memoir

In the Summer Time

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: It is Fourth of July morning and here in New York we are waking to wet and threatening skies after a night of thunder storms. I was never afraid of them as a child, but have grown to dislike them as an adult, perhaps in sympathy with a general sense of distrust of them among the felines. (Cookie and Blackie will bear up to a point and then, Cookie in particular will migrate to the front door, the innermost spot in the apartment, and look at us like we’re nuts if we remain on the couch by the windows.) Up on the 16th floor the winds howl a bit greater than at ground level, but my dislike is no lesser when in the house in Jersey, with rain pounding on that small structure.

Carl Schurz Park.

Having been caught in the rain while running yesterday and I am watching the fast moving clouds and calculating my opportunity for getting away with an hour of running in a bit. The jury is out as I write, but running is my only real plan for the day which may disintegrate into cleaning and organizing the apartment. In a small space like this it always seems to be a need, the cleaning and organizing.

Recently I wondered if I was neglecting the apartment in favor of work needing to be done, paid for and directed in New Jersey. Still, new carpet pads have been purchased for Deitch Studio and I need to trim them and wrestle them into place. I have replaced an especially tatty rug. I clean and organize, and organize some more!

Recent rug purchase for Deitch Studio. (Washable and largely cat proof.)

I will head out to New Jersey tomorrow and I expect that this entry will be finished there. I look forward to seeing how the garden has grown – the blueberry bushes were laden with their yet to ripen wares when I was last there and I am hoping to beat the critters to at least some of them. I understand that the tomato and pepper plants are performing admirably.

The jasmine plant I wrote about last week seems to grow before my eyes and it is embracing its trellis.

The strawberry plant is young, although it has filled out the strawberry pot I plunked it in, but I am only hoping for a taste there. I still am amazed at the simple act of growing food. It has always seemed a bit magical. The herb garden has already provided for many an omelet and a series of sauces, but somehow vegetables seem to be another story.

In mom’s honor I planted a row of sunflowers along the fence outside of our bedroom. I remember her planting some for us kids when we were very little and our shock and joy at how enormous they grew against our little house, as tall as my towering father. I am hoping to find them sprouted and on their way skyward. A friend and her small child are living at the house and I hope she too will be entertained by them.

*****

It is a week later as I write from New Jersey. Much going on in this small world. The strawberry plant, which I transplanted into this strawberry pot a month or so ago has produced its first strawberry!(Someone, my money is on a chip monk, stole it right out from under my nose however; I have yet to taste this bounty.) Multiple flowers however and a few in an early transitional state lead us to hope it isn’t the last.

One of the pepper plants has coughed up its first progeny, with many more to follow as well I hope.

The first of the bell peppers.

The tomatoes have gone “plumb wild” and are requiring constant staking to help them bear up under the burden of their produce. The tomatoes started out in a sunny back corner of the yard before an enormous bush grew to hide them completely. Luckily it doesn’t block the sun and the tomatoes are growing gloriously.

Initial harvest!

Someone, something, has neatly consumed those sunflower seeds and nary a flower has sprouted. In defiance I purchase two plants that are well underway as replacements.

The bookcases in their before mode, fresh from Suzanne’s basement.

Meanwhile, a good friend answered my appeal for bookcases and dug not one but two out of her basement. A few days have been devoted to giving one a new coat of paint and cleaning up the wood and glass on the other. It has been decades since I have done this kind of work on furniture; I think I was still a kid and doing it under my mom’s supervision. I suspect my muscles will tell me all about it tomorrow. The glass front case is a particular dandy though. I am tempted to use it for toys although it sees better suited for books.

The cleaned up bookcase after considerable elbow grease and help from a friend who had keys made for the locks on the doors which keep them closed. You’ll note the cat proofing on the chairs.

