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. 

Learn Something New Every Day

This fruit is called Canistel.  I visited 'Robert is Here', which is a fruit stand/animal park/tourist attraction on the way to and from Everglades National Park and a short ride from the golf course I played.  Robert has the most interesting array of exotic fruits and also the best fruit milkshakes EVER!  My favorite is coconut - a selection I would never normally make but my grand kids discovered it's simple perfection on their last visit.  The fresh grated shavings stick in your teeth and you get to keep enjoying even when the shake is slurped up.

After a particularly painful round of golf,  my friends took me for a shake on the way home to console me.  Not only did I have TWO two stroke penalties (hitting wrong ball, and hitting the flagstick lying on green with my putt), and did not win one hole in the skins game, my golf ball fell out of my pocket into the toilet and I had to fish it out.  My friend Sandra quickly quipped "well, at least you got it in the hole."

The highlighted milkshakes at the stand all had Canistel in them and so I bought one to try.  You eat it when it is absolutely soft to the point of rotten, and when you cut it open, it has the faint aroma of pumpkin.  Not particularly appetizing.  But the fruit has the consistency and taste of egg custard and apparently is phenomenal in shakes, custards and sorbets.  Not exactly something I would eat by itself - a few tastes were enough - but fun to discover a new fruit.  Apparently the strawberry/canistel shake is "to die for". 

There's No Place Like Home

How is it suddenly post holidays and the New Year?  Wow, the Fall flew by.  I measure time in several ways, such as: between dentist check-ups, football season, when it is time for the Masters, and how Christmas comes before I am ready for it.  Well, the Browns totally disappointed once again, but that is my normal so I just learned to enjoy my Sundays in the leather Lazy-Boy watching them fail.  And Christmas was very close behind a late Thanksgiving, however, I still managed to get the gifts bought, wrapped and sent and even made Mom's kolachi.  I did get a by from my sister on cookie baking but sadly, that means no frozen sour cream cookies in my freezer.  It is just not the same without a frozen Christmas tree to enjoy in February.  Decorations were at a minimum, but that is OK, because I headed to O-H-I-O for Christmas with family.  Which also means, since I have moved, that I have little to do but enjoy the fruits of others' labors.  I fear I am going to owe my sister and niece a lot of payback for all of their fantastic entertaining.

The view from the plane window upon approach to Hopkin's airport was foreboding, because the weather remained the usual Cleveland winter grey for the entire visit. But, if we didn't have the horrible winter weather to complain about, what, besides our faltering sports teams, would bond Clevelanders together so tightly?  Upon arriving at the airport, my first thought was, these people, even all bundled and pale in contrast to what I left, are my people! We are tied to a common denominator - we love our city and, perhaps, we love to complain about it!  Not that I would want to move back, at least from November through April, but visiting is still coming home.  Old friends, family and neighborhoods, I am attached to them forever.

Pelagic Poetry

Son Matt, and brother Tom visited for four fabulous fun days of flats fishing.  (Alliteration!)  It was wonderful, soothing, beautiful, exciting, trying and all in all good times.  Fish, motor the boat up to a dock, tie it up, hop off, sit down in a restaurant or bar on the water, have a Kalik and conch fritters and yammer about the day.  All good.  I live in a very special, and very beautiful place and as my husband, H-bomb says, "who lives like this?" 

Our last day was spent in the lower Keys fishing for Permit.  The water was slicked out calm as we headed out during a spectacular sunrise.   The area we visited is especially lovely with sandy bottom and crystal clear water.  Small mangrove islands surrounding us and nothing but blue sky and water.  But, Tom and I absolutely failed at the casting.  Poor Matt, sitting high on his poling platform spotted fish after fish and could we get the cast next to their nose.  NO!  It was pathetic.  And this type of fishing isn't sitting with a pole and line in the water waiting for your bobber to make some noise.  This is standing, searching and sighting fish and then ever so carefully trying to land the perfect cast so that they are not spooked and will grab the bait and then take off like a torpedo.  MAJOR FAIL on our part!

We got so slap happy that we began creating lines of poetry about our adventures.  Then, the push pole snapped, Matt fell off of the platform into the drink and the fishing was over.  We lolled about enjoying the beauty and headed to the No Name Pub on Big Pine Key to end a perfect fishing vacation with a pizza and beers.

I received an email from brother Tom with a poem he had completed about our fishing days.  I will share for those of you who love to fish and can appreciate it. 

