What’s Up

Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: A flurry of purchases for holiday gifts is commencing and, although there may be one or two readers from the animal hospital who check in over here, I’m pretty sure I am safe posting this particular one in advance of giving it. My work gifts are largely of the canine kind – I must admit that my office is far heavier in pup than kit and therefore dogs are having their day once again here at Pictorama.

Those who have followed me in the years since I left Jazz for the animal hospital know that, especially for a devoted cat person, I now spend a lot of time with dogs. (In fact our annual Top Dog Gala where we celebrate a dog, class of dogs and/or supporter of the hospital’s non-profit mission, is Tuesday. A post about my first Top Dog can be found here. As these events go, dogs do make it a lot more fun!)

An early fall update was doggie indeed and I shared photos of our Paws & Pints event and perhaps our canine concert. (That can be found here.) Puppies and working Guide Dogs populated a Woof & Wine for the younger set interested in our work. So this cat woman is doing a lot of belly rubs and good boys with a whole new crowd. Seven cats means it is unlikely that there is a dog in our immediate future at Deitch Studio, but then again, you never know.

*My first Top Dog back in December of ’23.*

Meanwhile, as the holidays approach I have applied my same searching rules and know how to finding something to fit and personal to each of those recipients. (Last year I luckily stumbled on a number of small vintage prints of various kinds which made up about half the group.) In my shopping and searching I set a fairly low ceiling on the cost so it took a while for price and aesthetics to come together.

Really, I got lucky pretty fast and this card, mailed back in March of 1908, was one I could just purchase. (Another is on its way to me for a colleague who just got a puppy – his first pet in a number of years. He is a musician and almost got early canine related sheet music but the card I found for him looks like an early 20th century version of his pup!)

In this process I should admit that one photo has come to stay (an occupational hazard – more on that one in a future post) and I thought this one rated the Pictorama treatment. In this card a big footed fellow appears here in straw boater and spiffy collar better suited for a summer outing for the 4th of July than Christmas. A quick search tells me that this image was first distributed in 1906. The ultimate recipient of this card has smaller dogs but I think will like this early guy’s style.

Although it is postmarked March 5, 1906 I cannot read the location of the cancellation. It was sent to Miss Marion Deverance in Durant Okla Box 598 without a message; I guess they felt the card spoke for itself? It’s a simple image in black and white, really just depending on the props for the pup and also the sweet and somewhat urgent look in his eyes. This little fellow wants to please the person behind the camera – perhaps one holding a treat?

I amaze a bit at the difference between dogs and cats as I spend time with them these days. It’s pretty universal that cats hate going to the vet and the best you can hope for is one that doesn’t howl, or in the extreme, bite. Dogs are a mixed bag. Some seem (not all to be sure) to honestly be happy to enter our doors and see their doctor friends. Others are at least resigned as long as they are with mom or dad. There are some who, like the felines, just aren’t having it.

In general though, dogs are so much more social and enjoy participation in the world with their people in a way cats just cannot. I have had some success planning dog friendly events over these past two years. Finding establishments that can and will welcome dogs has been one of the interesting challenges. Our annual Living Legends luncheon typically honors a dog, cat and exotic animal setting the bar for that location even higher. (Bearded dragon welcome?) Meanwhile, we have a parrot joining its mom at our Gala next week, a moveable perch needed to be found for it so that it could join in some photo sessions. Again, this is a very different job! (For your information and in case you need one, Amazon had the perch.)

There are a smattering of dog friendly bars and restaurants uptown near me. Interesting to note that NYC parks are not especially friendly to dog gatherings, although the individual conservancies are willing the Parks Department gives us a thumbs down. I worked for Central Park for several years and am well aware of their leash laws but these have not been requests to have dogs off leash, just gatherings where people could bring them.

*My hardbound copy of this book. I bought a bunch of paperbacks to give as thank you gifts this year at work.*

Obviously fund raising for an animal hospital raises specific and different challenges from my years at Jazz and before that decades at the Metropolitan Museum. In some ways I am uniquely prepared with my deeply devoted pet past and present. And it’s not all about dogs – donors to a new cat fund for needed emergency surgeries has received May Sarton’s book, The Fur Person which I wrote about in a post that can be found here.

I hope my colleagues will like their canine cards and other holiday treats and that next year, my third, further indicates that I am getting the hang of this fundraising for animals thing right.

Doggone, It’s Fall!

Posted by Pam's Pictorama

Pam’s Pictorama Post: It is a couple of weeks that were here in Manhattan and for this animal hospital fundraiser September has been a captivatingly canine month already. As luck would have it, three out of my four dog events this month (the final one is on September 30 – our Woof &Wine for our young friends) were over the last ten days and as I looked at the photo feed on my phone it has been a bonanza of doggy days.

My less alliterative and punny colleagues groan a bit over my event monikers – Paws & Pints, Woof & Wine, Purrs & Pearls for starters. Pictorama readers know I cannot resist either in my scribbling and writing for work these days gives me ample opportunity to employ and explore both. (And more to come below!)

Paws & Pints participants above. Human and dog treats were supplied.

