to me, simply lobster chunks with butter on a traditional roll, served with homemade potato chips if I feel decadent. Homemade biscuits are served for starters – this is not diet dining. My friend Suzanne remains largely devoted to a plate of scallops and vegetables. We both occasionally go off script however and in this way I discovered their “original recipe” spicy clam chowder which is stupendous! I am a fan and have begun buying a container for the freezer in NJ each time I go and it makes for a very happy meal subsequently.
Recent image from the parking lot at Bahr’s.
The postcard I have acquired appears to most likely be from the 40’s given what I know and that it is a linen postcard – those were produced in the 30’s and 40’s. As you can see from my recent photo, not much as changed, down to the neon sign which must flash to boats like a beacon. That is Sandy Hook, now a state park, across from it on a tiny spit of land with the ocean beyond. Seen today the immediate surrounding area is a busy dock, as shown in my photos, and Moby’s, the affordably cousin they also own, next door. If you sit outside near the water and the docks, fat seagulls rule while ducks and geese placidly come and go. There is a parking lot where it is just sand here.
Verso of card.
On the back in very neat pencil print it says, The air is wonderful here on river. There are five children here & they have such a good time. Hope everything is well with you. Love Marg. It is addressed to: Mrs. M. Martin, PO Box #137, Gibbstown, New Jersey without a stamp so maybe it went in an envelope or just was never sent. On the back of the card, printed at the top it says, Bahr’s Seafood Restaurant Highlands NJ. Lobster and Fish Dinners. The “Half Moon” Bar and Cocktail Lounge, Charter and Deep Sea Boats for Hire. Est. 1917 – Highland 3-1245.
So Bahr’s has earned its place to be enshrined at our New Jersey residence. With any luck, some old photos will show up to join it and I look forward to treating you to a bit more of that local lore.
Pam’s Pictorama Post: I guess I have on occasion posted about father’s day. (Most notably in an unusual post before he died which can be found here.) Generally I tend to find it painful and assume others may as well. However, I just came across this photo of my dad the other day while looking for something else and I decided I would share it today.
November of 2017 seems like worlds ago for me, for all of us I guess in many ways since we managed to have two pandemic years we didn’t see coming in the midst of it. I had started my new job at Jazz at Lincoln Center earlier that year after almost 30 years at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I had already been to Shanghai with the orchestra and was trying to adjust to a very different pace of work. (Posts about leaving the Met and that wild trip to Shanghai can be found here and here.)
Shanghai toy cafe.
Meanwhile, my parents had recently moved into this house, the house I inherited and will visit later today. That alone has changed so much. First my mother directed much of the planting in the yard which went from somewhat neglected to a sanctuary, but even in the year since she passed I have transformed it further with more plantings, a vegetable and herb garden and made the deck an oasis.
The NJ garden in clean up mode a month of so back. Strawberries and cherry tomatoes are evidently already producing. More on that later today.
The years she and my father spent in this house were years of caregiving and the house was set up around that. The bedroom I have taken was my father’s. (I used to sleep in a sunny room on the second floor which in some ways I preferred, but mom wanted me to take the main bedroom at a later time and ultimately it made sense so I could be closer to her at night.)
Recent photo of the front of the house in NJ.
Pictorama readers have seen, most notably, the garden transform. However, I have made many changes inside, redoing the floors, adding furniture, rugs, lamps and, of course since it is me we’re talking about, interesting stuff I have collected – already.
An older Milty on a very recent visit.
Still, this view out the window remains largely unchanged. It is a sunny, favorite window. I still have that chair, but it was moved a bit during mom’s last illness and has remained there. (That chair is Beauregard the cat’s favorite spot and if you sit in the chair with him he will pat your head.) For several years it gave first dad and then mom the best view of the small but cheerful yard to enjoy daily.
I remember the day I took this photo very well. It is the only picture I took that day. Dad had returned from a stint in the hospital and Kim and I were visiting and I snatched it discreetly. He had a rare very good day that day, arguably the last really, and I pretty much knew it was a real moment of grace in an inevitable decline. I remember him being very lucid and remembering all sorts of things in conversation with some prompting by me and mom; his memory turned to Swiss cheese at the end – bits he would recall perfectly and then complete holes. He was very candid about it.
