Pam’s Pictorama Post: Today is a companion piece to yesterday’s post about my love for all things opal in jewelry. However, the other side of that coin is opalite. Opalite is an opalescent manmade substance which is either glass or plastic. Like an opal it has the property of changing color based on light and the colors around it. Alternately called argenon, sea opal, opal moonstone or living under a bunch of similar names, it delivers much of the bang without the buck so to speak.
Shown up close here it is about a one inch long stone.
While I have likely run into it before (as a shiny object, opal and moonstone loving person) it wasn’t until it crossed our paths in the form of delightful square lumps on a trip to Red Bank on summer day in New Jersey that it rose into prominence for us.
Kim and I had walked into town to peruse the comic book store and do a few other minor errands. We decided to have lunch at a pleasant outdoor cafe but were told we needed to wait about ten minutes for a table. We were in no rush so we gave them my cell number and decided to kill time in a store next door called Earth Spirit (online here if you are curious).
I like the way the whole store is just open to the street, alluring.
Unlike many establishments in Red Bank these days, this one has managed to hang on for quite a stint. It sells crystals and incense and well, stones. It wouldn’t be the one I would pick for longevity but somehow it has stuck around. They seem to specialize in different kinds of tarot card decks and part of a wall was devoted to those.
We had never been in and I was especially enamored of a sign advertising aura photographs and while I was investigating that Kim was picking through the glorious selection of “stones”. I wandered over to see what he was up to and I’m not sure which of us discovered the bowl of opalite first, but we immediately each grabbed one to purchase.
Our lunch reservation came up just as we were purchasing our stones. I never did get my aura photo taken but this was a good trade off.
Aura photos on display. $25 to take one and $40 if you want a reading.
It promised us enhanced creativity and AI tells us it also used to support people through life transitions, foster inner peace…and deepen spiritual connection, especially during meditation. I am not going to be the detractor to question these qualities from a manmade substance so while I wonder I will not, um, throw stones. I took mine to work and Kim has his prominently displayed on his desk, shown above. He has lovingly embraced it and its properties, real or imagined.
Variations on opalite above.
Opalite evidently has no single inventor but it appears to have come on the market in the 1980’s. There is a fair amount of variety to the “stones”.
Evidently Taylor Swift has a new song with opalite in the lyrics which will perhaps boost it into greater prominence. It interests me a bit why you’d have an opalite sky rather than an opal one but in another way it makes sense. Opalite in all its forms appears to be a more coherent glow, as opposed to the sparking bits of fire in the different kinds of opal gemstones. Meanwhile, there is plenty of room in our heart for both.
Pam’s Pictorama Post: It’s impossible for me to see this card without hearing a certain sort of cartoon cat voice from my childhood – vaguely sarcastic, probably based on a motion picture idea of what a citified gangster sounded like. His friend and sidekick would reply, Yeah, right boss!
This is among the last of the cards I bought at the big postcard show over the summer. (Never fear, there’s another show coming in early October.) This card looks like it could have been drawn by one of those cartoon animators as a side gig. It has a pro feeling to it. The cat on the fence with the big orange sun setting – a glowing sunset behind the fence we realize when we really look. We get a peek at a yellow field and a house behind. It is as if the world is very beautiful glowing yellow and civilized just on the other side of the fence from where these three cats gather.
The two males on the fence seem to be tuning up for a night of caterwauling, while the girl cat belongs to someone who has place a bow around her neck. I guess she matriculates through both worlds. There is a garbage can which has overflowed – I guess that can be investigated and raided later if the boys need a snack.
Blackie and Cookie on the bed recently. They have only just reconciled with each other upon our return to the NYC apartment.
Not surprisingly it has me in mind of what we called alley cats when I was a kid and which occurs to me right now to be a term you don’t really hear any longer. (Do we no longer have alleys? Or are cats no longer their denizens?) Instead we talk about strays and feral cats – terms people seem to use interchangeably which arguably are not. Domestic cats that have been abandoned are now strays but they are not feral.
I have written about our first stray found when I was a small child, Zipper. (I wrote about him and other tabbies I have known in a post here. Zipper’s interest in our tropical fish can be found here.) He was a classic alley cat, a tabby with a broken tail where the tip was always at an angle. Mom rescued him outside the laundry one day (this was before we had our own washer and dryer – yes, we’re talking quite a long time ago) where some boys were abusing him.
