The Serbian POW from WWII

Today is Veterans Day, 2023 which made me think about the fear and uncertainty that must have faced those who have served our country in war times.  It is certainly hard to fathom.  Growing up, my father did not discuss many details of his experience serving in the US Army during WWII and it was not until the 50th anniversary of D-Day that he really opened up and shared many unbelievable things he had seen and done. One experience was for him, more hopeful and positive, and I am posting this story copied from a handwritten note by my father, Howard Ryden Nord about a cigarette case he was given by a Serbian POW in WWII:

"I was Division Headquarters Commandant of the 14th Armed Division.  In the spring of 1945, our division was advancing a few miles east of Frankfort, Germany.  During the operations we liberated a large prison camp and training headquarters at Hammelburg.  There were many thousands of prisoners in the camp, and when they were freed (French, British, Polish, American) almost all the prisoners burst out of their compounds and started roaming over the area.  However, one group remained in their area, under what appeared to be strict military discipline.  I was impressed by this, so I sought out the commanding officer.  Through our interpreter, he told me that they were Serbian, and that they had been in the camp for five years.  He said they had maintained strict discipline as a means to survival and they knew, when they were liberated they would be processed for return more readily if they remained in their area.

Although he was ragged and very thin, this officer impressed me.  I knew we would be setting up a headquarters in this compound and would have dining facilities, so I invited him to dinner the next evening.  When I went to pick him up to take him to dinner, I found, instead of a ragged, poorly clothed individual, an officer dressed beautifully in a clean, sharp uniform.

After dinner, which I could see he thoroughly enjoyed, I took him back to his compound.  I noticed he had tears in his eyes.  I asked, through our interpreter, if there was a problem.  He said that he had been in this camp for five years, and that this was the first time he had sat down to a dinner in all that time.  He was just overcome at his good fortune.

He apologized for not being able to reciprocate.  He handed me this cigarette case - told me he wanted me to have it as an appreciation.  He had carved it while in the camp, with tools made from ration tins and a piece of glass.

I asked how he happened to have such a beautiful uniform.  He said that everyone in the compound had some item which he had been able to keep intact, and when his people heard he was going to have dinner with the Americans, everyone pitched in with what he had, and the uniform he wore was the result."

Note:  Research shows there was a large camp called Stalag XIII-C near Hammelberg.  I have tried to find this person through research to possibly return the case to his family, but had no luck.

Grace Church and a Very Good Day

I recently returned from a most interesting, emotional and thought provoking weekend in Martins Ferry, Ohio where first cousins/partners and a niece, from near and far, attended the dedication of refurbished stained glass windows in Grace Presbyterian Church.  My mother grew up in Martins Ferry and her twin, Betty, remained there so visits were frequent to the town over the years until the last elders passed away.  When my Aunt Betty, my mother's twin, was aged and in the hospital recovering from some incident, she told the minister Rev. William Webster of Grace Presbyterian when he visited her, that she and her husband Homer "wanted to start a fund so that the stained glass windows would be better than the Lutheran Church's".  That comment brought laughter from family who knew this very spunky and outspoken woman.  And so it happened that many years and $60,000 in donations later; the windows were restored.  The cousins later toured the town, refreshed our memories and more importantly, our bonds.

The church, which opened its doors in 1851 and served as a stop on the Underground Railroad, was rebuilt in 1900.  Martins Ferry, a northern Appalachian community, was once a thriving city in the Rust Belt along the Ohio River, but has lost over half of its population in the past 30 years, mainly due to the transfer of manufacturing jobs overseas, increased automation and decline of US steel and coal industries creating enormous job losses.  When the current pastor arrived, the church was considered a "dead church" and there was a recommendation to close it and merge with another congregation.  However, despite the loss of jobs and population, the church is now a thriving church with a growing membership, and over 30 ministries, listed here.

What was so surprising about the church was how vital and welcoming this church felt.  To be perfectly honest, I am not comfortable in a church.  I feel like I am a fake and it will be discovered that despite my repeating the prayers and singing the hymns, I do not really believe in much of what is being presented.  But the service was meaningful and the church seemed to be so vibrant in the midst of a dying town that we came away uplifted. 