Tonight I pulled the grill out and made a pile of vegetables for dinner. This grill was new last summer. For some reason my mom was insistent that we buy it and that I break it in immediately which I did. However, the heat of the late summer made it a less attractive option than it might be in the cooler weather and I admittedly never really got the hang of it. Luckily however I taped my introductory lesson from a friend and manage to get it started and pull off a fairly credible dinner of grilled vegetables.

*****

Another raging thunderstorm woke me up early and the Jersey cat crew took advantage and got me up early to feed them. I don’t like thunderstorms any better when residing in the house in New Jersey and my real inclination is to burrow back under the blankets. These cats seem entirely unfazed.

This little fellow has camouflaged himself nicely, near one of mom’s many bunny garden statues.

When the sun comes burning out a couple of hours later I witness multiple bunnies (all different sizes!) having an absolute wild rabbit romp in the yard. They chase each other, run and jump high. Later in the day someone tells me they are eating the clover in the yard. I am sorry I don’t have a chance to film it.

Citronella growing like topsy on the deck (and doing nothing for the mosquitoes!) and an injured catnip plant I just rescued is in front of the strawberry pot. Let’s see what the kits make of that!

Despite bug spray and the presence of some lovely citronella plants, mosquitoes abound and feast on me. When I was a kid these bits would balloon up and practically take over whole limbs. Now they are just an annoying itching reminder which I will take back to New York City with me.

The next New Jersey post will likely be after Deitch Studio moves down – part and parcel, Kim, kits and art supplies in August for the remainder of the summer. Stay tuned.

Yard

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Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: Taking a brief break from the big box of Felix, I share a recent photo postcard acquisition of this serious fellow with his cat and dog in a lush garden setting. He is surrounded by bounty from his garden, including an enormous melon, leafy greens and something that looks like eggplant perhaps. He is plant and pet proud! It is the sort of photo which, Felix notwithstanding, is the mainstay of the Pictorama collection. This card was never mailed, nor is anything written on the back.

Kitty, a nice orange tabby, who is distracted by something off camera to the left of our view, sports a collar and perches nicely on Dad’s lap. The black dog at his feet is has a bright white chest and a substantial collar. Our man is dapper in a vest and collared shirt, neatly trimmed mustache and combed hair. His expression is serious, but he is pleased with the photo taking. He sits atop a simple wooden bench with spindly legs.

I am curious about the ropes or twine coming down from the tree, perhaps vines were being trained up them. There is a mass of unidentified leafy foliage behind him. A house peers through an arbor covered with ivy or something similar. There is an opening to a fence on the other side and these draw our eye back, deeper into the space.

Mystery bush in the backyard which has grown enormous. My tomato plants, which remain totally happy, are hidden behind them.

I myself am fresh back from a few days of hectic gardening in New Jersey and this photo of pets and vegetable bounty remind me of the garden there. All the cats are indoor ones and cannot join me in the yard, but otherwise I might give this fellow a run for his money posing on the deck.

The herb garden in an earlier state.

Yesterday I was feeling the residual effects of digging some deep holes for transplanting lavender plants, not to mention hauling soil and water around earlier in the week. Evidently my gym and running trained muscles are not those employed for gardening! Among my duties, was transplanting a sizable jasmine plant, purchased online and which arrived in my absence. It needed to be moved to a proper pot which was one of the more pressing duties.

This is more or less what the jasmine should look like in bloom.

I lived in London many years ago and I have never forgotten how much I loved the smell of jasmine in a pub garden I used to frequent so I am very keen on trying to grow it. Jasmine’s ability to survive a winter in New Jersey seems questionable, so I have put it in a large pot and will consider bringing it into the garage over the winter. I purchased a trellis for it and was surprised how quickly it seemed to take to the idea of climbing up it. In the summer humidity it almost seemed to grow before my eyes. The arbor in this photo puts me in mind of it – would be lovely to have one with jasmine climbing up it.

The first dahlia of the season! Hydrangea blooming away behind them.