Zipper was super scrappy though and grew into a beautiful cat. I suspect in retrospect that our rather prim but gentle domestic cat Snoopy was probably utterly shocked by him. He kept his streetwise wits about him and became a ringleader of the neighborhood cats of the time. (Our cats were of the indoor/outdoor variety at the time.) Zips would round up his buddies and make raids on an eel box kept for bait up the street. What pussycat parties those appeared to be! Puking for days after and a need to hose down the garage. These two on the card would have happily attended and then gotten into a few fights.
Mr. Miltie, our old, old timer.A long ago rescue from Newark.
Spending time outside our cats would get into scraps and occasionally come home with a gaping wound which would eventually abscess and require a trip to the vet. Once I remember my mother couldn’t find a cat carrier and stuffed Zipper into a picnic basket which he promptly chewed right through – head sticking out and therefore somewhat stuck, on our the way there.
All of this was brought back to me by a snippet on Instagram this morning about a British woman and her son finding a cat in the backyard and enticing him inside over a period of a couple of years. Reminds me of our Hobo in New Jersey who we never were able to get inside and who disappeared last year. They call him Boysie, another tabby, and it was a bad wound that finally made them urge him inside and to the vet.
Gus, on the bed. He came to the backdoor in NJ one winter. He can’t decide if he wants to be petted all the time or is afraid to at all.
Now we have dedicated people doing TNR (trap, neuter and release) of cat colonies which have mercifully cut down their numbers. Strays with docked ears show this has been done and our Stormy bears that evidence. Here in Manhattan strays are much less common than they once were even in my lifetime. Still, Stormy and Gus both came to the backyard at Mom’s and the other three were otherwise rescued, Beau and Miltie from Newark and Peaches from a basement in Long Branch. We know that shelters are full to overflowing and I am told that in the spring a never ending parade of kittens were dropped at our doors at work despite our not even being a shelter.
Recently an older friend lost her sister unexpectedly and the sister had just adopted a stray. I was very tempted to invite her to join the tribe although eight might truly be the tipping of that scale.
Peaches. I actually touched her for the first time recently. She was asleep on a chair and did not appreciate it. Peaches will generally only let me get within a foot or two of her. Still, she seems very happy. Stretches and rolls around. Just a no-touch kinda girl.
I think of our cat companions and how very special they are. Cookie is asleep atop a Chewy box surveying her kingdom as I write and Blackie is wondering if he looks longingly enough I will give him a Churu treat. (I am the soft touch for these and secretly am always trying to put a bit more weight on Blackie. He is a willing participant.) It makes me sad to think of those kitties that could have happy lives in homes but don’t get the chance. Here’s to finding them all their very best homes.
Pam’s Pictorama Post: Yesterday I devoted my post to writing about work and specifically about the dog event fiesta that September has become. My job, which is on a fiscal year ending on December 31 (I do not recommend this), will increase in volume, stress and energy required, continuously increasing through our gala in early December and on through the last week of the calendar year until I fall over on New Year’s Day. However, returning from our summer weeks in New Jersey is more than adjusting to increasing work, it is the adjustment back into our lives here at the official location of Deitch Studio – a physically much smaller epicenter of our operation.
Cookie and Blackie are generally very relieved that we have once again returned them to their private abode here. While there is novelty with the twice yearly trips to the shore house, their discovery that other cats exist in the universe aside from them (not a welcome thought), they prefer the one room here where they rule unimpeded.
Blackie and Cookie in an uneasy bed truce yesterday.
For those readers who remember that Blackie was limping before we left (resulting in an emergency trip to work on Saturday) his limp has improved but not gone away. The trickiest jumps are a bit beyond him (the pedestal sink in the bathroom to his chagrin – he needs us to lift him in for a drink), but his jumping gradually improved in New Jersey. He and Cookie are 14 this year and perhaps this is a bit of age showing. If he didn’t hate the vet so I would take him to my friends in rehab and let them have a look or perhaps do some acupuncture on it.
Meanwhile, when we return they spend the first weeks hating each other like they never saw the other before. Blackie wasn’t allowing Cookie on the bed which annoyed her but she was so happy to return to her perch on the top of the couch by the windows she ignored it until it blew over in the last day or so.
I probably bought it because it is pretty but looking forward to reading it soon too.
Books! Despite leaving a pile in New Jersey, many seem to have found their way back here too. As much as I have embraced reading electronically where I can (all new novels and what I can find on my list for 19th and early 20th century writers) I must say somehow a stack of books has built up next to the bed. They are mostly one off old novels and volumes of short stories from the 1910’s. If I find any new leads into interesting writers I will let you know. The most recent Rosa Mulholland book acquisitions reside there, while several earlier volumes remained in New Jersey. (Earlier posts on her novels can be found here, here and here.)
