by SY

THE BEGINNING

(of a whole lot of research for a whole lot of lectures!!!)

It all began as my proposal for a package lecture deal. I hoped to research three original decorators and present three one hour lectures titled: “Don’t Forget Elsie, Syrie, Frances and Ruby!” for an ASID National Design Conference in Baltimore, MD. 

   My subjects were the first decorators to turn their talents into dollars and cents in the early twentieth century and I wanted to know their stories and help preserve their accomplishments. I only told two people about what to me was a daring proposal and was not the least bit surprised when a close friend——an esteemed San Diego designer said, “Don’t get your hopes too high——Washington D.C. is pretty much of an ‘in group”. 

I honestly had not one hope, but then, the phone rang, ——Poof!

“Good news, Sheila, We’d like you to…”

I almost said, “REALLY, are you sure?”

The only words I had written so far, was a title and
they wanted three one-hour lectures, one after the other???

TOTALLY GOBSMACKED!!!

Magazine archives, used book stores and libraries became my nearest and dearest friends along with an opportunity  to interview Katherine Boyd in her Hillsborough, California home near San Francisco. She is the only child of Frances Adler Elkins who created a stunning career and a salient cottage design industry in Monterrey, California. My hope was to catch a glimpse of Frances Elkins who shared her life with her only child. We visited her daughter, Katie Boyd in  Hillsborough:

It was early twilight in her library where she entertained my husband and me. It was filled with treasures and mementos from renown European sources where a miniature fire illuminated our seating area. Endive with slivers of Roquefort circled a silver tray as we sipped Kir in our antique Venetian cocktail tumblers.

As a counterpart to her mother’s talent, Katie’s home generates her own international mood. In this universally appealing home there are separate seating areas, a “Frank” leather table and a “Giacometti” lamp in the sizable living room.   The dining room is dominated by large “McComas” murals and “Salviati” art glass designed by Katie.  There is a lovely chandelier that creates a pool of feathery light over the coral porcelain centered on the dining table.

McComas Art in Katie’s Home*

Jean Michel Steel & Leather Table **

*Behind my chair the soulful-looking Giacometti sculptured lamp with a mica shade offered diffused light as my sophisticated hostess, Katie, with her contagious sense of humor shared anecdotes of Jean Michel Frank, Coco Chanel and more.

Alberto Giacometti Sculptured Lamps ***

Example of Salviati Wine Glass Set****

Although wanting to ask a million questions,——I was not invited to move in for a month or two therefore my goal centered on a bit of her personal history with her mother,—-Frances,—-a decorator whose work has long enticed designers and writers to research the eclectic and brilliantly conceived interiors she created. It was a journey worth taking!

When I asked Katie about life in their home, the “Casa Amesti” in Monterrey, she said, “I grew up there with Mom, but we traveled all the time. I had a pretty solitary life because there were really no children to play with, but it was interesting. Mom took me everywhere. I always had a governess and that was my schooling. I never went to college because I got married.

That was a very glamorous era with its own aura. When we were in Biarritz in southern France, the King of Spain and his court was there.  My Grandmother Adler traveled over to help. Grandmother was a beautiful old-fashioned lady— from Milwaukee. It was a startling contrast when Ma had her wear dresses designed by Chanel.”

“Did that make your Grandmother Adler less old-fashioned and more sophisticated?”

Her emphatic answer, “Never!”

Katie became adept in living a life of dramatic change which included traveling with a governess, a cook and family. A fascinating account included her story——”Mom adored Venice and every year rented a palazzo on the Grand Canal. Coco Chanel was often our guest. I was a little one then and I loved looking out the window with its magnificent view.”

One day, I said to my mother, ‘What are all those white things floating out the window? Is it snow?”

Mother said, “It’s nothing dear, Mademoiselle Chanel is very upset with Monsieur Dali.”

I said,  “But what ARE all THOSE white things floating around?”

And my Mother said, “Oh, he keeps sending her all these drawings and paintings because he says he is in love with her,—but,—she doesn’t think they’re very good so she’s tearing them up and throwing them away!”

Katie said, “How I laugh when I think of all those Salvadore Dali’s at the bottom of the canal.”

“Mademoiselle Chanel occasionally did keep some that she considered well done. Of course he was not the only one in love with Coco”,—-three-fourths of the men in Europe were because she was such an interesting woman and always ahead of her time.”(Picasso once said, “She has more sense than any woman in Europe.”)

“When Mademoiselle Chanel visited us in Monterrey. I remember some of the clothes she designed for Mom. I’ve never seen any like them. They were absolutely beautiful.”

“Did you ever wear Chanel?”

“No, but some of the designers were very nice. They’d make pieces for me which I could purchase. Before Monsieur Mainbaucher died, he said, ‘I want you to have some of my clothes for your mother’s sake.’

Katie smiled when she remembered her comment, “But I can’t begin to afford you.” He answered, “Don’t worry, it will be all right,”

“Was your father Felton Elkins a part of your life?”

“No, I think I was four when they divorced. The little I know is it was not a long marriage. Those were the years when you could be a glamorous playboy. My father was a polo player and I think he was one of those men who always had too many ladies.”

“I believe mom realized she couldn’t have a life with him.”

In Monterrey, there is adobe and then there’s more adobe. The simple mud bricks are built out of the soil that surround foundations which then rise into picturesque homes and the Casa Amesti has been described as a superb example of Monterrey Colonial architecture. When Frances and Felton bought the Casa in 1918 Monterrey had become a forgotten world and it was a lingering wreck built in 1834.

The chronology from the National Trust for Historic Preservation show photos from 1915 of the Casa in deplorable conditions. A private men’s group, the exclusive and expensive Old Capitol Club leased the Casa in 1955 for their sole use during the week where daily luncheons are offered for members and in return they maintain the property.

When I asked Katie, “What do you think of your mother’s home being occupied by a men’s club?”