Coincidences or Comforts?

The day after we learned of our brother-in-law Fritz Kramer's passing, my sister Mary Beth posted this photo and these comments on her Facebook page:

"Yesterday my brother-in-law Fritz Kramer, an inveterate cat lover, passed away unexpectedly. This morning I had just started talking to my sister on the phone when this tabby I had never seen before appeared out of nowhere on my deck and started rubbing against my legs, demanding pets. I don't think it was a coincidence."

Of course, in the heightened emotional state we were all in, we were in awe of this and I, with my skeptical nature, dismissed it as a comforting coincidence.  However, as the weekend of the funeral unfolded, there seemed to be just too many wonderful coincidences to not bring questions to my mind.  There were unusual sightings of bucks on the road, not once but twice, which was unusual in the DC area and astonished Fritz's family who lived nearby.  Just standing by the side of the road, looking majestic.  And while Harry and I were talking about Fritz with his wife, my sister Suzanne, in their living room shortly after our arrival in DC, two cardinals landed on the porch swing outside the window where we were sitting and began to cause such a loud chattering ruckus that we had to stop our conversation.  Suzanne said she had never seen that happen before.  We laughed, saying maybe Fritz didn't like what we were saying about him and was interrupting us.

Fritz's sister, Ellen, flew in from South Carolina and gave a lovely tribute as part of the memorial service.  One of her comments in the tribute was that as a child, Fritz had an orange cat named Sidney.  OK, I thought, that was very interesting.  But then she read this poem from a book of poems  that their family owned and from which they had chosen poems to be read at other family member funerals.  Ellen found this poem earmarked by a faded yellow post-it note by their sister Barbara who passed away some years ago and with whom Fritz had been very close that said "thinking of you" "B" and Ellen believed that was a sign that this poem was mean for Fritz.   My ears really perked up when I heard the last stanzas.

Three Poem s for James Wright

3.  The Rose

I had a red rose to send you,

but it reeked of occasion, I thought,

so I didn’t.  Anyway

It was the time

the willows do what they do

every spring, so I cut some

down by a dark Ohio creek and was ready

to mail them to you when the news came

that nothing

could come to you

in time

anymore

ever.

I put down the phone

and I thought I saw, on the floor of the room, suddenly,

a large box,

and I knew, the next thing I had to do,

was to lift it

and I didn’t know if I could.

Well, I did.

But don’t call it anything

but what it was ---the voice

of a small bird singing inside, Lord,
how it sang, and kept singing!
how it keeps singing!

in its deep
and miraculous
compose.

from New and Selected Poems,

Mary Oliver

Now I was convinced.   That somehow, through the power of love, or the universe, or karma, or God or whatever goes on after we die,  these were some sort of signs sent to those grieving.  Sent from above?  Who knows.  But who cares, because it stamped this life event with a memory, a story to share and a blessing of comfort on those left behind.

In Memory - Frederick W. Kramer (Fritzi)

My brother-in-law, Fritz Kramer, died unexpectedly following back surgery on August 28, 2013.  He has been a part of our family for about 50 years, so indeed, he is our brother.

Fritz met my sister in college at Miami University and they had what is known as a "Miami Merger".  They eloped before graduation because of my parents lack of support of their idea of marrying right after college and of course, that didn't start the relationship off well with my parents.  Or so I was told by Fritz who loved to tell a story and could, as such, manipulate the facts a bit to make it more interesting.  My memory was that he was accepted very quickly into the clan and was not the black sheep with my folks as he sometimes liked to suggest. And to prove my parents wrong, my sister and Fritz celebrated 48 years of marriage this past June.

Being five years younger, I was the beneficiary of suddenly having a very cool brother-in-law and sister who, after Fritz finished grad school at the University of Wisconsin, worked for the Federal Government in Washington, DC.  How exciting it was to go to DC at a time when protesters were marching against the Vietnam War ala scenes from Forrest Gump (and Fritz would have to drive past marchers slipping down in his car seat to hide his Army Reserves uniform on Reserve weekends which kept him out of the war mess.)  I remember staying in their urban apartment with the sounds of city life coming in the windows which was a far cry from suburbia in Youngstown, Ohio.  And subsequently, many visits over the years in their wonderful, old, charming Sears house (homes bought from a Sears catalogue and shipped all inclusive right to the building sight) in the NW area of DC - streets lined with shade trees, brick Georgian homes interspersed with homes with front porches, like theirs.  A wonderful neighborhood just around the corner from every imaginable ethnic eatery and hip storefront.