I am enjoying a book of short stories, Nancy’s Country Christmas, 1904, by someone named Eleanor Holt which I purchased on one of our trips to the Antiques Annex. Unfortunately this volume seems to be her only published effort aside from a magazine serialization or two and the internet has yielded little. I would read more of her if there was more to read.
Very few of the books I buy still have their covers!
In the pile are: Natalie’s Chum by Anna Chapin Ray, 1905; Our Bessie by Rosa Nouchette Cary (nicely illustrated) with no publication date but a note on the flyleaf of 1896; and a later addition of Janet Hardy in Hollywood by Ruth Wheeler, a series book from 1935. To his credit I think Kim is reading his way through things largely purchased and left to pick back up in New York. His nose has been buried in The Education of Henry Adams for a while now since we got back – in an interesting horizontal paperback form designed to distribute to GI’s. He read reprints of the Superman saga during some of his vacation in New Jersey but luckily for our limited space, was able to leave them at the house there.
Kim’s reading.
I am a rather voracious reader when I get going and I have read a number of contemporary novels recently as well. I generally review them very briefly on Goodreads if you ever wonder what I am reading when I get into the 21st century. I am partial to books about time travel and for example highly recommend The Ministry of Time (here) and, slightly different, The Life Impossible (and here). I am a fast reader and the books pile up so I am glad they are largely electronic. Some are so splendid though I do miss having physical copies. I also miss the ability to hand my copy of an excellent book over to a friend.
Stack of books among those next to the bed right now.
Aside from digesting stuff and somehow sorting it into the apartment, there is so much to do as there is for all of us in this back-to-school time of year. I am struggling through the last of the paperwork for my mother’s estate (having saved the worst for last I am afraid; the transfer of retirement accounts is ferocious), the apartment here needs attention (plumber anyone? I can’t seem to get a call back and our toilet needs to be replaced), and soon the weather will inform me it is time to turn the closets over and a long delayed need to weed through them. I have made two fall clothing purchases and both are brown which is different for me – we’ll see how that works out. I will say we have very limited closet space and it is that moment when summer and fall clothes are cheek to jowl. My list for what needs doing is long!
Adjusting to our somewhat miniscule kitchen and away from my garden means a different kind of cooking – more just assembling than cooking really. It took a week or two but I seem to have reacquired the skill set. Kim and I have remembered the sort of dance required for both of us to be in there – let alone when the cats want to be with us! However, soup time is upon us and I am mentally gearing up to schedule in my weekly soup making. (Recipes for soups can be found in prior posts here and here.)
THE PORDENONE SILENT FILM FESTIVAL 2025 – 44TH EDITION: SPECIAL EVENTS AND RETROSPECTIVES
The super charged energy of fall will help – street festivals, dates to see friends, new exhibitions. Even for us early film fans there are options – a favorite, the Perdenone Silent Film Festival, is the first week in October and broadcast online with a subscription. (Information about the festival can be found here.) Next weekend I travel back to New Jersey for some appointments there. Mum season will have begun (I like a good couple of mums on the front steps – can’t compete with Park Avenue shown above though) and I will start to turn my thoughts to getting the garden ready for winter and the eventual holiday season there.
This ended up being longer than planned so thank you if you stayed with me to the end! Also a shout out to all of you as Pictorama crossed the 500 member line last week. Thank you!
Pam’s Pictorama Post: These are not only the dog days of summer but International Dog Day as I sit down to start this. No dogs here in the House of Seven Cats and I think the Jersey Five find the addition of the two New Yorkers two too many more let alone pups.
Blackie has wiled most of his days away in our bedroom when not hunting up Cookie (who resides in Kim’s studio upstairs) and eating her food. He’s also gotten into numerous tussles with Beau, the head of cats here and fluffed himself up into a righteously puffy Halloween-esque fellow. I am trying to resolve the problem with an extra can of food in the late afternoon. It might be working.
The view from the back deck one glorious afternoon.
I am on the back deck as I write, where I have spent many happy hours this vacation. Stormy, the gray tabby who seems to be perpetually surprised and terrified by the world, is at the back door looking out – hoping against hope that a fat fly will land on the screen door for her to chase.
A batch of popovers made by a friend.