Her look of genuine disbelief precluded her answer, “I am trying to help the National Trust organize details. Mom would have a heart attack if she saw what was happening in her boudoir—actually playing cards and backgammon in her bedroom!!”

Part Two:  Soon!

Sy’s Salient Points: Both Katie’s and the Casa Amesti are aesthetically beautiful with treasures worthy of museums and galleries.

*Francis McComasÚ “…once rated “among the twenty best painters of the world,”  Monterrey Museum of Art

** Jean Michel Frank Table on sale at 1stdibs for $42,816.91 (at time of this writing.)

*** Giacometti Lamp Bases on sale at 1stdibs.com for $37,000 (at time of this writing.)

****Salviati Wine Glass Set on sale at eBay for $85,000 (at time of this writing.)

Happy Moving into Your University Freshman Dorm, Blaire Darling

David Brooks, N.Y Times Opinion——“The universe is a silent, colorless place. It’s just waves and particles out there. But by using our imaginations, we construct colors and sounds, tastes and stories, drama, laughter, joy and sorrow.”

THE FOUR WALLS

When my daughter and her husband purchased their home one late September, they offered me a preferred design space. It was the Nursery for their Christmas Baby.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           DISREGARD THAT TIME LINE

It was the day before Thanksgiving and I was lunching with a friend  amidst the clamor of enveloping noise, squished tables, Japanese fast food when my cell phone rang. My daughter was in a Phoenix hospital awaiting an emergency C-section at 9:00 p.m. that night. My husband and I were in San Diego.

FOUR VERY DETERMINED RELATIVES

My watch dial pictured 1:45 p.m. I offered a nervous, graceless good-by and become a purposeful NASCAR driver on a busy California freeway not known for sensible or sparse traffic. My husband dismissed his University rehearsal, the Aunt-to-be was already at a satellite L.A. airport and the Daddy-to-be was piloting a plane from Canada with extra gas to get to the hospital pronto.

ACTUALITY

Television news relentlessly informs us that this Thanksgiving week has unusually heavy air traffic. We know! No tickets! But wait, A Wrinkle in Time opens for us and we become the last two standby passengers to board a late afternoon flight.

SERENDIPITY

Three of us meet in the waiting room along with neighbors and friends. It’s a crowd scene.

The Daddy appears behind a glass wearing a deliriously sappy grin holding a 3 lb., 6 oz. baby girl. Entranced, our noses are at the apex of the glass window as we gape, grin, and hug. Heaven! All too soon, she is whisked back to her Mommy for their first skin-to-skin contact.

OUR MAGICAL BABY IS HERE!

Our beguilingly new arrival needs a room of her own and since it was too soon to ask her what color room she’d like, I chose green. To me, It is a source of energy and takes its cue from the natural world with green walls that are intimate, livable, and inspiring.                                                                                                                                                                                                                     

Green is a life force, a hue that is “shown to reduce stress and foster creativity.” Her Daddy is a distance walker, hiker and loves moving in fresh air. Her Mommy is a Master Gardener who grows “Jack-in-the-Beanstalk” veggies, Moringa trees for their antioxidant and anti-inflammatory assets and creates picturesque leafy trellis walls. Green!

HER OWN ROOM!

I planned to create a joyful space containing pops of animated and whimsical figures from the artist Silke Leffler.*

“Silke Leffler’s delightful and whimsical drawings capture some of the happiest and most curious moments in life. Inspired by a childhood exposed to a variety of cultures, nature, books and poetry her illustrations reflect a world that is part make-believe and magic.”  We laminated her creations and placed around her poem.

What could be better, for my Granddaughter!

                                                .   

Sweet dreams, hopeful dreams, peaceful dreams to hopefully evoke and support her fast changing development with a poem of her own. Written words that will always be “hers” and will watch over her.

IMPLEMENTATION!

The green walls were a snap to achieve. Her Mommy and Daddy painted them. Painting the words of my poem on the wall to her was another story!  Not only did I want meaningful thoughts, I opted for a clever arrangement proving detrimental to my neck, arms and back because I was doing it on a small stepladder in the dark while a projector was shining that “clever poetic arrangement” on the wall. I had clearly underestimated my painterly ability as the ladder and I stumbled back and forth. Her Mommy stepped in to lend a helping hand.

TOGETHERNESS!

The ladder and I still needed more togetherness moments. I eschewed curtains in favor of  blinds for privacy and light control, but wanted a stylish window treatment and found a lace pattern that I could stencil in white around her windows.

HGTV: “A key advantage of using a stencil is that it can be used repeatedly to rapidly reproduce a design or lettering.”

ME: (It is not rapid and unless it is a large one piece stencil. The constant overlapping, matching, and repositioning of the stencil over and over can be monotonous.) Guess who came to rescue?

ACCENTS & FURNISHINGS

We used a combination dresser and changing pad to save space, anchoring the dresser and crib to the walls, covered electrical outlets and used the top dresser drawer to store medicines/ointments and diapers. A comfortable rocking chair for sleep and night time stories with arm rests at a restful height was a priority.  Also necessary, a video baby monitor to check on our baby when she was sleeping.

Small bookcases and shelves appropriate for a nursery’s toys and books, two streamer ribbons with rosettes at the top held tiny gifts, even a decorative vase to hold future baby teeth.                                                                                                                         

And of course, the real purpose in designing a nursery is to offer a nurturing, creative and safe room that incorporates an  environment to spur intellectual growth. Words, colors and figures that teach the magic of discovery. As a professional designer, my goal for my grand baby and every client is to interpret and embrace sustainable design.

Again, as David Brooks said, “… by using our imaginations, we construct colors and sounds, tastes and stories, drama, laughter, joy and sorrow.”

Our grand daughter has given us millions of precious memories.

Sy’s Salient Points:–SustainableDesign:

Design that protects people’s health and well-being while also protecting the environment. (We used paints with no VOCs——volatile organic compounds,) to improve indoor air quality, recycled furniture, and materials.