Fritz was a consummate host.   He was a great conversationalist - a great listener and a great talker.  He could amuse and entertain with his intellect, knowledge and great sense of humor.  He was very well read. He was witty.   He could tell a great story.  I am not sure the facts were always accurate but who cared - the entertainment factor was huge.  He was never in a hurry and he was generous with his time and with his hospitality. He created nicknames for people.  He named our home in Florida "Manatee Insanity."

He liked you or he did not, and if he didn't, my impression was that he didn't feel one iota of guilt about it, or for that matter, about anything.  At least he didn't wring his hands over things like the rest of us - he lived a righteous life and didn't need to explain himself.  In fact, I don't know too many people who were so comfortable in their own skin, who had such a good self esteem and really didn't worry about what everyone else thought.  He just assumed they liked him - why wouldn't they!

But the best thing to me about Fritz was that he was interesting.  My recollections of him are of the numerous obsessions he had and how they would totally take over his life.  You could NOT ignore them.  He would put them in your face, talk about them, show you them and somehow get you involved in them!  There was a long affair with Pee Wee Herman.  He knew all episodes of Pee Wee's Playhouse, could imitate Pee Wee down to the physical mannerisms and drove us crazy with all things Pee Wee.  I also remember a Texas phase which included owning many pairs of cowboy boots, and a passion for the movie Tombstone.  He could quote Doc Holiday and I cannot tell you how many times I viewed that movie with him.  And that led to a large antique gun collection.  There was also the Hess Truck passion and collection.  Tee shirt collections.  Maine Coon Cats.  Projects around his house.  His huge pond and waterfall in the back yard.  And on and on.  And last, but certainly the most significant after Fritz retired, was a long time love affair with Jamaica where he and my sister spent Februaries at Our Past Times in Negril.  Their love of Jamaica and that culture live all over their home.  Fritz has many friends there,  and the family at Our Past Times permanently carved his name "Reserved - Fritz" in his favorite table there in memory.  This past February he celebrated his upcoming birthday there and I designed this tee shirt for him following his specific instructions (another example of Fritz roping one in to his passions!)

During the funeral service, I was struck by how difficult it is to try and capture the essence of a person in 15 minutes of memorializing,  And I, of course, cannot do it in my blog.  I have a lifetime of memories of Fritz and I am very grateful for them.  I will miss this special person, this brother, this friend with his incredible attributes as well as his flaws and imperfections..  And when I see a full moon from now on, I will stop, say "moon's up" and think about Fritz who will be shining down on all of us.

Can I Get a Do-Over?

Grand kids, son Matt, and son Sam's friend Susan all left Sunday.  What a week full of activity, adventure, and commotion.  Beach, swimming, snorkeling, fishing, kayaking, shelling, boating, eating, drinking, laughing, and as the King of Siam said - etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

We started on Sanibel Island.  I have written about this place before.  I have been going there for over 40 years beginning with a trip there with my parents and first husband.  My sister who was in her early teens, our cousin, Doug, and I accompanied my parents.   The six of us drove to Naples packed in my parents sedan for a one week stay on Vanderbilt Beach.  That meant the trip was really about 5 days of vacation and four driving!  We fell in love with Sanibel.  Beaches strewn with shells, warm shallow water and a low key vibe reminding me of Island life.  I rented there for years, and now have a time share so we have our little getaway in place.  The highlight this year was the Houdini escape of Iggy the Iguana.  Harry transported the bright green little fellow from our motel grounds for the kids in a large drywall bucket (much to my protestations and of course, their delight).  After a couple of days, Matt decided to clean the bucket and provide fresh edible plants.  In the move to the new environment, Iggy leaped from the bucket and made a beeline to probably the only opening in the large screened in porch.  It was like the Shawshank Redemption with an escape that seemed planned for years.  With kids screaming, Matt ran out side to grab him but Iggy took a two story leap to the bushes below and was gone.  Oh, my, the tears!  Matt may never live the guilt down.  Was this an unconscious wish fulfilled?  We will never know.  I have a feeling Matt will receive an overnight box in the mail soon with a surprise inside for the kids from Grandpa (who, by the way, is tons of fun if you are 5 and 8). 

