memoir

Open – Sez Me: Part One

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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.

A Bowl of Cherries

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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.

Bahr’s Landing

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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.

Elliott

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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.

Lights

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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.

Packed Like Sardines

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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.

Uncle Zack

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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.

Growing

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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.

Tulip Time: Part Two

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: I continue my second part, tulip treatise today with an odd alignment that came out of tulip talk recently here at Deitch Studio. As occasionally occurs here over leisurely morning work, reading and discussion sessions, Kim and I meandered through both my tulip triumphs in New Jersey and his interest in this book and comic as outlined below and these posts were born. Welcome to The Black Tulip and part two of the Pictorama post.

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I commence with a full admission that before I met Kim Classics Illustrated comics were at best known to me in a theoretical way – a sort of punchline to a joke about not having read a school book assignment – as in clearly they read the comic book version. I confess I have never actually read one to date.

A pile of the comics within eyeshot, next to Kim’s desk, while I write this morning.

A number of years back Kim discovered a guy on 86th Street who was selling them. Not every day of the week, but most weekend days and maybe a few others piles of them on a table with their bright yellow logos being hawked. Over time they began their siren song and Kim was lured into slowly acquiring both those remembered from his youth and then ones he had missed along the way. Slowly his collection grew if haphazardly. I can’t remember now if the fellow gave up before Covid or it was the pandemic that did his periodic business in. And it wasn’t a constant flow, but an occasional addition would be made via eBay. Although he might give a quick look when I was with him it was generally a mission he completed on his own – an excuse for a walk on a nice day and presumably some comics chat.

A better look at that pile. This is just the tip of the iceberg of Kim’s collection.

Kim, a voracious reader and particularly of classic literature, seems like an unlikely candidate however most recently he uses these as sort of massive supplemental illustrations to something he is reading. (The man is devoted to illustrated fiction in all its guises.) A large trade paperback on the history of Classics Illustrated found its way into the house recently and, although he is a committed Dumas fan, his purchase of The Black Tulip I believe was a result of his reading of that. The novel is on its way so he has not commenced reading it yet.

Classics Illustrated (which has lodged in my brain as Classic Comics) had a 30 year run, from 1941-1971, launching with The Three Musketeers. With printing and reprinting and the collecting of them, it can be a deep and largely affordable vein of comics collecting. If Kim were writing this there would be color and lore I cannot provide – thoughtful observations about the various artists who illustrated them, some who were wrapping up a career during the heyday of comics.

The opening pages of our rather tatty copy.

The Black Tulip (based as noted on the novel by Alexandre Dumas) was illustrated by Alex A. Blum (1889-1969) and I would say his illustrations are definitely part of the appeal of the comic. The story takes place during the tulip craze in the Netherlands of the 1600’s after the introduction of the plant from the near east in the preceding century. As you probably know, tulips were wildly sought after and the bulbs traded like gold or cocoa on a world exchange. Fortunes were made and lost in tulips and even poor and middle class families might stake their fortunes on the waxing and waning of them.

Queen of the Night variety of tulip – appears to be pretty much as close as we come to black.

The plot of the novel is the race to develop a truly black tulip and the nefarious individuals who would do anything to capture a $100k guilder prize for the development of it. (For the record, a true black tulip does not exist even today and a very dark purple one called black is as close as one comes.) Since Kim is planning to read the original novel as well so I will have to ask him if they explain why black seemed so desirable – I prefer red and orange among others myself. (It should be noted that blue does not exist either – only a sort of lavender to blue.)

The jolly cover caught my imagination and a stroll through the comic is not disappointing. For the record, there is a column in the front cover called Student Boners which claims to be funny mistakes made on regional state exams – along the lines of Name two explorers of the Mississippi – answer: Romeo and Juliet. There is a bio of Dumas and encouragement to read the full novel at the back. Throughout there seems to be a layer of an in the service of sort of self-conscious educational mission.

The back of the book – free comics tattoos with your purchase of 10 issues.

Along those lines also included at the back is a plot summary of the opera Boris Gudenof (what did kids make of that?); a bio of Alfred Nobel (Inventor of Dynamite!); and an unrelated short story about a dog. Kim informs me that the books had to be weighted with a certain amount of text in order to get a book rate for mailing. (This is part of the eventual undoing of the company as they ultimately lost this status.) There is an emphasis on the great literature these are based on (There have been no greater story-tellers than these immortal authors) and on reading in general.

A page from a story to be published next year called Apocalypso.

As I alluded to above, these comics were a fixture of Kim’s childhood and a recently completed page from an upcoming story for his next book shows a young Kim and a friend in a room littered with them. (We had some discussion over which covers would be featured.) As for me, well my generation had Cliff Notes (which also took a final bite out of these comics) instead. I never read them, but I am sure they were far less romantic and potentially interesting as Classics Illustrated and in addition I doubt that anyone collects them today.

Tulip Time: Part One

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: It’s spring time in full bloom here at Deitch Studio and I bring you a somewhat unorthodox Pictorama post about tulips today. It’s a two part post where Kim and Pam meeting of the minds post as our nascent floral interests convened this month.

I will start by saying that I have loved tulips since college where I remember seeing my first gorgeous bunch of them in someone’s room, a wonderful harbinger of spring. I think they were apricot colored and I guess the whole concept of cut flowers was very adult as well. While we grew flowers in New Jersey my mother, at that time, was not so big on harvesting them, preferring to let them run their course in the yard.