*Silke Leffler: Silke Leffler was born in 1970 in Vorarlberg and grew up in Holland, Austria, Germany, and Africa. After graduation she did a tailor’s apprenticeship and studied textile design. Since 1998 she has worked as an illustrator for stationery and children’s books. She lives with her family near Lake Constance, Switzerland.

My grand daughter loved having her own poem. When her family encouraged her to move to a larger bedroom with bath, she wanted them to move her wall poem and delayed moving. She eventually did and together we designed her new digs.

Blaire wishes Happy 4th of July to all!

A PERIPATETIC SOFA & ITS COAT OF MANY COLORS

Travel along with me and enter the zeitgeist of my peripatetic sofa as we roved through many, many incarnations!

Once upon a time, I decided to try solo living and move a few blocks away from my large rental house on the beach. It was a great property and my roommates could easily find a replacement.

I assured my new landlord I would never, ever want to vacate the stunning haven he had newly created over a double garage——meaning a “two Volkswagen bug-sized garage” with an alley view.

“All right,” he optimistically said, “let’s give it a try.” I met my husband the next month, after I signed the year lease.

In the meantime, it was my first opportunity to decorate and that desire had been percolating on my back burner ever since I discovered the heartless truth at University that the Interior Design branch was under the Home Economics umbrella with a requirement of Chemistry & Physics. The brutal truth is I clearly knew the “math problems” in chemistry would be my “problems”. New major——History and Education.

The sofa was white wool. Who in their right mind would buy a white wool sofa to hang out at the beach?  Hmmm…

It was not a confrontational sofa, but it demanded most of my living area and when it teetered up the slender handmade rickety wooden staircase, its girth was revealed. Tucked inside was a heavy queen size bed!

I happily looked forward to my parents visiting my new lair and resting on the sofa bed when I heard a throaty whisper, “Thanks, it’s serendipity to have a home. I love your choice of white wool fabric.”

“You talk!” I screamed.

“Just to you! No worries——only a mini-interlude——my new rhythm and pace——, you know, I’m mostly a ‘sleeper!”

(I had high hopes that was our one and only conversation.)

Fortunately my landlord, albeit a little tersely allowed me to break my lease. This was only the tip of the iceberg.

Our sofa, “IVY” was on the move and taking two of us along with her.

My husband, Ivy and Me moved inland to a rental that Ivy disliked. To please her, we bought a house with a view. I was beginning to follow her directions!

Optimism ruled. Perfect!

Almost!

Seven months later, my husband was offered an Assistant Professorship in Long Beach. We moved. Ivy adored our delightful rental in Naples, CA as it nestled on the corner of a picturesque canal where we brought our first precious daughter home.

Never assume, always presume!

Private time. Ivy was an irrepressible eavesdropper and heard the word——Idaho. She whispered, “I’m staying.” We suggested a furniture psychologist. Nope!

Ivy:  “I like you——I ‘really’ like you.”                                                                                                                                                                Us:  “You’re moving.”

All in all, we moved, she moved, but believe it or not——ten months later, Ivy happily agreed to move to Hermosa Beach, CA with us. USC offered my husband a teaching contract with a salary and reduced tuition to complete his PhD.

Ivy sang, “California, Here We Come”  all the way back.

And so our behemoth was moved and moved up, down, in, and out.

We were back on the beach. The moves took a toll. She sat huddled in a dismal gray with baby and child stains artistically interspersed between cocktail party and house guests’ stains.

I came up with a savvy solution. Why not hide the stains with a custom professional dye job in a lush forest green? The “professionals,” said, “Good choice!”

Truth is, bad choice. The green was murky and swampy while each stain took on its own aggressive hue. After a few weeks of passing  with our eyes averted, IVY actually yelled to me, “I have no more self-esteem or dignity. Do something! I need a real face-lift!!”

Out the door and back in came a new pragmatic brown naugahyde Ivy, making realistic beach wear sense.

Two years later we were now a family of four with a treasured second baby girl. Another hither and yon move to a home we would cherish in the San Diego area and an esteemed University position for my husband (where my husband retired as Professor Emiritus). Ivy was smitten with a long term residency.

When we moved her to our family room Ivy looked sartorially ugly and started to whine. I tersely told her in a raised voice, “No! No more cosmetics for you. I’m going back to school. My time——my turn.”

Because sofa Ivy was seriously addicted to us, she knuckled down to mellow and wait her turn. And what a turn! “Oh boy.”

Her naugahyde really did not look like leather in this brightly lit room! What are the odds?

Luckily for her, at least I thought so; I studied Environmental and Interior Design at San Diego State University, began a design career and became a member of ASID. Best of all, I worked with Dusty, my blue-chip upholsterer.

I asked Dusty to  slim down Ivy’s solid two seated cushion back and replace it with six down cushions and build up the sloping arms to back height. A  practical and handsome fabric was next.

My thought was a canvas that could be whisked off and dumped in the washing machine and whipped back in place, but this was early in the game of canvas upholstery weight fabrics in showrooms. Nada!

I would wing it!

AAron Brothers sold artist canvas. But I would need extra yards, because unbleached and unprimed canvas shrinks and ravels. A vortex of long tangled fringe appeared every time it was washed and re-washed before it was ready for Dusty’s magic touch. I persevered. Ivy smiled.

Characteristically, time and the dreaded bargain-basement guise. Granted all the cushions could be bleached and washed but its outer limbs, the sides and backing would not fit in our washing machine.

That intractable sofa never wavered when our teen age daughter approached with a can of white latex paint. Beautiful!

We next painted it blue. Eventually we painted wide white stripes on the blue. Ivy said, it was her favorite incarnation.

We/she kept evolving.

After repainting it white, I added bright quilts. A bit of grime, out came the roller to recreate a pristine back.

Before dinner guests, ”Honey, do you mind painting the sofa again?”

Expressing my final thoughts on our sofa parody, I did not want it to be up for grabs in the crowded world of used furniture at a re-sell-it shop. We called a charity that supplied items to needy families. They knew of a family who needed seating!