Another highlight was the Perseid meteor showers.  We made three nightly treks to the beach with drinks in hand and on the third night, were rewarded.  I only saw one incredible meteor because I left early being exhausted and absolutely covered in sand.  Have you tried laying on a blanket on sand quietly with an 8 year old boy?  About as easy as kayaking with him and going the wrong direction with other kayakers offering their unwanted advice on how to paddle.  Duh!  Do they think I really wanted to get hit in the head by low hanging Mangrove branches for fun?

We returned to Key Largo where living isn't too shabby either.  We took the prerequisite boating, off shore fishing and snorkeling trips, but for me the best day was taking the flats skiff (it can go in shallow "skinny" water) across Florida Bay to Cape Sable.  Isolated, primitive and at the edge of Everglades National Park.  Strewn with shells also and I gathered Angel wings and even a fishing visor that had washed up - score!  We fished and if you want to see nature in the raw, this is the place.  Dolphins, tarpon, birds, and life leaping and crashing about in such a pristine and primitive environment.  Amazing.  It was a great end to a day that started badly with tempers rising.  The boat trailer lights wouldn't work.  We forgot the kids life jackets.  But once we were launched and hit the nearby World Wide Sportsman store (you can boat up to it!) we were flying at 35 MPH across the open water, and around little islands, with a sky so large and blue it made all bad moods melt away.

The day after everyone left, and in post vacation recovery mode and nursing a bit of a cold which was a parting gift from my darling grandson Jack, I plopped on the sofa after work and dinner yesterday thinking I might, perhaps, possibly, hopefully find something stimulating to watch on television.

Scrolling through the TV guide on the remote it jumped out at me.  Seriously?  The title was "The Man with the 132 Pound Scrotum."  Right there in prime time.  Holy cow.   Take me back in time please.  I want to re-do vacation. 

 I found Jack asleep with his head lamp on.  Another gift from Grandpa.
Why do grown-ups lose their sense of fun?  When did you last go to sleep
with your head lamp on??

Small World Part II

Last June I wrote about becoming friends, through golf, with a woman and that we learned, after a dinner with lots of yakking and wine, that our parents both grew up in Bessemer, PA around the same time.  Recently, she found some yearbooks that belonged to her uncle and brought them to me.  I was able to find my Dad, aunts and an uncle in the yearbooks.  My Dad did not finish high school there because his family moved to North Lima, Ohio but I found his tenth grade class photo.  What was really fun to learn, was that one aunt was Valedictorian, my Dad was his class President and all siblings had scored as top three students in "mental ability exams."  No surprises.  We knew they were all wicked smart.  As a side note, my friend and I now teasingly call each other "cousin".  Her mom was best friends with one of my Dad's cousins.  I have to dig out the family tree.  And what is really funny, is that we are both as identically ditsy as they come.

Our Uncle Gerald, at the bottom, was faculty.  Three other siblings, my Aunt Betty, Uncle Lester and Uncle Clifford were not in these volumes.

Simple Pleasures

After hearing about the Boston Marathon bombing, and subsequently learning that an 8 year old boy was killed while waiting for his father to cross the finish line, I had to fight the sensation that I get when I am sinking into despair and sadness.  My own grandson, Jack, is 8 and I had just seen him that afternoon via Facetime out in his garage on a warm spring day, inflating his yard inflatables (yes, he is obsessed with them and has been for years) because he was supposed to be organizing and putting them away.  He had on a yellow short sleeve t-shirt and would stop his activity of blowing up a 10 foot high Brutus Buckeye, the mascot of The Ohio State University, only briefly enough for me to see the "shiner" he accidentally got when his eye collided with his friend while goofing around on the bus on the way home from school.  Those are the memories I want in my head.  Not the thoughts of a family dealing with unbearable grief over the loss of a child because of the act of some horrifically confused and disturbed individual.

I remembered that earlier in the day before I had heard of this most recent senseless tragedy,  I had taken a photo while golfing, of a little wild flower that was growing all alone near where my ball had unfortunately gone into a water hazard.  My golf game often suffers because of my lack of focus and my need to be constantly seeing what bird, or tree, or cloud formation is nearby.  This little beauty was new to me and  I was struck by the absolute perfection.  The contrast of the pale pink with the orange outlined yellow and the swirl stamen just thrilled me.  I thought of the Chinese philosophy of Yin and Yang.  The opposites that are in nature and in humans.  The good and the bad.  And I was grateful, once again, for the beauty that surrounds me, friends and family that nourish my heart and for nature for soothing my soul.