I am a big fan of vases filled with tulips, all colors and types. Trim the stems and add a couple of pennies – if in the sun or a warm spot they will force quickly. A cooler shaded spot to keep them longer.

Those yards of my youth consisted of sandy stony soil and were resistant to cultivation, despite my mother’s best efforts. As a result her purview was focused. She produced a credible vegetable and ultimately herb garden and managed to get shrubs and trees to grow, but less so bulbs of the annual variety like tulips. (Although someone gave her stunning and unusual iris bulbs which were perennial and a few of which exist in my yard today. Perhaps a future post on them.)

From my former office at Jazz. I generally had cut flowers on my desk each week.

Meanwhile, the lovely if extremely finite, nature of tulips fascinated me. I always say, there’s nothing more dead than a dead tulip. However, if true, in some ways there’s nothing more vibrant than one it its prime – their life and death cycle perhaps being part of the appeal. As plants they hit the ground running, so to speak, and once they hatch from their bulb they race to a full stem, bloom tightly folded. And then, bam! It opens. Amazing! Before you know it, the plant is spent and that’s pretty much it.

If left in the ground you can get a second showing the following year. When I worked for Central Park we had an annual Tulip Toss where the spent bulbs were dug up and replaced with fresh. The bulbs were given to smaller parks and interested individuals who would plant them the following year with a less reliable yield.

Now, I have mostly enjoyed my tulips as cut flowers indoors. However, as Pictorama readers know, I went gardener last year after inheriting the house in Fair Haven. Although I confined myself largely to herbs and veggies, one of my final acts of gardening in the fall was to plant some tulips out in the front yard.

Photo from a friend’s trip to Amsterdam this year.

As many know, a siren call to all wildlife are bulbs, seeds and flowering plants. Now, I try to take a pretty philosophical view of critters munching my blueberries and strawberries (read about that a bit here if you like), and I think mom planted the berries for the birds, but the seeds, bulbs and flowering plants (think geraniums) make me a bit sad. Anyway, understanding that it could result in spring disappointment, I planted a row of tulips and one of daffodils (less tasty it seems) in the front yard.

Our backyard is fenced and I generally do not have deer visit back there (although bunnies, chipmunks and squirrels abound, as well as myriad birds), but the front yard is fair game and can pretty much be considered a buffet for the plant munchers.

Nonetheless, I ordered some bulbs from a nursery and spent a chilly, dirty and backbreaking afternoon of planting last fall. I was a bit late getting them in which was a strike against me.

Last year’s strawberry plant. It wintered over and is laden with blooms already. The birds, bunnies and I will have strawberries galore this year.

My trips to New Jersey are somewhat sporadic and dictated by both things that need to be done there or other things which need to be done in Manhattan and keep me here. However, the women who look after the house and cats keep a weather eye on my garden as well and send frequent reports.

The tulips were not eaten as bulbs and low and behold – they came up unmolested. Now the race was on for me to get to New Jersey before a strolling four-legged resident feasted on them.

I had forgotten that I had purchased these brilliant bright orange and red ones. I zipped down to New Jersey and caught them in their full glory. So cheerful! Their straight stems and gaping blossoms opening to the sun and sky in the morning and shutting down again at night. I must say, I thoroughly enjoyed them.

I left on a Monday night and by Tuesday morning the report came – they were gone. I am so grateful that the critters waited for me, but I guess ultimately they proved to be an irresistible nosh.

By coincidence, last night I was catching up with a Frank Borzage directed film I had never seen, Seven Sweethearts. I am a huge Borzage fan and will sit down for any film of his I haven’t seen and TCM is doing a sort of mini-tribute to him this month. They appear to be focusing on the later films. (Why anyone would show Borzage and not show Lucky Star – an all-time favorite film – I have no idea. I collect stills from them and have written extensively about my love of his silent films here and here for starters.)

Charmingly artificial Borzage background on this still from Seven Sweethearts.

Now, I can’t really recommend this 1942 era film, except Katheryn Grayson (dressed of course in Dutch girl garb) is in fine voice. I wouldn’t say I didn’t enjoy it – there are some unmistakable Borzage touches including some very charming fields of faux tulips. The setting is an imaginary location called New Delft, a sleepy tourist town where some people come and never leave. Central to the town and the plot is a hotel owned by S. Z. Sakall who is Papa to seven daughters – five with sweethearts at the start of the film. Alas, none can marry until the oldest sister and she’s an aspiring actress so no interest in marriage there. You can fill in the rest. It is pretty available to be streamed online (free or nominal fee) and at the time of writing I caught it on the TCM app after a showing late on Thursday night.

All this to say tulips figure largely in the film and there are scenes, glass shots and charmingly artificial sets, of acres of tulips. I especially liked a scene where Katheryn Grayson tells Van Heflin that these tulips can tell the weather – that they close up with the darkening of the sky before the rain. It reminded me of mine, gently opening and closing in the front yard.

Last little fellow who popped up after all the others.

Meanwhile, I got a report that one lone little tulip showed up after the fact and I have the photo you can see above. Tomorrow, a bit more on the background of tulips and, oddly enough, where they intersect with comics.