Our sofa was hoisted on sweet shoulders and then onto a small worn-out truck as we waved good-by to a lovely family and a beloved sofa.

Ivy and I had a private moment where she whispered, “I had a fantasy life. Thank you for not letting me be adrift in no-man’s-land.”

We closed and locked our gates. Our family would forever have happy memories of a long journey, we shared with a piece of furniture——a sofa——and its comfort——and its coat of many colors.

There is always a choice to reinvent, refresh and renew. In this case it was a piece of furniture——an elixir to create. That stalwart hunk of upholstery was willing to shed personas and become a catalyst for blossoming new looks. We had fun and then, astonishment——a new look!

There is still equilibrium to the universe after all.

I kept my  sofa out of the landfill.

I rest my case!

Did we sit ON our sofa a lot? We did, hence we have barely a single photo OF HER!  Her quilt incarnation.

(This was the best I could find!)

Sy’s Salient Points:   Ivy, our lionhearted sofa personified a “what-if” lifestyle.                                                                                  She continued to sparkle as we waved good-bye!

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        Picture: Partial family room with view of solarium.

                                                                 HAPPY SUMMER VACATION BLAIRE DARLING

Neil, Barbara and I waved good-bye to my husband as he was returning to San Diego with the  University band members and the alumnus. In the afternoon, we headed to the Tokyo antique shops and their array of provocative wares. (More about that a bit later.)

We left the next morning with our smiling host, the head of the Yamaha Company to visit his Northern Japanese family retreat. He and Neil had completed their business affairs for Neil’s music publishing company.

The train was lightning fast and the heated seats were chili pepper hot. We took to slightly lifting one thigh at a time all the while continuously smiling at our smiling host.

Three hours later we arrived in the northern mountains where our thighs and the rest of our attached bodies were now introduced to incredibly cold weather as we trudged through the abundant and bottomless snow in this frozen wonderland to our host’s retreat.

In 1274 Kublai Khan and his powerful Mogul forces landed in Japan—BUT–they immediately——evacuated.

Extreme weather happens for about six months in northern Japan because, and I am quoting a Japanese author, “the penetrating, bleak, damp, cold winds blow from the Siberian wilderness.” (Small wonder, Khan retreated!) We did not.

We were to spend the night at a traditional Ryokan Country Inn.

According to custom we needed to get rid of our journey’s fatigue by visiting the hotel hot springs. Barbara and I padded to the onsen (hot-spring bath) in our kimonos, with our thin-dinner-size-napkin-towels, adequate for drying one arm.

The ten by twelve foot thermal hot-spring was three feet deep and held scalding water. Neat little stools were placed next to water taps along the wall where we hung our Yucatan and then perched on a stool to completely soap and rinse. The Japanese like their communal bath waters to be at least 110 degrees Fahrenheit. It was a study in stop-motion to see us get into the baths and then watch two shrimp boil. Only Gauguin could have achieved our painterly red glow. And then the door opened—three Japanese men were about to disrobe, soap and join us. Now it was full speed ahead as we gathered robes and 12 inch towels to exit.

We were to dine heya-shoku in Barbara & Neil’s suite where bountiful colored ceramic dishes were exquisitely arranged on a rectangular table. The hosts were on one side, Barbara and Neil had another side and I was placed next to the host’s young son about eighteen inches from an outside wood wall. Once again, half of me was sizzling because we sat on floor cushions with our legs in a deep pit which had a heater radiating hot tidal waves. The top of my body enveloped in steely, pervasive cold——fried frog legs on bottom half. Agile hands flew across our table as chop sticks gustily scooped up dried squid, slightly boiled octopus, pickled chrysanthemum blossoms, dried salmon roe, etc.

Hours later we bowed and offered our arigatos.

I climbed an old narrow staircase to the second floor. My room had two outside wood walls. This was a de facto Siberian night!

My sleeping tatami was a futon hovering about a foot off the floor. Quoting again, “Although the exterior of Japanese houses are quite picturesque especially those in the country their construction makes Japanese houses extremely cold in winter.” A perfect quote for my two outside walls.

I carefully took everything out of my suitcase. Soon my tatami was brimming with the contents of the suitcase, underwear and all, plus artistically hovering on top—— (what else?) my cloth raincoat as I slid underneath and promptly fell asleep.

Loud, exasperating sigh! A need to visit the communal bathroom.

I know almost all reading this blog have experienced this sinister, slightly raised ceramic contortionist device. Suffice it to say; it was only one night.

I later discovered our ryokan also had American style guest rooms, but smart and curious Barbara lives with flair, loving real experiences. I was not surprised. She was born and raised among the Third Reich where her family carved and sliced out a life of survival throughout the war.

Formerly, on one occasion Barbara mentioned her childhood. We were sitting in her living room. Her sister-in-law entered and proceeded to empty an ashtray on a table next to Barbara.

Her sister-in-law said: “Where’s your apple core, I’ll throw it away!” Barbara said:” I ate it!”

Sister-in-law: “You ate the stem, core and seeds?”

Barbara: “I always eat the whole apple—I love the different tastes. When I was little we would scour the ground during the war, it didn’t matter if the food was old, spoiled or dirty. We were desperately  hungry.

My mother always said a little dirt on food would not hurt anyone!”

Of course, she would choose an authentic ryocan——for our fantastic journey.

SHOPPING

I was enchanted with Asian art, pottery and wanted tangible keepsakes to define this trip. Of course I strayed from light, packable purchases when my eyes lingered on an enormous blue and white pot of fine-drawn scenes. Next to it was a smaller one of deep blue with equally lovely designs—-actually it was not a lot smaller.

My fate was sealed when the Japanese antiquarian offered to crate the pots and deliver and place them on our plane. I never looked back.

Also purchased were beautiful Imari dishes for our daughters AND all my treasures were certificated as being over one hundred years ensuring my not having to pay duty. I am a gifted shopper.