Fall days really are doggy here this year as I try to learn about fundraising for the animal hospital (um, quite different than jazz) and the community that supports it. I have realized that people (New Yorkers at least) really like to go to places with their dogs – to socialize with other dogs and their folks. As a committed cat companion of seven this has been a learning curve for me. After all, the cats make a strong statement of staying solely in their environment to the extent they can, don’t especially like other cats and, not all but most, show a decided preference for home and hearth. They are generally (at first at least) a bit leery even of house guests.

Not pups! Bow wow! They can’t wait to meet you, get their ears scratched and tummy rubbed, tails set a wagging. They greet each other, sometimes careful, other times enthused, and occasionally resulting in a stand off. I’m told I have been lucky and the worst we’ve had has been some barking – not sure we’ve even escalated to growling.

Last week we celebrated our second Paws & Pints event at a dog friendly establishment on the Upper Eastside, not far from Deitch Studio over here on 86th Street and Kim attended too. Happily crammed into a backyard here, we had about 30 guests and about 16 dog guests of every size and type. Beloved rescue mutts were cheek to jowl with bure bred pups. Nary a bark out of the group which has been commended by the establishment for its excellent behavior.

*Somehow this image of a litho Kim did years ago always comes to mind when contemplating these events. This is called “Chaos at the Black and White Cat Show”.*

I suspect I am tempting fate by writing this and that my day will come when we have all out chaos. Nonetheless, I press on and continue to experiment. I am not sure but I think that it is the preponderance of dogs, and a lot of dog specific treats, that calms the group. I suspect one or two dogs mixed with a lot of humans leads to more barking and seeking of attention.

This week saw two more events, a shopping evening at a store on 72nd Street and our second annual Canine Concert for dogs and their companions. Whatever I had imagined from the store event did not in the least prepare me for the overwhelming response from the local shopping community. I feel confident in stating that if you want to fill up your store, invite your folks to bring their dogs but watch out for the response.

Shopping event evening above which grew and grew!

I myself managed to shop. That said I am a very intrepid shopper and considering the store was doing this for the benefit of our hospital (10% of sales that evening supported our work). I thought it behooved me to pitch in and purchased a dress as a result. However, frankly with dogs of every size and type and people virtually falling out the door, I cannot say how much shopping did get done. Of course there were dog pup cup treats and even portraits being done at the back of the store. (A jeweler on Madison Avenue is having a holiday shopping evening for us in November which is where Purrs and Pearls will take place. I can only hope we have half as many people for that.)

Meanwhile, the canine concert (turn up sound for the snippet above) is not my brain child and is the thoughtful product of our education area and one of our board members. A string quartet from Julliard played off a puppy friendly playlist and a gorgeous September evening meant a meltingly beautiful occupation of a public square of canine and human camaraderie. The soothing repertoire was compiled by an auditory expert on the subject and certainly seemed to turn the trick on an exhausted Friday evening. One of my colleagues said that if you want your faith in humanity restored, man a table at a dog concert.

Canine Concert participants above.

I don’t think it is my imagination when I say people are generally in a better mood when they are with their dogs – arguably at their nicest. And being with the the dogs makes me and my staffers happy as well.

All this said I woke exhausted but satisfied this morning. Woof & Wine is still on the horizon where we will supply the puppies – dogs in training for the Guiding Eyes for the Blind foundation – rather than a bring your own. Purrs & Pearls is still a ways off and I am already planning for a Paws & Pints park edition for spring so stay tuned.

January

Posted by Pam's Pictorama

Pam’s Pictorama Post: January is a tough month for me. Personal ghosts swirl around me a bit this time of the year, with a strong dash of snow, sleet and extreme cold thrown into the misery mix. This year is no exception, but today I will focus on another anniversary and update those readers who are interested on my new job which also hit the one year mark last week.

*I am somewhat fascinated by our proximity to the underbelly of the 59th Street Bridge and, as above, the apparatus for the cable car to Roosevelt Island.*

I have been known to say that the thing about accepting a challenge is there’s always the very real chance you will fail – that is if it is a true challenge. Obviously we gauge our chance for success when we accept and enter into challenges, but really, a true challenge means that the specter of failure should remain front of mind.

I wrote at the one year point in my job at Jazz at Lincoln Center after leaving the Metropolitan Museum after almost 30 years. (Those separate posts can be found here and here.) I definitely had a tiger by the tail at that point and with that job. It was more than another year before I started to feel like I had it on the run and it took a pandemic to make me feel as though I really gained some ground. (One of the posts I wrote about the challenges of managing my team remotely during Covid can be found here.)

*Spectacular* *rooftop view from the old office, but we were rarely up there.*

The learning curve at Jazz was tremendous and the first year was just about immersing myself in the life of the orchestra, traveling with them and understanding them as well as establishing routines and process.

While the new gig at a large non-profit veterinary hospital is remarkably less dysfunctional, the challenge of breaking the code of the organization and fundraising for it may be an even higher bar. My biggest challenge is the difficulty of immersing myself in the life of the hospital. My office is not physically in the hospital and therefore I am only present when needed. Finding your way into a complex organization is hard enough but to do it from a distance is of course even harder.

*Photo of the Jazz at Lincoln Center Orchestra on a lunch break while traveling through the south on tour in ’17.* *This was part of how I got to know them and the organization.*

When I talk about success and failure, of course first and foremost is actually raising money and creating a dependable functioning machine for doing so. More science than art, a good fundraising operation should understand how and from where it gets money so that it is achievable each year, and that forms a foundation on which growth of contributed income can be based.