However the trellis seemed like a sort of marvelous thing in itself and I thought it was wonderful to purchase for $14 – such an interesting object, simple and made neatly of wood. There are several others in the yard, most notably a few holding up large pink honeysuckle bushes which mom ordered. I only found out fairly recently that she was especially fond of honeysuckle. Not sure if it was to provide bounty for the insects and birds or just because she liked them.

Largely the garden was planted by her for birds, bugs and small animals to nibble and attract. Blueberry bushes bulge and despite my mother’s more charitable inclination in providing for the bunnies, squirrels and birds, I am determined to at least let some ripen and taste them this summer. To that end I fought with a complex bit of netting I purchased and, in my own ham handed way, draped it around one of the bushes. We’ll see how that goes. I think I saw a squirrel laughing at me.

One of two blueberry bushes, laden with not-quite-ripe berries.

I also had it in my mind that I wanted some sunflowers as I have very fond memories of growing them as a kid. I purchased some seeds and planted them a few weeks ago. Although I haven’t grown anything else there from seed I thought that growing a line of them against the fence would be a no brainer when I tucked the seeds in the ground.

When I arrived the other day I anxiously checked them and found the spot utterly barren. Upon further inspection, something had delicately dug and nibbled the seeds all up – a nice meal. Arg! I purchased two small plants which were already well underway instead, not to be utterly thwarted. Admittedly my approach to the garden has been to plunge both headlong and headstrong into the process.

Hope springs eternal! Here are the two new sunflowers I just planted.

I should not only talk of failures – a stunning dahlia is already well underway blooming and meals there are liberally seasoned with an abundance of herbs from a garden I put in near the kitchen. It is, as an herb garden should be, close enough to the house that I occasionally wander out in my pj’s to snip some for a morning omelet. I am sorry not to have recent photos to provide for some of it, but will share an update after my next trip back later this week.

The Fish Eater

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: While I was trotting back and forth to New Jersey on an odd schedule with mom’s final illness, I kept a couple of potential Pictorama Post items in my computer bag in case I was caught out of town and wanted to write a post. While I also would put photos on my phone for this purpose, I had this and another item (an odd and seasonal one, which I will now likely save for a more appropriate time of year).

I barely remember, but I think I scooped this up in a bunch buy on Instagram. (It may have been that midwest maven @MissMollysantiques again – she and I have done a lot of business in the past few years.) It’s a strange item, thin cardboard, lightly embossed. It is smallish, only about five inches across.

While cute images of cats going after a goldfish abound as a trope both in pictures and three dimensional trinkets, this one hardly qualifies for cute and makes an odd decoration. Our tabby spotted kit appears to have been served up a bowl of small (live?) fish and has one hanging from his or her mouth, right before chomping it merrily down.

This cat has no shame and stares out defiantly. He or she is perched on a bit of defined grassy turf with some other sticks and bits about. More fish are indicated in the shallow dish. While there is a bit of paper loss to the tip of kitty’s nose the rest is in excellent shape, right down to the fish and a bit of fluffy jowl hanging off one side below his whiskers.

What on earth was it? I cannot imagine it was advertising and hardly seems like a decorative image. A bit of a mystery I think.

Currier and Ives print of kitty and goldfish.

I have written before about my childhood adventures of keeping cats away from our fish-keeping experiments. (Some of this territory was covered in a post that can be found here if you wish to delve a bit further in the subject!) We started with small fishbowls of a gold fish or two. (I don’t remember if these were acquired at fairs or at pet stores – in retrospect our acquisition of them seems so unlike my mother who had strong feelings about animals in captivity I can’t quite add it up and my dad was not the pet guy when we were little. I can only assume that my sister or I were insistent about their acquisition and she acquiesced.)

Zebra fish also seemed to be denizens of our tank.

It seems to me that this was a doomed premise, the goldfish bowl. We started with a pair I remember quite distinctly (and because of this clear and somewhat possessive memory, it is likely that I considered myself in charge of these fish) from when I was about four years old. We were moving from a town, Engelwood, in Northern Jersey, down to Rumson where I would spend the rest of my childhood years.