Dad is taking a rest and enjoying the sun here. His extremely devoted cat Red on his lap. (I have written about Red here – a real prince among cats that one!) Our other cat, Milty (still around today at about 20 years of age and one of the New Jersey five) is observing from a favorite spot on the window sill – much beloved. Mom filled it with plants over time and although I keep fewer there than she did, there are still a bunch. I’ve changed the blinds as the existing ones (like so many things – think roof, deck!) broke shortly after mom died.
Red on my bed, a photo taken about a year after the one of dad.
Also on that window sill are some reproduction Remington bronze sculptures which were among dad’s favorite possessions. He always loved bronze sculptures and liked to have these around him. (There was at least one other, enormous one, at one time.) I recently found myself in someone’s office who also had some of these, including a large reproduction made for a restaurant, and immediately felt at home. All the walkers, bottles and other paraphernalia of illness is there too.
I have written posts about my father and his interesting and fulfilling life as a cameraman for ABC news, and about his youth and riding a motorcycle across the country (those can be found here and here), but today, just a small tribute to that moment in 2017, coughed up by my phone and as a gentle nod to the Father’s Day holiday today.
Pam’s Pictorama Post: Today’s is perhaps a odd post. Although Pictorama readers know of my passion for all things vintage cat, there are numerous other well worn paths of buying and collecting here at Deitch Studio. Sometimes these wax and wain, but many have long legs. There are the clothing equivalents, black cotton t-shirts and undershirts to wear under jackets, sweaters and sometimes even dresses. Then there are running socks which despite my best efforts lose their mates over time so it always seems like a good idea to buy more or resign myself to being mismatched.
Tin box that holds my collection of cards (get well, sympathy and birthday) here at home.
Among my more interesting ongoing buying interests are boxes. It is as if by supplying myself with enough boxes some day I will actually be organized. (An extremely popular post about the antique tin box that helped organized my home office during the pandemic can be found here.) The boxes, in all sizes, continue to come, but the organization a bit less so.
Just yesterday I wrote about a sardine box I will use for odds and ends (I think I have decided it is heading for the bathroom in New Jersey for hair ties and whatnot which the cats steal otherwise) and today I sit surrounded by a group buy of early jewelry boxes that just came from Britain.
A ring that was a gift and is in its original box.
I think the largest of these will also go to New Jersey to store a few things there, away from prying cat paws which twitch to grab and play with them while I sleep. I may share one with a friend as well. Ring boxes are a great luxury but do require that I remember which one lives where so there isn’t a scramble in the morning – nor do I want to forget about anyone and have them go unworn. Most if not all are lined with old, worn velvet and many bear an inscription from a jeweler of another time and place. (Of course it is always very special to find an antique bit of jewelry in its original box, that which it has lived in from its very beginning.)
Popeye lamp acquisition which now resides in New Jersey.
Another purchase itch which is a bit more unusual is lamps. I seem to exist in a world with little or poor overhead lighting and as a result for both homes and office it seems an ongoing need. I have written about some of those acquisitions here and here. I will confess though that I have my eye on two more – a rather comical dog lamp which I have bid on in an auction and another attractive desk lamp.
Dog lamp under consideration.
At the office right now I have a lamp made of antique dice which has followed me since I purchased it for my return to the Met back in 2001. However, the light in my current office is dreadful even and I am considering another desk lamp. What I really need is a standing lamp, but those are especially hard to source and given the ceiling leaks I would have to be very judicious about where I located it.
This lamp below crossed my path on eBay and I am tempted although I would say this is more a NJ lamp than an office one. I think it would be a lovely light either on a desk or even on a bedside table. Thoughts?
A maybe purchase on eBay.
Part of me understands that there will be a point at which I have enough lamps, but I don’t quite seem to be there yet.
On an even more practical side of things there are bowls. If I was in New Jersey I could share a large number of bowls purchased for that house which seems oddly bereft of them. Soup bowls and serving bowls. For that kitchen they are all new. Here in New York I try to fill in with vintage ones that match my blue and white ware china (the Blue Plate Special dishes inherited from my grandmother and a post on those can be found here) such as these which were purchased on a day in Cold Spring, New York last fall.
One of two blue and white bowls from a buy in Cold Spring.
So for now, these “practical” collections seem to amass until one day I am tripping over too many of whichever. Stay tuned for updates on those pending above however as that time has not come yet.