It is this latter piece I have not yet achieved. As I hit the one year mark I feel as though I barely know the organization and that I have yet to build even the shell of a machine, instead I have taken the year to study the existing process and procedures. I am sorry not to be further along, but remind myself that I signed up for a marathon and not a sprint and how can you improve on things if you do not understand precisely how they work.

*The Ritz Diner is one of the few eating establishments near work I occasionally frequent for breakfast or lunch.*

And while I have not cracked the code I did meet more of the medical staff over the holidays and I need to take advantage of offers to spend time in some of the services – a day in Surgery, in the ER and maybe an overnight in the hospital. There were offers of meetings and coffee and part of my New Year’s resolutions for the job has to be a regular schedule of these.

*Exam room pic from Blackie’s first stint at the hospital.*

Still and most importantly, taking it out of the abstract, some of you know that Blackie decided to stop eating in the days leading up to Thanksgiving. He did a long stint at the hospital about two years ago and recently we started bringing him there to care for his diabetes. (Posts about both of these Blackie events can be found here and here.) Despite setbacks in does still feel like I am in the right place at the right time for me.

For some things there are no real solutions aside from time and hard work and so here we go.

T’day Cat Tale

Posted by Pam's Pictorama

As is sometimes the case I am on the train and taking a moment to start this post. It is a wet and dark Thanksgiving morning and the train to NJ is crowded. (I can only imagine how crowded the trains on the other side of the tracks going into the city are!) I had to hoof it four blocks to Penn Station in a pouring rain.

Luckily, I was dressed for the elements (that coat I mentioned buying in last week’s post arrived – it is excellent) and traveling fairly lightly. There are a bunch of small hotels near there and many families, clearly here for the parade and holiday, were milling around in front of them, despite the rain. I feel badly for them – even these modest hotels cost them a fortune and it should be a nice treat for the kids – too bad about the rain! Kids looked pretty perky anyway.

The last few minutes of my entry into Red Bank on the train.

I had actually planted myself in NJ on Tuesday night – smartly avoiding the worst of the travel press. Kim had decided to sit this one out in Manhattan so I was hoping for a few days there doing errands and working in the garden to prep it for winter. Then Blackie stopped eating on Tuesday night and the malaise it continued and worsened Wednesday morning. Therefore, I had to come back to New York and we had to take him to the hospital where I work now.

I will start by saying that his vet was responsive in a way that I don’t think any of us feel we can expect from our own doctors let alone our vets. Despite being the day before Thanksgiving, she answered my email at 7:30 am right away and we exchanged several emails before making the decision to bring him in. First, we tried an external stimulant which Kim picked up and applied to no avail.

It was a remarkable relief to see familiar faces around me and helping with him. It had seemed somewhat impersonal in the past when I went there but now I am family. This is especially notable because I have felt isolated at this job and it has been hard to get to know people. However, one of my friends (one of the first people I met there and got to know – she is a Veterinarian Technician) carried him out to me and despite his anxiety he clearly enjoyed Erica’s attentions – that woman knows how to pet a cat!

*This stuff is like kitty crack but if they won’t eat it is a very good go to.*

His illness, or disinterest in food specifically, remains a mystery. After I got him to eat some Churu at the hospital we decided to take him home last night. I’m glad we did; it was the right decision. He’s diabetic and I wouldn’t be surprised if we don’t have to take him in again for a glucose test which will take a full day, but with the holiday if we can get him to eat even small amounts I would rather have him home. He ate a small breakfast for me this morning and so I am heading back to NJ where I will have a handful of friends coming for dinner!

***

Thanksgiving was a quiet affair with the aforementioned couple of friends. I had a winter gardening frenzy of bulb planting (luckily the ground was soft from that Thanksgiving rain) and trimming the dahlias and bagging them up for the winter. Lastly, the geraniums needed to be taken out of the front planters and they are potted and living in the kitchen for now. The trellises I grew my cucumbers on are tucked away in the garage. I had hoped to do more cleanup in the veggie patch but didn’t have time.

*Taken this morning. A bit perkier and wondering what on earth Kim and I will do to him next though.*

I returned to New York Friday evening. Blackie has resumed eating more regularly but still requiring a stimulant and some encouragement. Essentially we are now in a stage where he’ll eat really good stuff but is still turning his nose up at the healthier real food we expect him to eat. However, he just wolfed down a smidge of smoked salmon so I would say his eating instincts are not totally disabled.

Cookie is taking full advantage of the situation. To be clear, we are martinets when it comes to the cats eating habits. They eat at 6am and 6pm. They get a mix of canned food and dry food is out for them. We have not introduced treats into their lives except to inveigh them to eat on the onset of their stint in New Jersey. When they both stopped eating the first time I was introduced to Churu treats and keep them on hand for such events. Those things must be like kitty crack is all I can say.

*Cookie napping recently. I must say, she doesn’t seem concerned about Blackie but is happy about all the treats in the house.*

I brought some Churu back from New Jersey with me as Kim had used up our small stash. Cookie keeps taking us over to it and showing it to us – hoping we will take the hint and give her some.