FLY AWAY & THEN SOME

It seemed simple enough——fly home——alas——who knew China Air would arrive hours late in Los Angeles OR that customs officials would not lift my crate onto a flimsy shopping cart that wobbled OR that the inter-terminal bus service was closed for the night OR that no taxi would pick me and my crate up to drive the teeny-tiny distance from the International terminal to the Main terminal OR that the last possible flight to San Diego had left for the night OR that cell phones had not been developed.

LAX is behemoth. So was my ratchety unstable cart with the crate gingerly balanced amidst the muted ghostly lights in that empty uninhabited airport. The landline phone booths were few and far between. It was a memorable undertaking as I juggled the phone to my ear while holding onto the cart with the other hand.

Barbara and Neil had deplaned in Honolulu to warm up at their condo. Sooo, where would I hunker down for the night?

My options were to push my cart on the 405 freeway to San Diego at 10:30 p.m.——124 miles——wearing my high heeled black leather boots and my raincoat or—— so much for independence, I called my husband. (I forgot to mention my crate when we talked. It was a surprise!)

He called my cousin who lives somewhat close to the airport. This call was the unreal about to become “real.”

“Hello! Wondering if you can help. Sheila’s at LAX…it’s closed for the night……” Her husband gallantly drove to the airport. They housed me and my crate with warmth and care to then re-deposited at the airport the next morning. Think about it, a long trip, abandoned and standing alone at an empty, ghostly LAX at night and a family rescue. How lucky can one cousin get?

When I emerged from customs the next morning in San Diego with a luggage attendant struggling to balance our treasures—-my husband’s look was unforgettable.

Equally unforgettable——the un-crating! We discovered the antiquarian shop merchant cleverly filled the pots in the crates with sand to keep them balanced.

Phew——Not only a trail of broken backs across oceans, but a trash bin of slithery sand. GUILTY!   My coup de grace! I carefully placed my snappy high-heeled black boots and folded rain coat on top of that snappy sand!

And I now dedicate this blog to the empowerment, advancement and the orbit of family and friends!  And the following, meaningful word to my husband, Neil, Barbara and my cousin and her husband,

ARIGATO!

Sy’s Salient Points:  I love the fact that my antique pots exude a sense of history and sophistication for me. If I had placed the large pot by itself, it would be a very pretty pot, but by jaxapositioning it with more blue and white pots, a lovely ordinary transforms into the extraordinary. An eye-catching display!

P.S. Once again, Thank you for sharing your synergy to elevate my blog:

Betty Barnacut – Editor

Sue Berman & Caroline Meade – Artful Art

Matt Karl – Outstanding Blog Webmaster & Creator

Congratulations on Your First Theatre Performance
and
Graduating High School, My Darling Blaire!

Early 1980’s:

Our good friends, Barbara, her husband, Neil, and I were traveling to Tokyo on a new cheap ECONOMY international airline, “China Air.” Granted we weren’t flying in a milk can and sitting on folding chairs, but it was close.

Included on our “milk bottle” twelve hour flight was a formidable twelve hour propaganda movie featuring the Chinese Red Army in Chinese playing on a continuous loop.

Enlivened, we rushed out to flee the Red Army to be greeted by an avalanche of taxies, polite drivers wearing white gloves, nodding, smiling, bowing and profusely repeating “arigato ” (thank you).

My husband was traveling separately with university marching band students and San Diego State University football fans/alumni to cheer the University’s winning football team for a presentation game against the Air Force Academy team. The Japanese were avid football and band music fans.

It seemed preposterous to travel to Tokyo for a football game. But, when the university announced that the Football Gods had chosen San Diego State’s team–PLUS—the University was taking virtually everyone who had ever stepped onto State’s grass, how exciting…except they forgot me, the wife——how unforgivable!

Neil’s music publishing company had extensive business dealings with the Yamaha Corporation and the head of Yamaha had invited them to visit his northern Japanese retreat spurring them on to attending the game and a Sony music concert. The head of Yamaha also awarded the visit to me——we were a trio.

ENERGETIC & VIBRANT TOYKO

Automatic Japanese taxi doors made it imperative to stand totally away from the doors because after our driver cleverly unloaded the suitcases plus three oversized metal cases jam-packed with music scores, it was our turn to get in. He raced around to his own door, got in, hit a lever and the back doors flung open with the speed of a Nasa rocket.  Whew! Thank goodness Neil said, “Stand back!” (I could have ended up on the moon visiting Neil Armstrong’s flag.)

[Flashback] Previously, I hustled right out to Nordstrom’s junior department and acquired what I thought was a snappy travel outfit. Black cloth raincoat with a hood and a zip-out lining highlighted with black high-heeled boots. Upon donning the hood I resembled Ichabod Crane. In contrast, Barbara wore a knee-length chinchilla fur—-because our trip would be over Thanksgiving and early December.

(Hint—-DO NOT WEAR a cloth raincoat with a pathetic zip-out lining in arctic Japanese weather. The snappy high-heeled boots were also not a piece of cake!)

My husband was to be guest conductor for the Sony Band Concert. The Japanese love music from their stylized gagaku,

which is ancient court music to an absolute affinity for every conceivable form of Western music. Many of the large companies have huge band programs made up of their employees with a full time paid conductor. Their concerts last three or four hours and are standing room only. Bento box lunches consisted of rice, pickles, grilled fish or meat with vegetables.

The o-bento are multi-layered lacquer lunch boxes.

Not only do the Japanese people bring their lunch, eat during the program, they also bring their amazingly young well behaved children. After 3 1/2 hours I was a lot more restless than the children.  The 130 Sony band members wore brilliant red jackets that contrasted into a coordinated panorama with their jet black hair—nary a blond, brunette, or redhead.

My husband was a masterful and gifted conductor; audience members were captivated listeners—no whispering, no coughing, no bathroom breaks!

Bouquets and various Sony treasures were given to my husband who then presented his thanks in Japanese. A few weeks after returning home we received a beautifully written copy of his speech in Kanji which we had framed and displayed in our home. Japanese friends delightedly smiled politely when they visited and viewed it. We had artfully hung it upside down.