The sermon made me understand why this church felt alive.  It was titled "Glory Days" and included lyrics from Bruce Springsteen and Jimmy Buffet projected on a large screen television where visuals enhanced the spoken word.  Reverend Webster was a dynamic speaker and the scripture lesson, Luke 9:57-62, tied the service together.

The message was that the church needs is to look forward, to the future and not find excuse or to wallow in the past or "Glory Days" (not that one cannot revel in "Glorious Days" such as the one my cousins and I experienced together that day).  Obviously this didn't just pertain to a church but is important for us all to embrace change and adaptation, but this church reflected it!  A church service in a cafe for those not comfortable in the formal setting.  Use of Internet and technology.  Outreach programs to aid the community. Encouraging inclusiveness. The service even had two hymns performed by singer Mark King who was baptized in the church and returned from his job at Disney World to perform in rockabilly fashion including hand clapping and audience participation.  

A very good day, indeed.

Lesson Learned from an 8 Year Old

Last weekend I headed "North" to visit my grand kids.  First day I had planned to take the 8 and 12 year old, along with a friend of theirs, out to golf.  They have been taking lessons from the First Tee program which states on their web page - "Our mission is to impact the lives of young people by providing educational programs that build character, instill life-enhancing values and promote healthy choices through the game of golf."

I was thrilled to hear that they were in this program!  I have a deep love of the game, which has brought many wonderful people into my life and taken me on many travel adventures.  I consider it to be a sport that promotes rules, civility and order at a reasonable pace, all set in glorious nature.  It is almost as nourishing to the soul to me as another of my passions, fishing, is.

Off we headed to a course nearby.  After loading our clubs on pull carts and starting out, I realized that this would not be as easy as I anticipated.  The friend had never held a club and there was much instruction to be made (no you do not put ball on tee in fairway) etc.  And three kids hitting in three directions meant I was covering a lot of ground finding balls in the rough.

I saw that a twosome was behind us on the tee waiting as we progressed to the green so I herded the kiddos to the side and signaled the couple to play through.  Politeness personified as actually a twosome usually has to wait for a larger group.  These are some of the unwritten "rules" on the course that keep it so dignified.  The kids were patient and what a great lesson they learned, right?

After the twosome finished and moved off the green,  I instructed one of the kids to hit and noticed a ball come flying by us onto the green.  What??  I looked to see a man driving a cart up to the green in front of us.  Wait a minute.  Mama Bear came out and I yelled at him "hey, we are about to hit! What are you doing?"

Uh-oh.  The battle began.  He mouthed off at me about "this" happened to him last week.  And I yelled back that wasn't my fault and that I had already let someone through and it was our turn.  And back and forth and then he picked up his ball and zoomed in front of us to the next tee box.  HE CUT IN FRONT OF US.

And then I heard Ruby, my 8 year old granddaughter, pipe up "Grammy, in the First Tee we learned that you are supposed to be polite on the golf course."

Shut down by an 8 year old!  I walked up to the man and apologized and told him I had every intention of letting him play through if we held him up.  And he sort of mumbled an apology too and we declared we were "all good".  And all week it weighed on me.  Because isn't this what is wrong right now in our society in general.  That we make judgments in a snap.  That we react in haste in a negative way.  That we think we are being cheated, or conned or believe the worse in our fellow man?  I am ashamed that I reacted in the way I did and I told my grand kids so.  And thank you Ruby, and the First Tee, for a lesson learned.

 

I Am LITTERally Fuming

Yesterday was Earth Day.  Founded in the 70's, I love the idea of our preserving and protecting our wonderful planet.

However today, the day after Earth Day, I was slammed with the ongoing harsh reality that the residents of the Earth are doing a really crappy job at preservation.  The educated and informed may be "concerned" about climate change and certainly many of us recycle and institute other smart conservation activities.  But aesthetically, there is a real blight on our beautiful planet called LITTER and we need to get back to basics.

I worked at the motel today.  It is a constant battle of picking up handfuls of cigarette butts, bottle caps, plastic bottles, etc. carelessly dropped on the ground.  I walked the neighbors empty lot next door and filled a waste can with trash.  The road side bushes across the street are a magnet for every drive-by "toss and run."  I drive home and see where visitors pull their car to the side of the road to picnic and enjoy our "environmentally sensitive" and beautiful Keys - and leave their trash in a pile behind.