Pam’s Pictorama Post: This unusual item crossed my path while strolling through the online shop for Ghost Era Antiques (@ghost_era or ghostera.com) recently. There was something compelling about it, but it wasn’t until it nagged at my brain for several days that I went back and purchased it. Before doing so, I did a quick bit of research and was surprised to find that sardine boxes were indeed a Victorian thing and that once you start to look there are many in a variety of sizes and with many levels of decoration, ranging from plainer than this one to ones of majolica greatness.
Majolica beauty, not in my collection.
As one site states, the Victorians couldn’t resist a specific dish for a special food and back in that day sardines fell into that category. There is something wholly satisfying and pleasing about this plump fellow acting as the handle on this be-flowered container. I would have thought it a tad small for sardines, but I guess not because all the sardine boxes I have viewed online seem to fall into this range. (Perhaps I am thinking of those rather extra large Italian ones?) I can’t help but wonder if there was a sardine fork or device for removing them for consumption.
I imagine that in its day the gold was a bit brighter and less worn which would have given it more sparkle. It has a few well hidden, fine cracks in it and I don’t know that it would be entirely leak proof if challenged.
Peering inside! Pams-Pictorama.com Collection.
While I am generally a contented consumer of fish and sea beasts, sardines and anchovies have long left me cold – too salty and oily. (Having said that I do religiously keep anchovy paste in the pantry which does a nice job of enriching soups and stews without having to contend with consuming the entire fish. I highly recommend this particular cooking hack.)
Sardines consumed as a delicacy seem to come on the scene in the late 15th century, kept in brine. Canning came along in the 19th century and one site says that canned sardines were served as an elegant and exotic course for fine dining as late as the 1860’s. (This same site assures me that yes, special tongs and forks were a part of the show.) And those tins were still laboriously made by hand. However, by the early 1900’s their veneer of exoticism fades and they become fare for the working class blue plate special. How far in prestige they did fall!
The traditional can.
Turns out that there are a myriad of fish covered under the canned rubric of sardine including, but clearly not limited to pilchards, silds or sprats, and at one time even herring, although I guess someone put an end to that with some truth in advertising. At first we in the US seemed to get them largely from France (they had the good sense to fry them before canning), although those herring were being canned in Maine where these canned treats became a major boom, and of course ultimately bust business. The East coast sardine biz was referred to as Sardineland and the West coast had the more familiar sounding, Cannery Row. The fish themselves ultimately largely disappeared from these locales as I gather is also their pattern.
Another majolica one to lust after!
Evidently sardines tucked away in olive oil are also aged by some, like fine wine, in cool cellars, largely in Europe. 10, 15 and even 30 years marinating is mentioned. I am not sure this increases their potential appeal in my estimation.
My box will likely reside either in my office or in New Jersey to serve as a pin box of sorts for odds and ends. I must say, I wouldn’t hesitate to invest in one of these other beauties, should ones like them ever cross my path – perhaps a whole new avenue of collecting here at Pictorama.
Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: As I start writing this post I am in New Jersey on Saturday evening with Beauregard, the huge all black cat, who is the master of this NJ Butler house. It is the end of several sunny days of stay here and I will head home tomorrow – potentially completing this on the train if I cannot before.
This photo postcard came to me via eBay and is an odd choice for me. This little girl with her chicken on a leash charmed me. Small children with pet chickens seems to be popular on the internet these days so poultry pets remain popular. Working for a veterinary hospital with an active Exotics service, we see a fair number of chickens. (Presumably chickens that are for eating go to a different sort of vet than us although obviously we’d care for one in need if presented!)
The little girl is nicely dressed in trousers and boots with a somewhat sporty coat with a design of the buttons across her shoulder and chest. She looks quite happy as does the (large) chicken on a string leash. There’s one or two other chickens, behind a fence in the distance who look on and the soil looks dusty. The nearest vegetation we can see are trees way off in the distance and the sun is casting long shadows. Given her attire, it was chilly.
This card was never sent and looks like it was quite beloved, handled. It is undated, but on the back in a child’s neatest script it says uncle zack.