Labor Day comes early this year but having said that the light in the afternoon already has a fall look and I have seen large v’s of birds starting to make their trek south. The evenings are chilly enough to warrant a jacket and I am starting to eye the little used fire pit. However, the earlier part of the day in full sun can be roiling hot so we are not there yet.
With heavy spring rain and subsequent dry spells the dahlias are slow to bloom this year but their show now that it has started is worthy. A few new entries are small in bloom stature but bursting with bright colors, red and white and an orange red and yellow. My beloved hummingbirds come to feast on them and they go from one to another and back to a favorite – like a bird buffet. ( Does anyone know what I mean when I say hummingbirds, hanging in the air, look like they are somehow stopping time?)
I can almost always find bees tucked in the centers of the dahlias, drowsily, drunkenly and dizzily covered in pollen. The strawberry plants are also enjoyed by the hummingbirds and are overflowing with flowers right now. I think I’ve mentioned before that they oddly produce only the tiniest, almost doll sized fruit – delicious but bizarrely small.
Kim working at his temporary desk.
The tomato plants promise produce, hanging green on the vine but ripening SO slowly. Another producing tiny tasty yellow cherry tomatoes is doing a great business – unusually small but tasty bits being the order of the day here I guess. We pop small handfuls in our mouth, still warm from the sun. The jalapeno peppers are bountiful (and perversely huge) and of course are the hardest to use up quickly without killing my diners with devilishly spicy treats.
Kim’s set up for work here.
This year has felt like a real vacation. Kim and I have taken long daily walks to the neighboring towns, shopped in the antique stores and scored some items. We brought piles of books from New York (and admittedly added to them) and we have worked our way through almost all of them. Kim has been catching up on some of my Rosa Mulholland recommendations including one I brought with me that arrived shortly before our departure. In addition he has made occasional trips to the comic book store in Red Bank (Jay and Silent Bob’s Secret Stash of Kevin Smith fame) where he has amassed books reproducing the Superman saga.
From my favorite perch at the comic book store, reading work email while Kim looks.
Kim and I both worked for the first two weeks here after arriving in early August and we’ll put in a few days from here after Labor Day. Last week I wrote about our pending visit with Bill which kicked off our vacation and below are some photos memorializing his visit. (Bill, if you’re reading this, we found both the Reed Crandall book AND the Pinocchio book after you left! They were on an overlooked shelf together.)
Ferris wheel view at fair.
Tonight is our first visit this year to the local Fireman’s Fair. (I wrote about it last summer in a post here.) Although I have reserved the right to go again when another friend visits from Manhattan this weekend.
I recently told Kim if he wants to sound like a native New Jersey-er he weigh in on the state of the summer’s corn and tomatoes – peaches for the bonus round. We take these things very seriously and the quality of Garden State produce is of great local importance. This year corn is small but good corn can be found with some work – it is perhaps just late as it has improved as the month has gone on. The tomatoes are somewhat underwhelming unless you hit one of the El Dorados of good ones (or can convince the ones on your deck to ripen) and eat them quickly before they go from ripe to bad. All but one purchase of peaches failed the test – however last night had some that had been purchased at the peach of ripeness before going bad, ate them with ice cream and felt like we really hit it at last.
Before andafter!
In this spirit I began to make tomato pie. After looking at numerous recipes I settled on a simple one which I share below. The tomatoes need to be bled of water briefly before starting and I used a pre-made crust. (For all my apparent cooking talents there’s something about pie crust which I have never gotten into the rhythm of properly.)
Fifteen minutes to throw together and this is in the oven cooking away for 45 minutes or more and it is without question best if consumed immediately – it is inferior when reheated. My only other word of advice is that you should pack it as full of tomato layers as possible because they shrink in the cooking and my first effort looked a bit woebegone as a result. Dan and Cathy Theodore were the first to try my pie and liked it enough to ask for the recipe, but more about their visit and the gift they brought in another post.
Recipe:
1 pie crust
1/2 red onion, sliced thinly into rounds
1/4 cup mayonnaise
6 ounces shredded mozzarella cheese
3-4 ripe tomatoes, sliced about 1/4-1/2 inch thin
4 tablespoons fresh basil, sliced into ribbons (chiffonade)
salt and pepper to taste
Instructions:
Preheat oven to 400F.
Line a 9″ tart pan with prepared pie dough. Poke a few holes in the dough with a fork, then cover with parchment paper and pie weights or dried beans. Bake for 15 minutes, until crust is starting to turn golden.