I cannot take my daily walk without picking up someone's water or Gatorade bottle tossed in our beautiful neighborhood park.  I am astonished at the amount of litter on the roadways when I drive north to Miami.  And take a boat ride offshore to go fishing and encounter the glorious weed line - where currents create a line of seaweed ripe with bait fish attracting bigger species and then see what is trapped in the natural elements.  Unbelievable amounts of packaging waste.

I remember visiting Put-in-Bay in Lake Erie a couple summers ago and riding around the island with family in a giant golf cart.  We were behind a group of young men, probably in their early 20's and we watched as one casually tossed his beer can to the road side after he finished drinking it.  That visual stays with me.  His blatant disregard for not only the property around him, but his uncaring attitude for every human being who would have to see and be affected by his selfish act haunts me.  And angers me.

What is happening here?  Is this the way it has always been and I am just getting older and less tolerant?  Or is there a serious lack of caring about each other that is growing in our society?   If we all share this home, then I want neater roommates! 

I found these photos of Toronto's anti-littering campaign and I just love them. Perhaps shaming the culprits is the right way to go.  Or getting back to fining them - stiffly!

 

 

Lucky Goat

My dear friend Fern says that there are only 500 people in the whole world.  How else does one explain the crazy coincidences that occur with people.  Like the time the H-bomb and I were in a remote village in Thailand sampling street food, when someone he went to high school with, who dropped out to smoke Opium and live out his hippie lifestyle in Thailand probably as far back as the Vietnam era, yelled - Harry Caplan?  There are over 7 BILLION people in the world!!  And the theory of "six degrees of separation" says that everyone and everything is six or fewer steps away, by way of introduction, from any other person in the world.

This past week, my cousin and husband from New York State stopped on their way to Florida, picked up my sister in Washington DC, and road-tripped down the coast, ending in Key Largo.  Brother Tom from Ohio joined us here.  Cousin Nancy handed me a beautiful hand-made gift bag (made by her) filled with soap products from a business in a town in NY where her daughter lives called Lucky Goat.  Nancy raved about the products and we laughed at their motto "How you get dirty is your business... how you come clean is ours!"

A couple days later, on our way to Key West to play tourist, we stopped at our motel, the Sea Dell, to show the property to my sister.  My desk clerk handed me a note from a woman who said she was in the Keys in an RV with her husband and that she was a good friend of a high school friend of mine, Deb Simstad Allyn, and had stopped to say hello. Carol Ann and husband had not pulled out of the driveway yet and I raced over to say "hi".  When they got out of the RV, and we were introducing ourselves, she said to my cousin "you look familiar" and my cousin said the same.  Carol Ann said "Lucky Goat?"  And the connection was made.  Carol Ann's daughter is the founder of the Lucky Goat soap business in Skaneateles NY, is friends with my cousin's daughter, Carol Ann works there sometimes, and my cousin who lives in Cortland NY is a huge fan of the product and brought some to me.  

Now, consider there are 300 million people in the US.  Of course, not all live on the east coast, but still, here we are, presented with another "small world" story.  We marveled at the irony, made our way to Key West and guess what - we spotted the couple twice in Key West, which was bulging with tourists!

From the left: my cousin's husband Tom, my cousin Nancy, new acquaintance Carol Ann, me, my brother Tom, Carol Ann's husband and my sister Suzanne.  Have I mentioned before that I have the best family in the world?  They are loving, fun, smart, lively and just plain good people.  My cousin Nancy is my mother's twin's daughter so we have a close knit shared history.  The visit was wonderful, like every time we get together: full of stories, shared family lore, catching up, loud hooting and laughing, teasing and just plain good times.  I guess I am a lucky goat! 

Please, Browns?

In Cleveland Browns football lore, "THE DRIVE" stands out with painful clarity.  In the AFC Championship game, played at the old Browns stadium, the Browns lost when John Elway of the Denver Broncos drove the ball 98 yards in the last minute to tie the game, and then the Broncos won on a field goal in overtime. 

My husband's family had business ties with the Loews family at that time who owned a big share of CBS, and H-bomb and I were all set to see our Browns play in Super Bowl XXI in Pasadena, California.  We had the promise of tickets, we had the travel arrangements made, we were psyched!  The deflation of excitement in our family room that afternoon in January 1987 was bigger than poking a hole in a dirigible. 