Air Plants

This is a Tillandsia cyanea - Pink Quill Bromeliaceae.  AKA an air plant.    Most of the year it is thin green leaves.  Period.  Then, it sends out this insanely fluorescent pink "thing".  Not really a flower, because after you have viewed in awe the gorgeous pink "thing", suddenly when you are ambling around the yard you notice it has produced an insanely fluorescent purple flower, also.   Many surprises come with tropical plants.  It seems the hotter the climate the more insane the foliage.  Maybe it is Mother Nature's gift to balance the critters, snakes and other bizarre critters that also share the climate.  Alligators.  Sharks.  Poisonous Lion Fish.  Fire Coral.  Crocodiles.  Rat Snakes.  Scorpions.  Poisous Bufo Frogs.  Etc. 

Keys Kreep

I often write about the Sea Dell and have heard many times that I should write a book about the events that occur with a motel.  In general, the Florida Keys attract all manner of good, bad and ugly.  There is an attitude here that is very positive about acceptance and allowing individuality which I like very much.  I have met many interesting and bright people who seem to follow their dreams and interests.  And those interests generally involve a love of nature and the beauty that lies over and under the water.  And most of our guests, from all around the world, are wonderful and lovely people.

However, on the down side, the Keys do attract an inordinate amount of people who seem to be escaping the responsibilities of life.  Perhaps because it is the furthest south you can go in the Continental U.S., it is almost like as escape route from reality.  Or, because of the accepting manner and party atmosphere, there seem to be a higher than normal number of "deadbeats" - those people who do not seem to want to comply with the norms and rules of society.

Recently we ran across a real con man.  He came into our lives as a renter for one of my son's properties.  Upon meeting him, I was very impressed by his clean cut looks, and articulate manner.  He had a very plausible story about why he and his wife and two children needed a place on such short notice and he agreed to do work on the rental in exchange for the first months rent.  The agreement seemed perfect, because neglect of the property due to my son's absentee landlord status meant either we hired someone or this nice gentleman would do the work.  I was so "conned" that we never considered doing any sort of background search.  Lesson learned - it is imperative before you rent!

After the first month, Harry went to visit the property to see what had been done.  Most of the promised work was incomplete and the tenant had a multitude of excuses.  However, what Harry also discovered was that the tenant had 6 dogs and birds - all not mentioned on the rental contract.  In  fact, Matt had been repeatedly trying unsuccessfully to get that missing page of the contract from the tenant.  Now we knew why.  When Harry returned to place a license sticker on the mobile home, he spoke with the wife about the pets.  Later that day, Matt received an email from the tenant and the story had been distorted to Harry screaming at the wife and the neighbors were witnesses to his abuse.   A few days later when the rent was 5 days late with every conceivable excuse other than the birds ate the rent, Harry decided to hire an attorney to do the eviction because his gut told him this tenant was going to be trouble.  And boy, was he right. 

In early March, when the eviction notice was scheduled to be posted, Harry drove by the property to see if the tenant was still at the property.  In fact, the tenant was outside with a moving truck.  Harry drove past, turned around and went home.  Later that day a police officer showed up at our door.  My mean 68 year old husband had, according to the tenant and his witness wife, punched the 35 year old tenant in the jaw and the tenant had called 911.  Harry had to show the police offer his knuckles!  The next day, the situation got uglier when the same Sheriff showed up with a restraining order, claiming Harry had not only punched the tenant, but was stalking his wife and kids, and had last month driven by and tried to hit the tenant with our car.  The County Prosecutor threw out the punching allegation (neighbors who were outside at the time corroborated that they had not seen or heard any disturbance) but the restraining order has to be addressed.  As I am a witness to counter some of the lies, I am happily attending the hearing.  Of course, the tenant will not appear so it will be thrown out. 

In the meantime, the tenant was evicted and when we went to check out the property, found that they had literally trashed the place.  We had to pay someone to haul two large truckloads of animal feces and urine stained furniture, mattresses and belongings out to the transfer station.  And, found moldings, walls, floors, doors, etc. deliberately damaged.  A baseball bat was lying in the living room and all flooring had been pounded and broken.  It was so filthy and disturbing that our lawyer contacted children's services to check on the well being of the two children in this couple's care.  Because, after the fact, we learned that the tenant had been evicted from their previous rental and that property manager said that this renter was the worse they had encountered ever, and felt the man was possibly abusive to his wife and children.  And, that he had also trashed their rental to the tune of $10,000 worth of damages.