I know I haven’t written much about this new gig. This past year I have been working to get a lot under my belt in a very different area of fundraising and in a very specific place. Building this fundraising operation to full throttle is a journey which has only just launched. I wouldn’t have Blackie or Cookie (or Beau, Gus, Milty, Peaches and Stormy – the NJ Five) sick for anything obviously, but in some ways this recent incident has informed me with an interesting piece of the puzzle for fundraising there.

Some of what I experienced was clearly because I am a staff member, but having used them before with a substantial illness with Blackie, the good communication and much of what I experienced was in play then too – which influenced my decision to take this job. It is a special place, in part possible because it is a non-profit. My job is figuring out how to unlock all its potential.

On the Wall

Posted by Pam's Pictorama

Pam’s Pictorama Post: The other evening I was meeting a former colleague and we were discussing the shifting sands of the office place – he who now works entirely remotely for a national not-for-profit and I am who am still adjusting to life at an animal hospital where many things are different. The conversation somehow turned first to mail (I am struggling with the local post office) and then to handwriting. I told him that when I worked at the Met I handwrote many notes and that I hoped over time that when people saw the envelope they would recognize my handwriting immediately.

*The verso of a postcard from a prior post – sometimes the writing is half the fun, other times indecipherable.*

Even less than a decade ago mail was a much bigger part of my job. This area in fundraising has had a continued contraction and, while I am far from an expert, I am struggling to find its place at work as older supporters still like it but it is expensive and you can lose money. Direct mail aside, my days at the Met were packed with notes written – a constantly dwindling pile of cards atop my desk for notes to attach to things, my business card and stacks of cards from the museum’s shop which I worked my way through with birthday wishes and other occasions. For years all of our invitations were handwritten and stamped. We did them at home and were paid by the piece – I helped pay for my trip to Tibet by addressing envelopes when we opened the new Asian Art Wing there.

At the Met we had a mailroom which collected our piles of mail and delivered ours to our office. I have learned over time that this is a luxury in offices.

*Our Top Dog Gala invitation this year. We are celebrating the work of the police dogs and this handsome German Shephard is representing for it.* *Invitations have printed envelopes now.*

At Jazz I immediately noticed fewer written missives, as well as less time on the telephone – everything was pretty much online and email including invitations. If not a dedicated mailroom, an office manager did distribute mail and bring it to the post office daily. Covid interrupted even that and mail stilled to a full stop and barely ground back into use in the post-Covid work world.

My office today slots mail into boxes in the main hospital building which we try to pick up daily. Somehow I have never gotten the swing of mail pick up there (due to construction it moves around) and we tend to stamp and mail things from public boxes or a trip to the post office. It isn’t true but sometimes I feel like the only person who produces mail beyond the occasional mailing of things like Gala invitations.

*Very recognizable Louis Wain signature as per yesterday’s post!*

However, what we really touched on the other night and what has stayed in my mind since is the memory of handwriting I have known. I recently had to go through check registers of my mom’s for tax purposes and spending the day immersed in her (slowly deteriorating) handwriting made her and that final year together very real again.

I have only a few samples of my sister’s writing, although it was a neat distinctive cursive I would recognize anywhere – she had the habit of looping the bottom of her capital L’s backward as part of her signature. I never asked her about that.

I saw less of my father’s handwriting than other family members, but certainly would recognize his signature. Somewhere I have a few letters from him, written while he covered the Olympics in Sarajevo. Meanwhile my maternal grandmother had a round script that would come with birthday cards, some of which I still have.

*Autographed books, always with a picture, by Kim here and below.*

There are those folks whose handwriting I realize I do not know, or only have an inkling of, like my father’s parents who died when I was fairly young. (To my brother Edward, I am realizing that we never correspond with handwritten notes. I don’t really know yours although maybe I would recognize it if I saw it?) I have friends whose handwriting I can see in my mind – some former colleagues and others like my friend Suzanne who is an artist and whose very round writing is distinctive in my mind’s eye.

Kim’s handwriting and his signature are of course well known and very recognizable. Legibility in his line of work is essential. He eschews my cursive as hard to read. (There was a time when I was younger when I corresponding in a tiny neat print, but I found it labor intensive for my needs.) Recent trouble accurately reading numbers people have written on things has reminded us of the importance of neatness – not just for cartoonists, but for all of us. After all, first and foremost, it is a form of communication.

One of the nice things about living with Kim is he continues to receive (and send of course) letters and packages in the mail. We get more real mail than most folks.

*I especially like this one for Shroud for Waldo!*

When I was in college I remember a professor at the beginning of a course talking about how handwriting was a mark system like any other, one we use constantly and defines us. (She also pointed out that how we dress is another visual vocabulary all our own and I think of that sometimes when I put on make-up which in some ways is the closest I get to painting these days.) However, handwriting is the one that is intimately tied to who we are and is our very own – obviously like finger prints our signature can be used to identify us in a court of law; it is that singular.

Of those folks like my mother, father and sister who are now lost to me the thought of their writing, coming across it or remembering it, makes me miss them all the more. However, it is a comforting odd bit of us that we keep, thoughtfully or unconsciously, and remains in the world long after we are gone.

New

Posted by Pam's Pictorama

Pam’s Pictorama Post: Seems impossible to write about anything else while my mind is so full of the first few days at the new job so here I go. As some of you know, I have only ever had a handful of first days at jobs in my adult life. (Meaning beyond the days when someone handed me a uniform or an apron and said have at it in high school and college!) Since one of the few was returning to the Met after an absence of two years and doesn’t really count, I am inexperienced at this for someone my age and who has worked continuously for decades.