We went to Superbowl XXI.  Did I care about the game?  NO!  I only wanted Elway to lose.  I don't even remember the game itself.  What I do recall was Harry's former business partner (we took he and his wife with us) telling the gate guard that he was a physician and needed to park close to the Rose Bowl stadium in case there was an emergency and he had to get out quickly.  I countered with saying he was kidding, and that didn't gain me any favor with partner Al, but it was a foreboding about his character.  Some years later it was discovered that Al had been cheating H-bomb for years in revenue and they parted ways. I also remember sitting in fantastic seats on special cushions given to every ticket holder and below us I could see OJ Simpson and his wife Nicole.  Darryl Strawberry was also seated nearby.  We all know what happened to Nicole Simpson, and Darryl Strawberry was arrested not long after for beating up his wife.  So much for celebrity gazing.  A happy memory was being in the ladies room waiting in line (even at the Super Bowl) and chatting with a Giant's player's wife who was pregnant and due to deliver any day but so excited to be at the game and thinking how down to earth and delightful she was.

But the thing that really strikes me today, the morning after the Super Bowl of 2015 is how simple the half-time show was compared to today.  It was definitely full of fun, and fireworks and such, but no where near the confusing mish mash I saw yesterday.  Muddled lyrics, the voice second to the performance and the performance definitely falling way short of the constant hysteria of lights, props and noise. Missy Elliott rocked her performance and the backup dancers were amazing.  Keep it simple if there is talent to showcase.  I still remember Bruce Springsteens performance with him sliding across the stage on his knees with microphone placed suggestively between his legs in a mocking fun way.  He looked like he was having a blast and we did watching him. 

I am still hoping for the year that takes the Cleveland Browns fans into, and then past the anxiety of the post season, and into a spot in this crazy Super Bowl scene.  That year, when it comes, will have an entertainer with class, commercials that make one howl with laughter (sorry, not the right venue for sappy, sad and stupid), and of course, we will win - forever putting our losing history behind and creating a new era of pride in Cleveland sports to match the pride we feel already for the City.  Please, Browns???

The Redlands

The next time you walk through a home improvement box store, and visit the garden center, you most likely will see a section of tropical plants.  I know that when I lived in Cleveland, and especially when the long grey winter was about to make me homicidal, I would find relief from my blues in looking at, and occasionally buying, a spider or schefflera plant to add a bit of greenery inside to contrast the white outside.

Now, I live close to where much of this plant stock is grown.  It is an area south of Miami and north of the Florida Keys called the Redlands.  And I could not be happier about it!  Farm land, interspersed with little nurseries, each an incredible adventure waiting to happen.  Harry and I have had such fun landscaping our yard and our business from this area.  We drive down little dirt roads and discover the most amazing places.  Often no one speaks English and we have to practice our really bad Spanish.  I am not sure if I am asking the price of an item or if I can purchase their youngest child.  We hop on their rickety golf cart and away they go to show us their bounty.  One time an owner made Harry sit with him under a homemade canopy and the gentleman produced a gallon of whiskey from under the table to share a drink and stories with H-bomb.  Other properties have livestock, goats and chickens running about the plants.  Road side stands or little tables set up along the road sell the most exotic fruits I have ever seen.  And my favorite fruit stand sells perhaps the most fantastic treat ever after a day on the water in nearby Everglades National Park - a fresh coconut milkshake.  I thank my grand kids for introducing me to that selection when I would normally pick something as exotic as strawberry-banana. 

And the Orchids.  Holy cow.  I landed right in Orchid heaven.  A little hobby I started up north with a few plants I struggled to keep going under lights in the winter has taken hold of me and made me a crazy woman.  I fuss, baby, fertilize, apply fungicides, lament, and nurture maybe a hundred plants.  I cannot get enough.  People sell them from cars on the side of the road up "there" in the Redlands.  There are nurseries, orchid shows and festivals.  I volunteer at one that draws people from all over the world.  Who knew that there was such mania about a plant species? 

After golf this week "up in Miami" I took the rural way home and passed a cart loaded with Heliconia Rostratas (lobster claw).  I saw these growing wild in the Amazon rain forest and have wanted one for my own ever since.  Woohoo - $9 for a five foot tall plant - and I could not wait to get home from work the next day to dig a hole in our yard of coral rock and get this into the garden.