Can you tell me which way is correct?

I thought so!

Can a mob of people be controlled? Absolutely, particularly if in Tokyo. Their trains are easy, efficient, and visitor friendly. We always seemed to be in the middle of hundreds of men wearing their uniforms of black overcoats, suits, starched white shirts and ties—a moving op-art portrait. When the train arrives at a stop——frenzy——doors fly open as masses push out. Then professional pushers ram new passengers inside.

The automatic electronic doors bang shut—— no-wiggle room.

Clearly this was a country dedicated to sexism. Men were seated first on trains, they exited elevators first and when dining at hotels or restaurants manned the tables.

At a formal dinner reception to honor an American music conductor who moved to Japan, there were over one hundred men and about twelve of the weaker sex. We watched an almost intolerably monotonous in-depth slide show of his life, listened to lengthy speeches and then as Barbara and I watched from the side, the male honoree and dignitaries filled their dinner plates, then the male guests descended to the laden food buffet, (virtually everyone in the banquet room,) and lastly we on the distaff side dined.

It’s a dynamic city unmatched for bustling activity. The department stores were wonderlands of merchandise where even inexpensive purchases were clever wrapped. At night, lavish neon lights competed in Olympian pageantry to create a protective veil against darkness.

We stayed in the skyscraper Shinjuku district in a glitzy hotel. But, emotionally we were deeply missing our daughters particularly for Thanksgiving dinner. Not them! We left money with a dear friend who would stay with them. They unabashedly and merrily waved good-bye and raced out to buy items that were not or never ever in abundance in our home. Boxes of sugar cereal, Count Dracula’s chocolate puffs was the top choice. My propensity for serving thick hunks of oatmeal now faced a giant hurdle upon return.

After returning from a favorite meal, (Shabu, Shabu), we heard a knock on our door. A teeny, tiny grey haired Japanese woman waved a paper in our face—-

“Massagee, massagee!”

Not us: we said.

“Massagee, massagee,–paid,” and resolutely moved into our room.

My husband said, “You”:

Me: “No, you”,

He: “No, YOU—–

She apparently trained Ninja warriors on how to insidiously commit pain. Deep down I know my husband was the donor. He insisted the “treat” was from Neil and Barbara.

My husband was committed to return back to San Diego with the Aztec football contingent leaving me abandoned and forced to travel solo with my dear friends.  We were then on our way to the home of the Yamaha business executive.  [ To be continued…]

And – to my dear husband for abandoning me in my cloth raincoat and black leather high-heeled boots,

ARIGATO!

Sy’s Salient Points:

The real Ichabod Crane came from a distinguished Military Family, was a Colonel in the Marine Corps. His great-nephew Stephen Crane penned The Red Badge of Courage in 1895, a piece of American literature more befitting the Crane family name than Irving’s whimsical Halloween story.

The thick, velvet-like fur of the rodent  Chinchilla has the densest fur of all mammals.

DARLING BLAIRE, HAPPY FIRST DAY OF SPRING & SINGING & DANCING IN YOUR THEATRE DEBUT!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY SWEET, HANDSOME, PRECIOUS, BRILLIANT, EVERETT!

I’d like you to imagine the lobby of the Dorchester Hotel in London after a World War II air raid.  A beautiful woman in her late fifties with a magnolia complexion, black eyes and a neat, well-proportioned figure meets her ex-husband.  She was about to sail to America to seek shelter. In an effort to enlist his attention and sympathy she said,  “Oh Willie, I’m so afraid my ship will be torpedoed.” Willie, who was afflicted with a severe stammer, but true to his form, said,  “I have only one piece of advice to offer you. Keep your mouth open, and sw-sw-swallow and you will drown the s-s-sooner.”

MEET WILLIE!

It was the dawn of the modern era and a new profession would unfold. Hovering off-stage, stood the first decorators. They were ready to tempt fate by offering their ideas for some cold, hard cash. And Gwendolyn Maud Syrie Bernardo Wellcome Maugham, the Mrs. William Somerset Maugham,* was one of them.

MEET SYRIE!

Syrie’s was an improbable childhood for someone who in her early thirties would live in expensive and fashionable Regent’s Park and be a member of the dazzling Mayfair smart set. That child, was far removed from the glamorous divorcee she would become.

The Bernardo family devoted their entire Sundays to reading the Bible. Smoking and drinking were    never permitted and Syrie’s free time was occupied with playing the organ at her father’s London fund raisers. But at twenty-two, “Queenie,” as her family had called her, had grown into a bright, strikingly beautiful girl with jet black hair, brown eyes, ivory skin and an exquisite figure. Sent to journey on the Nile because of a broken heart, Syrie joined a group of English tourists where in the legendary city of Khartoum she met Henry Wellcome.

An American at birth, Henry had traveled to London to start a pharmaceutical company specializing in tropical diseases. He was in Khartoum to open a research institute. Henry was forty-seven, shy and reserved with few friends. He became so enamored with Syrie that he pursued Syrie to the point of taking lodgings in the Bernardo home.

                                                                                                                                                                                        It was not a successful marriage although they had wealth and traveled extensively. Henry was a jealous husband and wanted his home organized as a business. Syrie received a generous settlement of 2,400 pounds ($50,000.00) a year, a vast sum in 1909. Before Henry died, he had been Knighted by the Queen.**

When Syrie first entered business as a decorator her focus was on selling painted and pickled furniture. She apprenticed herself to Thornton-Smith, Antique Dealers of the prestigious Fortnum and Mason store to learn about the restoration of antique furniture. She traded her time by working without pay in their showroom, Syrie handled and pacified difficult clients. In return she spent mornings in the workshops watching painters mixing colors and applying them.

CENTER STAGE!

In 1926, it was time for Syrie to move to center stage with a visually stimulating all-white room created by exquisitely mixing different combinations of white and adding a multitude of shade and texture variations.*  The rooms were impressive, gutsy and intelligent. Decorative arts historian, Martin Battersby, said, “Syrie’s all-white room is beyond doubt one of the two or three most famous and influential schemes of decoration of the century…it has been imitated for over fifty years.”