While the crust bakes, slice the tomatoes on several sheets of paper towels and sprinkle with salt. Flip and salt the other side as well. Let the tomatoes sit for 10 minutes, then blot off moisture with dry towels.
Mix together the mayonnaise and the shredded cheese, and spread the mixture in the parbaked pie crust. Sprinkle 2-3 tablespoons of the basil on top.
Top with one layer of the sliced tomatoes, the onions, followed by a second layer of tomatoes. Add a third layer if space permits. Sprinkle liberally with salt and pepper. (If like me you are worried that the tomatoes are salty from the bleeding the wiping them down wipes off most of the salt.)
Bake for 30 minutes, until crust is golden and some juices along the edge of the pie crust are bubbling. Remove from the oven and set aside for 20 minutes to cool before slicing. Tip with the remaining basil and serve warm or room temperature.
Note: Tomato pie is best served on the day it is made, but leftovers can be store in the refrigerator and reheated in the oven at 350 degrees for 12-20 minutes.
PS – At top, Beauregard, top cat of the Jersey Five, in a pout before we left today!
Pam’s Pictorama Post: This is a bit of a hold the presses Pictorama post. This arrived from Great Britain yesterday as I write and I ADORE it. Now I understand that some of you think I may have really gone dotty at long last. I admit that paintings have been a bit out of my purchasing purview (and buying them online seems really dubious), but I saw this one in an auction preview and was indeed interested. I ended up coming late to the auction and I was sure it had been snatched up however miraculously it had not and it was reasonably price. Mine, mine, mine!
It has taken a few long weeks to arrive at our shores and was dropped off on our doorstep here in NJ while we ate dinner last night. I was showing a friend out and there it was. Oh bliss!
The painting came to me from a new friend who sold me the cat match striker and the lovely green cat face dish. (For those posts with items from @oldstockantiques have a look here and here.) Eventually tariffs on antiques from abroad are going to come for me but I have been purchasing unbidden meanwhile. Or I’ll just go broke!
Anyway, it isn’t too large, about 8″x 8” (unframed) and surprisingly the cat is white rather than my generally preferred black. He (or she) is a little fluffball of a kitty, perhaps just out of kittenhood. There is just something pleasantly insane and maniacal in the cat’s eyes. Between that and the somewhat electrified look of the fur there is, for me, a slightly Louis Wain-ish look of influence about it. It appears to be an oil painting
There are a few bits of damage to the surface (rather charmingly under the circumstances, there is a cat hair or two stuck to it) and it is painted on an inexpensive bit of prepared board with a small hook at the top for hanging. I didn’t see it at first but it says Angela 1977. Whoever Angela was she did a splendid job and I wouldn’t mind finding the thrift store where more of her work is for sale. (That is fantasy worthy.)
I need to go wandering around the house to see where it is going to live, some place where I will get to see it frequently when I am here however!
Pam’s Pictorama Post: I recently bought this photo in one of my jaunts to the Red Bank Antiques recently. It is the kind of quiet photo that catches my eye sometimes and seems fitting for the house here in New Jersey.
This pair has been picking something although hard to say what, my first thought was apples. I don’t know if this a local photo – there’s nothing on the back for date or location. Those wooden buckets could have held peaches or even cherries just as easily. There is a nice rock fence behind them.
The woman’s dress puts this at the 1910’s or there abouts. She looks cool despite her layers of cotton. The man looks a bit warmer in his rolled up shirtsleeves and suspenders. I love the way the sun filters through the leaves. I think it will find its way to our guest room in anticipation of a friend coming at the end of the week.
I wrote a post about picking cherries at my grandmother’s house as a kid. (It can be found here.) Those cherries were cooked down into preserves that we would eat all winter.
Before and…after!
A friend suggested peach picking this summer, but we have not attempted it. The peaches seem a bit off this year and as a result I have taken to cooking them down in an easy recipe shared by a friend.
I take all my overripe fruit and cut it up – today will be peaches, nectarines and blueberries. I sprinkle just a bit of sugar, spoonful (I am using regular but you might want to use brown), lemon juice and most importantly lemon zest. Pop it in a baking dish at 375 for about 45 minutes until bubbly. Yummy hot, but great in yogurt or over ice cream once you have refrigerated.
Pam’s Pictorama Post: I realize I am late getting to this today, but my cat care called in sick and I had chores for the maintenance of the Jersey Five plus the NY pair, so there was a lot of cat stuff that needed to go on. Then I started the gardening, but decided that I would give you all a turn first.