Many years ago I remember my mother had a video of a woman she knew slightly about her and her pet chicken. I don’t remember the chicken’s name, but it lived in the house, primarily in a sort of all season room at the front of the house. A cared for pet chicken might live to be ten or twelve years old according to the internet, I actually thought it was older. The chicken in the video went everywhere with this woman – today it might have been considered a comfort animal.
Recently in a talk given to staff to celebrate diversity, one of the vet’s pointed out that some clients feel that people belittle their choice of an usual animal and express surprise that they would pay so much for the care of a fish, tiny turtle or perhaps chicken or duck. (I also heard about surgery on a goldfish recently which fascinated me! The surgeon was evidently personally quite fond of goldfish and frustrated by a common cause of death in them he was able to improve but not resolve the fish-y issue.) However, as animal lovers our heart knows no such boundaries and be it pigeon or porcupine we are committed to them and find great happiness with critters in all species, shapes and sizes.
Pam’s Pictorama Post: Garden and running update today. I hit the long pause on running after a bad spell with my arthritis which in turn precipitated some emergency oral surgery. Pain and winter weather side tracked me for several months, complicated further by starting a new job which required a new morning routine.
From a run earlier this week in NYC.
I realized I was hitting month five and I sat down and had a talk with myself. Through dedicated dieting I had lost some of the extra weight which was also impacting my earlier attempts to running so it was worth trying again.
Finally I decided that the benefits of running outweighed the issues. It will be a long slog back to even as fast (slow but less slow) as I was before and three miles is my limit for now. My trainer was taking two weeks to do a race in Hawaii and between that and a holiday weekend which would let me onramp a little more easily I decided there was nothing to do but commit to it.
Running clothes and bits needed to be assembled. I took a familiar route in the city and committed to just do the most I felt good about. After trying several different choices on my playlist I settled on Beethoven for that first run. Routine was my friend and memory muscle kicked in for 2.8 miles.
Garden clogs were a gift! Loving them.
There’s something about running which unknots something deep in my brain while loosening the muscles in my lower back. Somehow getting back into that routine even makes me feel more settled at the new job, as if I have found the old Pam again.
Sunset over Bahr’s Landing restaurant. A beloved local establishment.
For all of that which is good, after five consecutive days running, however much slower and more abbreviated these runs are, my thighs are screaming. Whatever theory I have about the three mile walk to and from work daily and the multiple flights of stairs I climb there being the same as running is just wrong. I would not hurt this much otherwise!
Roses in the garden in NJ.
Meanwhile, warm weather also brings the call of New Jersey and I had to head down here to meet some workmen early Thursday morning. I got into some early planting on my last visit, discovering what had wintered over (most of the herbs, the strawberry plant, that post can be read here) and put out some early veggies – lettuce and cucumbers, and I also set some dahlias which were ready to go. I bought a tiny grapevine which is thriving and a raspberry plant which just is not. The cukes didn’t do well, but the lettuce has thrived. I made myself a salad with fresh lettuce from the yard shortly after arrival.
Three cat loaf this morning post-breakfast.
Sadly most of the peonies were past their prime, but enough were left to bring a small bouquet inside. The roses are riotous and at their height. Mom loved roses and always planted them with great success and I get to enjoy them now. The peonies were gifts from me – selfishly I guess because they are one of my favorite flowers. I added a few in the early spring but it will be another year before the transplants flower I am told. (Someone also told me that epsom salts make them flower more – I’ll let you know if I try it!) The luxury of being able to cut flowers in the garden for the house is not at all lost on me.
The enthused fig trees.
The dahlias had already outgrown their containers and a new strawberry plant needed transplanting. A trip to Lowe’s produced tomato plants, a pepper and some replacement cucumbers. This resulted in a frenzy of planting this evening. Tomorrow I will tackle the planters in the front yard and restore the geraniums to the outdoors after a winter in the kitchen window. The potato vine has wandered out of the pots and taken root in the ground – I will have to see about restoring it to its pots of origin.
Transplanted strawberries and dahlias.
Speaking of returning to the outdoors, a tiny fig tree I purchased a Whole Foods last summer shot up inside over the winter and is a gangly six footer now. Despite that it seemed pleased to head outside today. Sadly there was a hibiscus tree and a jasmine plant which did not enjoy the winter inside I am afraid.
So while my muscles are sore what I am doing feels good. Slow but satisfying growth.
Pam's Pictorama 