Her home at 213 King’s Road was her permanent residence where she entertained and lived. It was not the first of its kind, but the publicity it received was cause for celebration, particularly for Syrie. The low coffee table is in the style of Jean-Michel Frank as is the white lacquer folding screen which partially hides the dark piano. Minimal wall decorations consisted of a white plaster still life on the over-mantel with mirrors and wall sconces in white plaster rococo frames.  Three Louis XV chairs were painted white and placed behind the long low sofa covered in beige satin. The carpet in two shades of cream was designed to Syrie’s specifications. Her favorite designs used variations of a Chinese Chippendale theme, usually in cut and uncut pile.

At night the changes were notable when the white walls caught and held soft candlelight to cast romantic shadows on glistening surfaces of satin, chrome, mirror, silver, rock crystal and lacquer.                                                                                                                                                                                       (The mirrored screen with its reflecting images was described by one visitor as being somewhat “hazardous”.  It seems the glue holding the thin strips of mirror in place melted when the room became too warm. Pieces of glass would fall off without warning!)

The dining room had walls of stripped and highly waxed pine paneling where rock crystal sconces created dappled light. There were white-painted chairs around the table which was covered to the floor with an ivory lace tablecloth. Her knives and forks had white porcelain handles and in her centerpieces of white flowers, she sometimes hid small lights to shine flatteringly on the faces of her guests.  Syrie learned this from the theater.

Those rooms have been described as modern, romantic and sophisticated; even as a stage upon which her guests would enter to become the stars.

Syrie was excellent copy for magazine editors.  Her table settings as well as her rooms were always on display, and for sale. Entertainment was essential to her life and to her career. Her cooks were reputed to be among the best in London and at one of her dinner parties, Syrie is said to have entered with her hair powdered white, to match her decor!

Enormous publicity from the current fashion magazines created an international name for Syrie.  The famous, the noteworthy, and the rich beckoned. She was ready.

An example of Syrie’s reigning and continuing popularity was a home decorated in the 1930’s that featured white  upholstery, draperies, venetian blinds, wood tables, and an off-white carpet. The walls were covered in a stretched Swedish white linen embellished with an overall scroll pattern in two shades of green. This 1930 room was copied for several decades. Twenty-seven years later, here is an example of a 1957 rendition done by Michael Taylor, the California designer who revived and reinterpreted other Syrie Maugham room schemes.

1957 Rendition

While spending a weekend in the country, Syrie discovered The Pavillion on a Rothschild estate. It was a vast red-brick edifice variously described as “sheer Walt Disney ugliness.”

Syrie saw it one day and the following day, it was hers. One friend commented, “she converted it into a dream”. In 1934, Syrie abandoned the all-white look and used color overtly.

Beside her flair for using dynamic colors, she is credited with being the first to use the color “coral,” in decorating.

Syrie was traversing back and forth across the United States. She had her permanent shops in New York and Chicago and then opened temporary shops in Los Angeles, CA and Palm Beach, FL.  This was still at the height of the all-white craze where the Paris collections showed white beachwear, white daytime and evening wear. Humorists had a field day with comments such as one regarding a trip to Calcutta with Lady Mendle: “Syrie Maugham has gone to paint the Black Hole of Calcutta white”.  But, her clients wanted white rooms. (White worked because paints were developed with new bases that yellowed less rapidly and bleach whitened more effectively and with less damage to fabrics).

Change happened back in 1911 while Syrie was learning the art of refinishing and painting furniture. At a dinner/theater party, she met one of London’s best-known playwrights, William Somerset Maugham, who had four plays running simultaneously in the West End. Maugham had recently been rejected by an actress and was deeply hurt and humiliated. Syrie, who was pretty, popular, and socially acceptable restored an inordinate amount of confidence in him. They began an affair that was compatible until the outbreak of World War I when Willie volunteered to be an interpreter in France. Willie was too old (40), and too short (5’6″), to enlist and ended up driving an ambulance. Willie and Syrie were hoping to have a baby, but Syrie had still not filed for divorce from Henry Wellcome. While she filed for divorce, Willie was in France driving an ambulance, and there in France, Willie met the love of his life:

.                                                        Gerald Haxton: Willie’s Partner of 30 Years

Paul Fussel, who wrote The Great War and Modern Memory, said, “War was a situation in which two illegal activities were actually sanctioned…men killing men and men loving men”. Gerald became his secretary-companion and Willie profited from Gerald’s personality, because Willie was reserved. Willie was as an unhappy youth, shy and lonely. In middle age, he was despondent because of the unresolved social conflicts of his life and he spent his old age filled with guilts. His nephew, Robin Maugham wrote this quote from Somerset, “There’s no point in trying to change your essential nature. One hasn’t a hope. I tried to persuade myself that I was three-quarters normal and that only a quarter of me was queer…whereas really it was the other way round.” But Willie persevered to keep up his heterosexual pretense in public to the end of his life.  Syrie could help fulfill that role. They were a content couple and he was agreeable until he met Gerald. Unfortunately, Gerald was alcoholic, dishonest, unfaithful, and violent. In the future, the partnership of Willie and Gerald was often filled with episodes of upheaval, with each one trying to make the other one suffer.

At the same time of Somerset’s meeting with Gerald, Syrie became pregnant. Because Syrie’s divorce was still not final, they went to Rome where Syrie gave birth to a daughter whom they christened Liza after the heroine of Maugham’s first successful novel. This also did not please Willie. He had hoped for a son.

Two years later, Willie married Syrie. He had been off on six-month-long jaunts with Gerald and by this time, he did not want to marry, but felt responsibility for Liza. But Willie bore Syrie a grudge until the end of his life. He felt it was her fault that he had to act honorably and marry. In return, Syrie truly was in love with Willie, “she loved him with a whole-hearted devotion that never died,” but the relationship became estranged with Gerald’s cruel comments about her also.