When I say I started the gardening, in reality I tackled the pruning of two huge flowering trees, Crape Myrtle, in our front yard. I am not an experienced pruner at all but when in bloom these trees get heavily weighted down with water and branches snap off. With a heavy rain some were sort of hanging half off and a friend lent me heavy clippers. I, who evidently don’t own a step ladder (I will look in the basement to be sure but none in the garage/mud room), took a step stool out and did my best to reach the necessary branches. I did my best, got covered in showers of tiny pink flowers.
Beauregard, a very fine guy. Has tried to make friends but NYC kits not having it.
For the cat update. The good news is that Cookie and Blackie did not stand on ceremony and refuse to eat for the first 24-48 hours and instead got right to it. Cookie is at home and enjoying her private aerie in Kim’s studio upstairs. She is not pleased with cat visitors although our enormous black male, Beau, persists in visiting and attempting to make friends. I find him sitting calmly like a loaf of cat on the day bed and her being hissy, pissy.
Blackie and Beau have had a few set to’s and I need to keep an eye on that. Beau really has tried to make friends but now is hissy himself – it is after all his full time house. Blackie is not having it but also he has a gamey leg that we had seen at work before leaving. Because he refused to walk for the vet wasn’t much they could do but pain killers. He’s better but his jumping is off and I think he knows it and is more defensive.
Some beautiful sunrises during my commute but just as happy to not do it for a few weeks!
Aside from that, much rain has made the garden explode with green but I feel like the flowers and the veggies are slower coming to fruition. I waited forever for the cosmos seeds to come up. The heavy rains moved them around and some probably actually rotted. However, we have a nice clutch for cutting flowers. The dahlias are just getting started and I am anxious for them as they and the Rose a Sharon tree attract the hummingbirds I love.
Chopped one of these into my fish stew and my guest’s head about blew off! Forgot I like it really spicey!
Tomatoes and cherry tomatoes are promising this year with the cherry tomatoes already kicking out produce regularly. The jalapeno peppers are doing a grand business, but as above the tomatoes are dragging their feet and so are some beans I put in which are just getting down to business. There’s a fig tree bursting with figs for the first time and some excellent, if mysteriously doll-sized strawberries. Huh.
A nice addition to New Jersey life are the farmer’s markets. It is a discovery for us, they’ve been here. The really good Garden State produce I love can be found at these – juicy Jersey tomatoes (my own are still green!), corn, peaches and nectarines. There is one in Red Bank and one in Fair Haven. Red Bank is about a three mile walk and the Fair Haven one is about that round trip. Kim and I like a good walk and an Uber and always be employed if we don’t want the six mile round trip to and from Red Bank or if we have heavy bags.
Today we welcome our first house guest in a long time. Our friend Bill is making the trip. He’ll be followed by some folks for lunch Monday and then another friend for three days at the end of the month. (Deva, we’re practicing and working up to your stay!) Of course I always cook a lot when I am here so it is just a question of laying in supplies for some marathon Jersey meals and deck time. I figure guests should be treated to the best of our Jersey fare and as part of that project I am making (my first!) tomato pie. So more to come on that and the relative success.
Early, new dahlia with a pollen covered bee!
So, lots more to come but I have to get outside and water the plants before it gets any later.
Pam’s Pictorama Post: In a sense this is a New Jersey post. We’re here and it is an object I purchased with this house in mind. It showed up in my feed and I instantly snapped it up. (Like yesterday’s postcard post, this also courtesy @Marsh.and.Meadow via Instagram.)
My mother was devoted to swans – the real ones that lived in the river on our property when I was growing up. She loved them and she started feeding them and they got to know her. She also began to help injured ones. People began bringing them from all over and would call for her help and advice. Along with the geese they were generally despised and over time she fought to keep them from being rounded up and gassed along with the geese. (There were resources, such as chasing dogs, that could be used to rid your yard of geese – the Geese Police.) It was a complicated issue but she was firmly on one side of it.
Swan planter awaiting plants out back.
This passion played out over the background of my sister’s illness and treatment for cancer. It kept mom out as a part of the world beyond care taking in the house. She picked up a long unused camera and began taking pictures of them.
During that period I can remember coming to visit and sharing a bathroom (not really because swans don’t share) with an injured swan spending the night inside. There was one she called Sweetheart in particular that did a lot of time in the house. Frequently swans and other water birds swallow fishline or “sinkers” which, in turn twist in their gut or give them lead poisoning. Those that recovered would be released either into our river or given to someone with a protected pond on their property. Some of the swans were pinioned (wings clipped) to keep them in a small waterbody on a property but often without enough food. They were moved to where they could be supervised as flying is their only real defence.