*Frosty view on my way to work on day 1. It has been in the teens and/or snowing all week!*

When you leave one place and go to another you shed much of your day-to-day expertise about who does what and how things are done. I remember at Jazz there was a bi-weekly meeting that was held to discuss Wynton’s calendar and upcoming events and for the first couple of months I just sat there marveling at how I had no idea in the least what they were talking about. You lose the place where you got coffee in the morning, not to mention where lunch could be found.

At my new gig it is the discussions around oncology and neurology for kits and pups and a surgical floor opening that flummox me somewhat. I have seen a new MRI for small animals (I gather we are more or less the only game in town for this) and I have chatted with an angry orange Maine Coon cat who was waiting his turn for radiation. While kitty was very mad, next to him was a pup whose tail wagged continuously despite his circumstances when he heard our voices. Dogs, for whatever reason, make up the larger lion’s share of our practice. I can already say a lot of dogs get attacked while being walked. Be careful out there folks!

The first weeks require wandering around looking for the necessities of life – where to grab lunch, a drugstore, a post office. Considering we are in Manhattan you would think these are on every corner, but the animal hospital is perched near the river and the on and off ramp for the FDR highway. Much in addition to us is under construction and it is an island of traffic and construction, the amenities of life are at least a block away.

*The origin of the Animal Medical Center, downtown, back in 1914.*

By its very nature, as an animal emergency medical center and the only Trauma 1 center for animals in the area, it is a place that must look constantly forward. Having said this, it is housed in a building from the early 1960’s that we are renovating while still going full tilt. I too was built in the early 1960’s and I think both of us are showing our age. Luckily for the animals (and all of us) the hospital is in the final phase of a massive renovation of said building. Unlike a museum, a hospital has to stay open and fully operational during its renovation and space will be tight for almost another year. Our cramped quarters and the valiant unfailing efforts of the docs inspires me to get in there and raise some money to help finish the job.

As a result my team and a smattering of other folks are camped out in a block away which makes it hard to immerse myself in the life of the place although frequent trips in and out are helping to permeate my consciousness. Meanwhile my team doesn’t really exist in a place where I can easily gather them, although I am doing my best to perch among them on and off and pepper them with questions. My first few days were a morass of equipment that wasn’t quite working with passwords that needed to be established and a persistent problem with sound on my computer which I believe we finally resolved late Friday. This is what first days of work in the 21st century are made up of I guess.

Unlike Jazz, which had moved back to working entirely in person, I am back to a combination of online meetings and fewer in-person ones. I feel I have lost the cadence of working that way and am struggling to regain the skill set even once my equipment is functional.

*If I had a window my view might be close to something like this of the 59th Street bridge and Roosevelt Island tram.*

My new digs are pleasant enough. We are on the East River and while I have no windows skylights add some natural light to my office. (I have been warned by the pathologist next to me that they leak however – her microscope is covered.) There is a pile of fluffy dog beds in one corner from our recent Gala and I admit on a chilly late afternoon it is tempting to pull one out and curl up like a Great Dane in one.

My boxes of files and personal office effects have yet to arrive so it is a bit sterile for now and I twitch for files that aren’t there as I start to think about materials that need to be produced. It will seem more like home once I am fully installed, hopefully in the coming week. Despite the internet I still keep a dictionary and a thesaurus on my shelf and a few other office touchstones from my past – although I let go of the actual rolodex years ago after moving that around a couple of times.

*Large fluffy dog beds are tempting. There’s a bag of cat toys too in case I get bored.*

Some readers know that there’s always a Chinese lucky waving cat in my office to help attract money. I will definitely feel better once he is back on the job. (I wrote about my affinity for these in a post here.) I could use his reassuring tick, tick. I may need to bring one from home if there’s going to be a delay! No one has invested themselves in the space though, despite having been there for years and the likelihood of at least a year ahead. I hope for my team my being firmly grounded there brings them some measure of comfort. I like to take root in a space wherever I am. I like my stuff.

*One in a series of lucky waving cat statues.*

Because our space is open at the ceiling and we are crammed in together I cannot play music in my office, but Radio Dismuke is still on my earphones daily. (I wrote recently about finding this now beloved radio station online and posted about it here.) I am just getting to know the few existing members of my team and they are friendly if a bit wary. I have interviews with potential staff to fill existing positions already set up for this week.

So that’s the state of me as my first few days at the new job draw to a close. Much more about this adventure to come. Thank you for those readers who tuned in!

An Ending and the New Year

Posted by Pam's Pictorama

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hamantaschen

Posted by Pam's Pictorama

Pam’s Pictorama Post: Today I am pausing to post about one of my mentors who died earlier this month at the age of 89. Her name was Judy and although it saddened me deeply to hear of her passing I know the past few years have not been good to her, pandemic even not withstanding, and she must have hated that.

She had left her beloved Manhattan, whose sidewalks she had pounded for years and whose museums, theaters and concert halls she had frequented, for a retirement community out of state and near one of her daughters more than ten years ago. I saw her subsequently but her health during the years of her retirement has not been great in general despite having been a very robust senior. We had kept in touch through cards and occasional calls until my calls seemed to confuse her about 18 months ago.