So, we will file for damages for Matt, which of course he will never see.  And, we will help Matt get the rental back in shape.  In fact, we have a lovely little Cuban man who has lived in the U.S. for over 30 years and refuses to speak English who is doing a wonderful job of restoration and lets us practice our Spanish.  And, of course, most importantly, we will be much more careful in renting and despite many, many positive experiences, learn that we need to know the background.  We should know better by now, as we have been burned quite often down here in the Keys.  But, who wants to look at each potential renter as a "deadbeat"?  Maybe me, from now on.

Orchid Ramble 2013

I finally got my nerve up and impulsively agreed to offer our yard as part of the Upper Keys Orchid, Bromeliad and Fern Society's annual garden ramble.  After I said yes, and the flier and directions were sent out, I sort of panicked.  We were going to be gone the weekend before and what seemed like an easy offer began to produce anxiety.  I mean, garden performance anxiety.  What if my yard was the worst and people secretly wondered who I thought I was to suggest people would want to see it!  But, in reality, everyone offers something unique to share with others.  Ideas come from our ability to see what other's do with our little plots of coral rock we are blessed to own or rent down here in "Paradise."

The day was glorious, in the mid-70's.  Everything was as cleaned up as possible, considering I live with two men who are Mr. Fix-its.  I provided some decadent homemade coffee cake to sweeten my guests impressions, and all in all it was a lot of fun answering questions about plants, water features and my wonderful orchid lath house that Harry built for me.  Then off to visit some other properties and learn and be awed by how creative people can be who all share the love of plants and gardening.

New Orleans Style Wedding

I haven't written for so long that I will have to do speed writing.  Early this month we attended the wedding of a friend's daughter in New Orleans.  We combined a mini-vacation with a memorable life event.  Alexandra is the daughter of one of my dearest friends.  I saw her the day she was born and watched her grow up into a most sensational young woman.  She has no idea of how much time every developmental milestone, every school and career decision that she made and every boyfriend she had was analyzed and discussed by her mother and myself.  We totally approve of the new husband, especially since he is a fisherman and has already been "on the boat".  The wedding was total fun - hanging out with old friends, eating and touring our way around the French Quarter and perhaps a bit of imbibing? 

Highlights: Visiting the dueling piano bar at Pat O'briens, beignets at Cafe DuMonde just as "the girls" had 10 years ago when we attended Mardis Gras when Alex attended Loyola, having creole food at Mothers restaurant -not once but twice, attending the reception the night before the wedding at the Pharmacy Museum, the wedding at the chapel on Loyola's campus, a Second Line parade complete with brass band and police escort through the French Quarter, the reception at the Southern Oaks Plantation including fireworks.  Thanks to Alex and Elliott and parents for hosting a great time.  Cannot wait until they move back to South Florida in the next couple months so we can see them more often.

Past and Future

The past week was full of sadness and richness.  My last remaining aunt, Elizabeth Marie Nord Lange, passed away.  The blessing was that she was 93, lucid and sharp as could be until the end, and died peacefully.  The tragedy was that her own daughter, my cousin Donna Lange Parsons, died five days before from cancer at the age of 62.  And Donna, by her own choice, had been estranged from all family except for my aunt for most of her adult life.  She had, in the past couple of years, reached out to her siblings who she had alienated, but of course, the rift of 25 or so years is not easy to heal.  So, on the day my cousins attended, and participated in the funeral of their sister, their mother passed away also.  It was a very, very sad day, indeed.

The top photo shows Aunt Betty and her siblings and parents.  Her mother was 45 years old when she was born.  Betty is the beautiful young girl.  My father is top left.  Next to him, second from the left,  is Aunt Lillian.  Below that is a photo of my niece, Erin Nord Toto.  We were struck by the resemblance.  There is no mistaking the genetics.  I found it fascinating to study the photo of my aunts and uncles and grandparents and see the "butt" chin that I love in my oldest son staring back at me.  Or the ice blue eyes of my great niece and nephew in my grandfather.

After the funeral, my siblings and I gathered in Cleveland for hours of reminiscing and story telling.  There was such a contentment and comfort that settled over us that the loss was replaced and our hearts felt lightened.

And, if the stories and family ties were not enough, there were my sister and brother-in-law's cats to amuse and entertain.  This photo is of Scout, who likes to just sit with his nose against the table.  For what purpose, I have no idea.  Just sits and thinks, I guess.  And makes us smile.