Sadly my sister eventually died. Not too long after my parents left their house by the river after Hurricane Sandy. Mom herself moved from a walker to being largely immobile. Throughout it all she continued to take calls about swans and other injured or endangered waterfowl. Pictorama readers know that she was also clearly a sucker for cats and adopted four of the Jersey five I have today in those last years. (Yes, this means I inherited four very young cats out of five. I sometimes say I have cats for life.)
A bit of stained glass with a swan that was a gift to mom years ago. Next to a chair with a view of the yard she favored. She’d be pleased with how much it has grown in and been added to.
While mom was never one to pick up bits and pieces (I inherited that from my father and his family – a post about their collecting can be found here) there are a few bits of evidence of her love for swans in the house. Some cards made from her photos and of course some prints. There are a few swans either in the yard or tucked away in the house. I am looking at a piece of stained glass someone gave her.
Yet, as soon as I saw this door knocker, green with age and patina, clearly weighing a ton, I had to have it for the house here. Someone may have tried to clean it a long ago mistaken day, at least that is what I think the white bits in places represent. The knocker is largely the long neck of the swan.
Swan door knocker. Pams-Pictorama.com collection.
He is a beady eyed fellow. No cartoon cuteness to him. The bottom is sort of decorative feathers and even abstracted feet. It ends in a sort of blossom, water reed design.
It weighs a ton! Realistically I would not be surprised if I am unable to install it here although I will try. My metal fireproof door may be able to hold it (although my current knocker is hung with one bolt rather than two) and I will have to let you know! If not, I will find somewhere else to put it here. It seems like mom would have liked it very much.
Pam’s Pictorama Post: Oh the poor rejected lover kitty! His beloved caroling away with her paramour. So sad! Is she truly fickle? Did they etch their initials together previously in this tree trunk? Or are those the initials of the lovers he he walking by? Or was the affection all on his side? It was not meant to be.
Our third wheel is in a strange stance – partial fight and somewhat flight as the bottom half of him already seems to be walking away while the top half looks back. He wears a nice bow, unlike the singing lover, although Miss Kitty has a red collar on. The cat couple only have eyes for each other so they don’t even see him behind the tree – alas. I’m fairly sure that the toad stools growing at the base of the tree are symbolic. (Danger, poison and no less than Existential Dread according to the internet.)
This card has an embossed quality and was never mailed, nothing is written on the back. It was produced by Souvenir Postcards of New York and Berlin. I assume it was riding the crest of the Wain-esque cat craze of the post-Victorian era. Although anthropomorphic like his these cats are less pointedly satirical. Not sure who you’d send this card to where they wouldn’t feel like you were making some sort of point or message.
This card points to the whisp-o-will nature of cat affection and, shall we say, coupling of felines. I have limited personal experience of this beyond one cat, Winkie, that managed to evade our window of spaying post-adoption slip out and find a tabby with whom she had a brief liaison resulting in four kittens.
My sister Loren holding the mysterious Miss Winkie.
In retrospect, it is hard to associate those kittens with her as she made short shrift of her affiliation with them. We kept them, two gray, a tabby and a orange tiger. They became: Ping and Pong, Tigger, and Squash. Ping was a smart female and Pong a (very) dopey male. Tigger was a nice and very pretty tabby who sadly wandered off, was found once and did it again. (Our cats were free range in those days.)
Meanwhile Squash turned out to be a pale long drink of an orange cat – so long it was like he had an extra vertebrae or two. As a result would often sit on his haunches, like a human on the couch or in an armchair, comfortably bent completely in two. (My brother Edward once declared of Squash, Survives but never thrives, which seemed pointedly accurate. I have to admit that I have no memory of when Squash passed out of our lives as I wasn’t living home at the time but neither do I remember the report.)
Squash was in most other ways a rather undistinguished fellow living quietly in a multitude of cat personalities. (The kitten event had swelled the family total to unforeseen highs!) However, his distinguishing characteristic was his affection for one of the other cats. He was the rare cat in that house who would seek out another and sleep with his arms around him.
Peaches, one of the Jersey Five of cats, hates everyone (man and beast) it would seem, except the elderly cat Milty. She stealthily climbs up on a chair and curls up asleep with him. Milty, whose precise age is not known to me but a rough calculation has around 20, is largely the benevolent figurehead of senior male in that house. He likes to have a brief go at every dish of food as it is put down but otherwise he’s pretty chill.