As long-standing Pictorama readers may know, I worked at The Metropolitan Museum of Art for thirty years before taking my current position about five years ago. (My post dedicated to leaving the Met can be found here.) For several decades of that time I worked under Judy until, after her semi-retirement, she spent another several years working for me in one of those twists which I use as an example of management challenges I have faced when asked. As it happens, she did not actually hire me, but inherited me when she took up her position at the Met. My previous assignment was winding down and she was coming to start a new program. I remember thinking I would stay long enough to give it a try and see if I liked it which we joked about decades later.

*How I remember her best, at an undated Met event.*

There are many things I could say about her wit, intellect and elegance. Always ready to discuss politics or the latest production of a play, she was a remarkable woman and an enormous influence on me. Her voice continues in my head today pertaining to certain things and we were so close for so many years that an avalanche of condolences have come my way since news of her death was made known.

An attorney turned fundraiser, Judy had exacting standards which fit well into an organization which prized itself on world excellence. It created a high bar that I in particular as the person working most closely with her, assumed quickly. Whether it was a point of grammar (it was an office where grammatical discussions ensued on a regular basis and worn copies of Chicago Style would cross reference with a book of Met style and occasionally someone would site The New Times) or where page numbers should appear in a document, she had definite opinions. Pre-computer I sat with a thesaurus and a dictionary on a shelf over my desk which I would refer to continuously. (They remain there although mostly ceremonial at this point and of course inaccessible there over the past two years of working from home.)

*More less the edition she would have kept on her shelf.*

It should be noted that a graduate of Smith college she had worked at different jobs (I believe she wrote for the early television show Omnibus), but was newly enrolled in law school when she was unexpectedly widowed. She was left with two young daughters and chose the difficult path of completing law school to support them. When I met her, Judy had left the practice of law and found her way into the newly developing area of fundraising called planned giving which focused on the tax advantages of philanthropy and estate planning.

Ours were careers that would span the dawn of the computer age and my early office eventually boasted one of the two fax machines for the Museum (that thing was loud and it used strange heat activated paper), followed by and a series of nascent computers and early attempts at email where I think we all had AOL accounts briefly. (I also transitioned from messages taken on note pads for that purpose to voice mail over the years!) We worked through a period where she hand wrote documents (on lined legal pads of paper) and I typed them on a word processor before we graduated to all having personal computers. Her handwriting was unbelievably neat or this would have been more of a chore. I rarely if ever had to ask what she had written, even when she was editing a document.

Within a few years our work and systems burgeoned and I was ambitious and took on all opportunities to turn my hand to additional areas. Therefore, in addition to my work with her I was running a growing annual giving program and special events such as dinners and receptions for exhibition openings, while we continued to work together on estate giving, creating complex contract templates and proposals. She was somewhat proprietary over my time and well, me. However she understood and applauded my ambition, and Judy knew that the best way to keep someone like me was to give me a lot of variety to learn from and keep me busy. I continued to work with her because I did learn from her and understood how valuable that was.

*Judith Hozore in an undated photo from an obit. I remember this dress so well!*

It wasn’t long before Judy evolved into den mom and chief confessor extraordinaire to the entire office and even a swath of the Museum. Given the closeness of my relationship (I used to quip that I spent many more waking hours a day with her weekly than with my now husband Kim) I would be tempted to say that she was a second mom to me, but she understood that I already had a wonderful mom who I am very close and our relationship was very close but definitely different.

When she retired I accepted the mantle of office good cop and chief sympathizer to a large degree although not a mom myself, never quite rising to the level of den mother. (Running my own office now I am keenly aware that I don’t get to be that person any longer as I am now required to be bad cop as well and keep the show running. I do miss my primarily good cop role at times.)

*Me in a somewhat combative looking photo from right before I left the Museum.*

Judy was a fairly observant Jew and working with her pulled me closer to my (half) Jewish roots, reminding me of or teaching me about, aspects of the religion. She is, perhaps, the only person I know well who kept kosher. She taught me about the lesser celebrated holidays and some of the details of the better known

Every year at this time Judy would bake endless batches of hamantaschen for Purim. These are butter cookie pockets filled with thick jam in flavors like apricot, prune and poppyseed. Judy had a few recipes up her sleeve (we disagreed on the specifics of making matzoh brie as I remember and sadly I never tasted her potato latke that I understand were excellent), but by her own account didn’t love cooking.

Her hamantaschen production was her annual contribution and she made enough that tins of it would appear in the office each spring and soon it was legendary. In early March people would start to wander by the office with a weather eye for the day they would appear. She always secured a special tin of them just for me, heavy on apricot, and upon her retirement I ended up with it. I cannot see them in stores without thinking of hers. (The tin stayed with me and is the photo at the top of the post. I opened it today and discovered I had squirreled all sorts of Met related bits in it including several tin types and a nice plastic elephant that used to grace my desk.)

*These are fairly close to the way I remember hers, thinner crust than on the commercial ones you see frequently.*

She guarded me like a momma bear over the years and I joked with one of her daughters via email that they must have felt like they had a third sister during those decades. I witnessed the wedding of her younger daughter (where I met a friend of hers who is a minister, Liz Wheeler, who ultimately married me and Kim) and waited with anticipation the birth of numerous grandchildren. Family always came first for her and her daughters and grandchildren were truly her proudest accomplishments. In turn, over time, she met my father and sister when they made their way to the Museum periodically and she knew the inner workings of my family and friends intimately as well. She was among those who saw me through the death of my sister toward the end of our time working together.