The fish were being transferred in a large soup pot, one had nice black spots on him and I liked him best. The pot, a light blue enamel one, seems like an especially bad idea (Mom – what were you thinking?) and also in the car with the swaying pot of fish and water was our cat Snoopy. I do think Snoopy was too distracted by his own drama (oddly he also just seemed to be free range in the car – no cat carriers at that time in our lives) to bother the fish however. The fish must have made it through the hour or so journey because I do not remember this being the cause of their demise, although that said I do not remember under what circumstances they ultimately left us.

Cat and goldfish teapot for sale on eBay, not in Pictorama.com collection.

It was, however, the beginning of a line of fish which at first, lived atop of our refrigerator because for some reason mom thought the cat (which became cats shortly) wouldn’t notice them. Generally they didn’t, however eventually a single fish disappeared overnight. No sign of him or her. Just an empty bowl come morning.

I think Betty realized at this point that we were committing an ongoing act of fish cruelty and, having raised complex tanks of fish in her youth, she set up a proper fish tank for us. We purchased a handful of brightly colored neon tetras (I remember them best), a few angel fish and a gourami or two. There were some tiny shark-y looking things and something we just referred to as the algae eater.

In retrospect, this tank was a lot of work. I remember the periodic water changes and tank cleaning it required, the plastic plants to be scrubbed and the real ones replaced. Again, I amaze a bit at mom taking it on with everything else she had on her hands with three small kids, two cats and a large dog. (Dad would allow himself to only be marginally roped into fish care activities and would at best follow mom’s direction if he was around for a fish care fiesta day.)

Neon Tetra

I loved the fish however and I would often ask my mother to tell me about the exotic sounding saltwater tanks she had kept as a teenager. Mom was a resourceful teen it seems and also made it all the way into the upper ranks of the Girl Scouts. These tales created an image of teenage Betty as a pillar of resourceful early DIY-type industry and ingenuity which really was probably a fair analysis. (It is making me tear up that I can’t call her up and talk to her about it however. She would have enjoyed reliving it with me.)

I liked to sit and watch them and have some very specific memories of sitting with our cat Zipper and watching the fish together. The air filter would bubble away, rising behind a faux treasure chest nestled in the gravel creating a world unto itself. Meanwhile, Zipper was a feral tabby who came to live with us about that time and unlike Snoopy he had no compunction about his thieving desires where the fish were concerned. He would sit with me and gently pat the surface of the tank somewhat mischievously, looking at us with his huge green eyes full of deceptive faux innocence. After an early incident the tank had something heavy placed on top of it after one of his more adventurous attempts.

The algae eater more or less as I remember him. Usually we saw his tummy as he stuck himself to the glass to munch on the available algae.

Sadly over time it became clear we were just not destined to be good fish caretakers. Eventually the gourami grew huge from eating the other smaller fish – alarmingly we’d find remains in the morning. He was sent to a new home in a larger tank (where perhaps someone ate him dad would darkly speculate), but somehow after that the tank seems to have petered out. Our investment in stray cats and dogs increased over time, tales for the future, but the Butlers left the world of the aquatic behind.

Transformation

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

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

The cat family greeting.

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

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

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

Peaches.

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

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

The peonies

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

The roses in the backyard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Diamond Dye

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: This scene of early comical commercial carnage is brought to us by Diamond Dye which claims to be the simplest strongest fastest and please know that, they have no equal. And of course so easy a child can use them! Additionally the back also boasts news of three new colors Fast Stocking Black, Turkey Red for Cotton and Brown for Cotton. I guess no one could come up with a nifty name for brown.

Back of card. Pams-Pictorama.com collection.

Diamond Dyes do not seem to exist today, nor can I find out much about their illustrious history, but they had a robust advertising life in the earliest days of the 20th century. This somewhat unappealing youngster has dipped both her doll and kitty in the dye. I can’t help but wonder if the message at the bottom was also a double entendre – It’s easy to dye with Diamond Dye. Ahem.