Peaches, left, with the ever patient Milty.
Meanwhile, the role of senior cat largely belongs to the four year old enormous all black male, Beauregard or Beau. That said Blackie, of the visiting New York cats, believes himself to be senior cat when we are in NJ. Beau will take a certain amount of that since B doesn’t eat with them which would probably cause the imminent collapse of that small kingdom.
There are occasional blow ups and one took place last summer while I was on a call with the two Board Chairs from work. That said, if you are going to have a cat fight explosion while on an important work call its good that you work for an animal hospital. They are very forgiving about animal interruptions on zoom.
Blackie, looking entirely black since we can’t see the white star on his chest.
Going back to Winkie, who was a very smart little polydactyl calico cat. Having produced said kittens (in my parent’s closet, the carpet was never quite the same) and caring for them a scant amount of time she pretended that she had no memory of them nor where they came from and generally treated them with a superior attitude and disgust as interlopers we’d wished on her one day. Such is the attitude of cats.
Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: Today’s treat is a clear example of the curios you will come across if you consistently spend time down a given rabbit hole of collecting as I tend to. Definitely in the more interesting than good, this old press photo caught my eye recently and was on its way to me lickety split. It had found its way from the East coast to Los Angeles, but it is back home in the tri-state area again.
Its eBay listing,1936 Disney Mickey Mouse Costume Atlantic City Steel Pier Midgets Felix the Cat, was designed to catch my attention a few different ways. And really, put that way, who could resist it?
Deconstructing that amazing sentence a bit – Felix? Um, I hate to be a critic but I think they were very safe from copyright infringement on that one. It is somewhat more illuminated by the press information stored on the back. Glued to the back, in a very old fashioned type, is the following breaking news:
Back of the photo.
YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN THAT CAT – That is about what Mickey Mouse was telling pretty Miss Betty Van Auken, New York visitor sunbathing on the Atlantic City Steel Pier. And Mickey’s girl friend Minnie Mouse listened, a little careful of Mickey around such beauty. Mickey and Minnie are members of the Steel Pier midget colony that helps to entertain guests on the ocean amusement structure. It has an index number, A16353 and it says, Ref. Dept. 7-28-36 N.E.A.
The Steel Pier seems to be the major amusement pier in Atlantic City and we will assume it has been ever thus. And while it seems sensible that this figure with Mickey was never meant to be Felix, it’s decidedly un-Minnie like as well, both mask and outfit. (And that suit looks hot for a July in Atlantic City too – she’d have been much happier in Minnie’s usual brief attire!) Mickey still looks a bit overdressed for July, but is in more traditional Mickey garb.
Comic book publication of Stuff of Dreams, #3, cover image.
It took a few times before the midget colony part sunk into my consciousness. Fascinating on its own, it also reminded me immediately of a story Kim did years ago, No Midgets in Midgetville which had roots in an actual town in northern NJ which is said to have originally been the winter home of a group of traveling circus midgets. (That story was published in his book, Alias the Cat which can be purchased on Amazon here or search eBay. Or you can find it in single comics under the name, Stuff of Dreams #3.)
Back cover of Stuff of Dreams #3.
We went and looked at the remains of the enclave of small (and occasionally tiny) houses as research for the story, an interesting morning jaunt with my ever patient father. In these days of tiny homes it is a bit hard to say how much truth was in the story, although some house did seem quite small. (The original story about it being Midgetville originated in the New York Times back in 2002 and can be found here although there are other references to the town online.) Regardless, the idea that circus performers (perhaps of all sizes) wintered there perhaps makes sense and it makes additional sense that perhaps some of those performers went no further than Atlantic City seaside for a summer gig.
Centerfold of Midgetville, Kim Deitch, Stuff of Dreams.
As for Miss Betty Van Auken of New York – it is hard to believe that even a veteran New Yorker showed up in Atlantic in a bathing suit, mincing along in high heels and lipstick for a day at the beach. At first I didn’t even bother googling her but it turns out that 1936 was her year. She has a Broadway role (Dodsworth) and film credits from that year, The Garden of Allah, Oasis Girl (uncredited), and a small part as a manicurist in Big Brown Eyes. The trail grows cold after that.
The weirdness of this duo continues to nag at me though. How odd to be on the seaside pier in roasting July heat, eating your cotton candy and have these two come gamboling up around you. The Stuff of Dreams indeed!
Pam's Pictorama 