In addition to being exacting, Judy also had a hot temper and although never in all those years did she lose her temper with me, I did witness a number of remarkable skirmishes over time. Those who know me well understand that I have a hard and fast rule that I will not work for anyone who yells at me. I worked in kitchens early in my career and decided that I had had enough yelling for a working lifetime. There was one occasion, at the end when she was part time and working for me, when she came to me very angry about something and I told her that I thought she was being unfair and why, and maybe it wasn’t really me she was angry at. To her credit she accepted that; it was the closest we ever came to a real argument and I suspect was mostly about the shifting sands of time she was experiencing.

When after her retirement I had taken on a large part of the management and administration for that office and then eventually was lured away from the Met to run my own office, she marveled openly at my ambition. She had never wanted to leave her area of fundraising and was shocked but very proud of my subsequent accomplishments, such as they were.

I got a call last Sunday from a former Museum colleague while out running errands telling me of the paid notice in the New York Times announcing her death. Shortly after the call ended, I looked in a window as I continued on 86th Street and these trays of hamantaschen were on display. I thought to myself that it was like a wink from Judy as she went on her way.

Planning

Posted by Pam's Pictorama

Pam Pictorama Post: It is pre-dawn here and a soft rain is occasionally ticking against the window. Despite a late night at work (Big Band Holiday concert) I woke early and chafed a bit at my self-imposed rule that I won’t run in the dark as part of me wanted nothing more than a slow run through the park at 6:00 am. It sorts out my brain like nothing else and in an effortless way I will never really understand, but am grateful for when I can employ it. However, instead, I sit down and write and think maybe that run will come later.

Recently in the process of interviewing someone, I was asked about my own plans for the future, where I expect to be in five years. I laughed to myself and thought, after the last more than twenty months of the pandemic, how can anyone actually ask me what I think I will be doing in five years? I sure as heck didn’t think I would be doing what I have been for the last twenty or more months with a basis of operations from our one room here at Deitch Studio, but the question has gnawed at me a bit.

I was reminded of when I graduated from college. I formulated a very specific plan which roughly involved getting a job cooking in a very good restaurant here in New York City, applying to graduate school for painting and then using that restaurant experience to land a good job and work my way through said graduate program, probably somewhere in the mid-West like Iowa, and then most likely teaching art and trying to sell my own work. (Yes, I had a lot of energy then!)

I achieved the first step on the ladder and landed the job in a restaurant cooking with a rising young chef star, Jean-Georges Vongerichten. I won’t go down the tributary of my cooking career for now, but only note that it ended abruptly with a fall down a flight of stairs which put me out of commission for that kind of physical work. Over time painting gave way to photography and these days this blog is most of the creativity I employ on a regular basis.

*The Met one recent morning as I walked to Columbus Circle for work.*

After the fall, so to speak, I took a job in the bookstore at the Metropolitan Museum. I was eventually hired out of the bookstore into the administrative offices and, for the most part, stayed there contentedly for the better part of the next thirty years. (I wrote about this on my departure from the Met about four years ago and that post can be found here.) I had never imagined working at the Met and I had never considered (or remotely thought about) fundraising as a career. And once firmly and happily ensconced at the Met I never imagined leaving.

I have tried to make considered choices and planned my career with some thought however. I developed a broad base of skills (such as annual giving, events) and ultimately specialized deeply in the areas that most people avoided – tax consequences of gifts, charitable estate planning and back office operations for example. (My best single piece of advice to people starting out is always raise your hand for the job no one wants – that and for goodness sake, dress appropriately for any interview.)

*A holiday Matt Wilson Tree-O at Dizzy’s Club earlier this week.*

I embraced the opportunity to manage staff over time and took on overseeing a fair amount of hiring and on-boarding and compensation for that office. However, I always deeply enjoyed working with the individuals who supported the work of the museum and at least half my time was always devoted to that.

I had assumed I would retire from the Met. My decision to leave and run an office for a performing arts organization in many ways surprised no one more than me and it was a huge shift that left me reeling at first. However, the skills I had built up working at the museum have served me well.

Meanwhile, I think we can all safely say none of us expected the world to shift the way it did in March of 2020. It has been exhausting and exhilarating in turns. I feel as if I have grown decades of professional experience crammed into the past two years, approaching my work with a new efficiency as well as renewed urgency. I have often said that from that perspective I wouldn’t have missed it, but much like falling down that flight of stairs all those years ago, the path I thought I was on certainly veered wildly in another direction. We see a lot of folks making radical life changes as a result of the pandemic – changing where they live, where and how they work.

Recent months have allowed a return to seeing some of our supporters and friends in person. Last night was my first in the hall for a concert (I wrote about planning for and then missing our opening concerts in November in a post here), although I have been in our club venue on many evenings. A shift in staffing has meant that I am spending more time with folks and welcoming them in person. It is nice to be doing more of that again.

I have yet to respond to the question about where I expect to be in five years – neither to the person who asked nor in my own mind. I consider it for a bit this morning as the misty morning finally comes to light out the window.