Another popular Diamond Dye card, not in Pams-Pictorama.com collection.

Back when I was a tiny tot, in nursery school, and we were living in a small house in northern New Jersey. We had our German Shepard already, Duchess, and a lovely black and white cow-spotty male cat named Snoopy. Snoops was a heavy set, slow moving cat of infinite patience – the one I would routinely dress in doll cloths and play circus cat with. He was not a hugely mischievous cat and in fact this might be the only story of its kind I can think of. He was generally in my words today, a very good kitty.

Mom, who was always industrious about home care and maintenance, had gotten the idea to paint the brick floor of the screened back porch bright red. And yes indeed, when she wasn’t looking, Snoopy made his slow determined kitty walk right across that wet paint and kept going, so not only did we have a cat with bright red paws (at first mom thought they were bleeding), but of course his paw prints after he marched across the kitchen. He remained dignified, quite unconcerned and unfazed by the fuss he ultimately caused. The dog, who was always misbehaving, was probably overjoyed to see the cat in trouble for a change. Clearly mom must have flipped out since I remember the whole seen these many years later. (For some reason it also reminds me a story from the same era when a friend of my sister’s smeared lipstick on one of the walls. Mom had great fortitude it seems and she didn’t kill him. His name was David Mount – no idea why I remember that. I wonder what he grew up to be?)

Nifty dye cabinet – wish it was in my collection!

My own experience with dye is limited to some batiking I did in high school and college. To keep the melted wax in place we used cold water dyes which were far easier and less complicated than these early dyes which would have required boiling water. While I am sure they were state of the art in their day, I think I can understand their disappearance. I can only say I know enough about it to know that I would have probably unintentionally ended up looking like this somewhat malevolent looking child if I had tried to use them.

Monmouth County Days

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

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

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

Long Branch Poultry Farm, since 1939.

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

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

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

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

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

A farm stop in Holmdel where geraniums were procured.

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

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

Mourning in NJ

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

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

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

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

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

Me, Edward and a very young mom.

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

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

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

Cat-vertising

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: Today is going to be a very short and sweet nod to Pictorama. This past week saw me zip in from staying with Mom in NJ to 48 continuous hours of Gala prep and execution – a concert and dinner for almost 600 people.

This was followed by the trip back to NJ and, drum roll please, more than 24 hours (and counting) of a vile stomach virus. I don’t think I have had a stomach virus like this in decades and I have been unable to peel myself off the bed here for more than 10-15 minutes at a time. However tea and toast tasted really amazing earlier as my first food since Thursday and I think recovery is in sight.

Second Line from Gala this week.

Therefore, I share a few small cat advertising cards that arrived in the mail in NY earlier this week. This is a tribute to the NJ cats who have decided to rally around me in illness and play nurse even though they normally largely ignore me. Beauregard in particular, has been very attentive and I think Gus is just following him around – much to his chagrin.

Gus to the right and Beau on the left.

These cards came as part of a lot from the Midwest. The Mile-End Spool Cotton Thread sports a little girl with a very large hat and a cat that is reminding me of Gussy a little bit. You can decide for yourself on that. She looks a bit sad in addition to be quite furbelowed. The other card is just a scrap and I am not sure what they were pushing. The kitty (all set for food) and little girl seem somber for advertising. On the back it says Schaefer 217 Cass Avenue, St. Louis.

Pams-Pictorama.com collection.

Lastly, the Standard Java Record injects more energy into the post. This smiling girl and tabby are advertising the Best Coffee in the World. It makes me regret I was not up for my morning cup of joe today and went instead for a cup of tea and honey.

If I had known I was going to be bed bound I would have probably stayed in Manhattan – although Kim should probably be just as glad I didn’t as I sure would have kept him up all night. Nonetheless, seems like we are coming out the other side and it is a sunny pretty day here. I am feeling stronger and will try to get up and around a bit today and a higher energy post tomorrow.

Sowing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cowgirl

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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