Working

Posted by Pam's Pictorama

Pam Pictorama Post: It is a chilly September morning as I sit down to write this. We have a window open as we continue to try to air out the apartment from a persistent mustiness that settled on it as we tried to deal with clothing and a smattering of other items that were in our basement locker during the hit and run of Hurricane Ida. Coffee, the remedy to all things waking up, is perking (yes, perking, I actually still use a percolating pot) on the stove. Yesterday had the same September chill and I was thinking about how those first few chilly days somehow manage still to surprise us each year.

*The Appel Room at Jazz at Lincoln Center, set up for the first dinner I held there in 2017.*

Every year we think it seems early, but it isn’t really as it is mid-September after all. And while we know that we will still have some very hot days still slated, somehow the spell of summer is really broken. As a kid I remember feeling that somehow that first day of school should have some chill in the air – it seemed wrong to go back to the school routine when it was still hot and you wanted to wear shorts and sandals instead of school clothes and hard shoes.

Rosh Hashanah commenced the Jewish holidays this week and welcomed in a New Year. I have always thought that the Jewish calendar of holidays was spot on – this is the time of the year when I think of starting over (it’s that back-to-school thing again), Yom Kippur shortly after which makes you take a hard look at yourself, and Passover as part of the renewal process of spring.

*A box made by Kim which sits on the desk in my office. I wrote about it in a post called Kim’s Elephant Box.*

I have written a bit on and off about the potential return to the office – it is still pending and currently set for mid-October, Covid variants pending. (Among those posts are two here and here.) I have spent the summer with a mental punch list of things that I need to do in order to begin to officially return to the world. As a result I have seen a litany of doctors and gotten myself back on their roster of maintenance and taken their neglected battery of tests, ending with the dentist finally this past week. I have had a hair cut, although I think I am already due for another. My weight loss program is nearing its goal which commenced last November and took on the pandemic pounds first and then moved onto what I had needed to lose before it all started. I am hovering within five pounds of my lowest fighting weight, as I like to think of it. I started running last November as well and have largely stuck to it through thick and thin, pausing only for the worst snow over the winter and longer after breaking my fingers on Memorial Day. (The finger tale of woe can be found here and the story of my nascent running is here.) I am a person who finds comfort in developing a list of achievable goals and the ability to check them off as I go.

*Felix sheet music from my collection decorates the walls of my office.* *Sheet music Pams-Pictorama.com collection.*

My office is still virtually deserted when I make trips there these days. We’ve cleaned and cleared the decks of old paper and tossed out the plants that didn’t make it on a visit as a group earlier this summer. It is in a state of perpetual weekend in my mind. I tend to show up for what I need to do there – checking the mail and the like – and I leave. There is no music wafting through the halls or out of the offices of colleagues. When I look around and try to imagine us all back I am reminded that many folks won’t be back – a staff of 16 which has whittled down to possibly as few as five of us returning to the office in my group and a similar proportion across the organization. The loss of a dear colleague, Jazz giant historian Phil Schaap, to cancer this week will linger over the common spaces we shared and his office. (His obit can be found here.)

*Dog walkers back on the job in Manhattan earlier this week.*

As I cleaned my closets and purged moth eaten clothing (another of the tasks on my long list) I realized that we are all essentially two years older. I realize this should be self evident, but everything else aside I haven’t sat cheek to jowl with this folks every day for seventeen months and counting. I look at these clothes in wonder and think about whether I have any interest in wearing them again – they are a microcosm of another time. I don’t right now, but keep the ones that moths have not (yet) made visible inroads in and that look like they might fit and figure I will worry about that another day.

The world at large still has mixed feelings about in-person interaction, at least here in Manhattan. I have scheduled numerous visits with patrons I haven’t seen in person over the duration over the coming weeks. Some still only doing outside and others looking forward to live music inside. I have emailed and spoken with others who are not ready at all. Our jazz club, Dizzy’s, is full some nights and deserted on others following a rhythm none of us can quite decode. Showing my vaccination status everywhere I go will become law on Monday, but many restaurants and other public venues have already adopted it.

*Katherine Rusell performing at Dizzy’s back in July of ’19. I will hear her again in a few weeks at Dizzy’s.*

My work days are long again. I start very early before my run, work through the day and find myself drifting back to my desk after dinner. My intermittent insomnia has already put in an appearance, the mental calculator of millions of dollars to raise this year ticking away in my brain.

This morning I am reminded of when my sister Loren’s apartment was broken into while going to grad school in Chicago – after that she would frequently refer to things as being “before the heist” or “after the heist”. This would usually refer to something she no longer owned, but sometimes it would refer to other things like the acquisition of her large dog Ron – although I believe he was adopted after a subsequent spate of robberies in Berkley. I felt that way after 9/11 and then experienced a personal version after Loren died a few years later. World wide disruptions and personal ones, the great divides that change the path we thought we were on but were never really destined for. We will be talking about the before time and the post-pandemic one for a long time going forward.

Still, my back-to-school spirit remains intact and although I am still layering sweaters over sundresses (and have not committed to ever wearing anything but sneakers again), I am mentally starting to construct what this new world is going to look like for me and to some degree for my team at work. I remain ever interested in what the future will look like and what I will make of it now.