Syrie adored Liza and took her everywhere she traveled. Willie, was not so-good as a dad. In typical self-justification of himself, Willie wrote, “I have a notion that children are all the better for not being burdened with too much parental love.”

A profound bitterness prevented Maugham from realistically adjusting to the break-up of his marriage. His insecurity regarding his public image was overwhelming. He went so far as to pen an unkind portrait of Syrie, full of scandalous allegations. He made up many of his declarations and both his English publisher, Heinemann and his American publisher, Doubleday refused to publish his book.

For the most part, except for anger of Haxton, Syrie never returned Maugham’s vindictiveness. She took pride in his achievements, and never spoke badly of him.

The author, Beverly Nichols wrote his book, “A Case of Human Bondage”opposing and exposing  Maugham for “unjustifiably attacking” Syrie with this foreword quote, “This book is not an attack upon a dead man: rather it is the refutation of libel upon a dead woman.”

Examples of some famous Syrie Maugham Decorative Rooms:

White Satin Drapes with scarlet trim. Chairs, upholstered in flame-colored velvet.

The Pavillion: “Georgian pink” walls, upholstery in apple green & dull red.

White Dining Room: Palm Beach, Florida 1932

White Rococco Fireplace with Nymphenberg Horse Statuettes on Brackets

Syrie died in 1955 at the age of seventy-five. Liza took care of Syrie when she became bed-ridden. At her death, close friends launched a fund to purchase a sculpture for the Victoria and Albert Museum in Syrie’s name. They bought a marble bust of Catherine the Great, by the Russian sculptor, Shubin. It is said, the elegant bust “bears an uncanny resemblance to the lady” they were honoring. 

                                                                                                                                                                          Richard B. Fischer,*** closed his biography of Syrie by saying, “Untutored, autocratic and self-assertive though she was, Syrie Maugham brought a breath of freshness and beauty into her world.”    Ours also!

Sy’s Salient Points: One of Syrie’s romantic rooms was dominated by huge mirrors, strategically placed so the swans on the lake outside were constantly reflected in the mirrors inside. Her clients were the Prince of Wales and his future bride, Mrs. Wallis Warfield Simpson. 

*Sheila Yates lecture/slide presentation: Syrie Maugham ASID National Yearly conference——Baltimore, MD.

**In 1880, Wellcome established a pharmaceutical company, Burroughs Wellcome & Company, with his colleague Silas Mainville Burroughs. Burroughs and Wellcome introduced direct marketing to doctors, giving them free samples. In 1924, Wellcome consolidated all his commercial and non-commercial activities in one holding company, The Wellcome Foundation Ltd. The Wellcome Trust is now one of the world’s largest private biomedical charities.

***R. Fischer: Syrie Maugham Biography 1978

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY, DARLING BLAIRE

Wonderfully Fleeting Moments of Gladness!

Who needs AI ChatGPT when you are holding four months of preciousness? We two may be ninety years apart in age and the grinning one does appear to be more ecstatically happy, but the adorably handsome one in red plaid and trendy Ugg Boots endured a few sweet hours of sitting on her lap.                               What could be better?

Thank you, Master W.W.S.

P.S.: From Author Caroline Leavitt: “Age is just a number, instead, ask yourself, how old do I feel? And then be that person. Want to know the only real shouldn’t for older women? People shouldn’t tell other people what they should or shouldn’t do. Period.”

Tu dum

Tu dum

Tu dum

Tu dum tu dum tu dum

Tu dum tu duuuuuum

Tududududuummmmmm!

Hooray, the Pink Panther is here!

Nope, he’s busy,It’s the  Sweet-toothed Sleuth!!!

She’s about to solve a gripping tale of? OF WHAT?

It’s a perplexing puzzlement. They are not a secret, They aren’t supposed to be a mystery, but maybe, possibly, sort of——they might be! Why?

I was asked to present a group of three lectures for Elder Hostel, a non-profit organization for travelers 50+, founded in 1975. The organization changed its name to Road Scholar in 2010. In this case, the travelers were coming to San Diego for lectures and site visits.

I discovered there was a small, but phenomenal building boom of small houses mostly constructed between the late 1920’s through the 195o’s. I wanted to know more and asked some design and architectural friends. It was a bit of an enigma because my friends had not heard of them either.

THE ENIGMA

Change was in the air. It was a time of in-your-face-world-happenings. A possible World War was on the horizon, young men were being called to action, the arms industry needed to proliferate armaments and for the first time, new conditions necessitated that women could staff and fulfill factory work output.                    Of course, through the years, there were the individually single-minded women who forged ahead in male-oriented professions, but women, at that time were seen to be “dependent beings”.  They lunched! Now, these “dependent beings” could and were ready to join the defense work force to become—drum roll, please—independent!  They did!

 THE SWEET-TOOTHED SLEUTH

As you know, S.T. Sleuth is a fine detective! She actually discovered that twenty-five rail lines “trolley suburbs” converged in central city, San Diego, CA. in the early 1920’s.

HARK——FLASH ZOOM!

MYSTERY SOLVED!!! THE PERFECT COUNTERPOINT: BUNGALOW COURTS

The courts offered miniature housing on one lot. They were important and safe for this new work force with inexpensive trolley transportation and reasonable rent. An even better; they were in a climate with little or no frost and  a horticultural wonderland. Flowering plants were everywhere and the newly initiated Balboa Park was  a spectacular location to spend free time.

Including the Sweet-tooth Sleuth, I needed a wise, skilled team to follow the Bungalow Court trail!No one-woman show for me. I enlisted my husband who was a fine photographer, our friend Ernie who knew every nook and cranny of San Diego, a camera and me who knew nothing.

Our adventure began on a balmy Sunday morning. We were on the hunt, not exactly a Safari Hunt, but close. (I am referencing Photographic Safari Hunts with intriguing wild animals).

How can hunting Bungalow Courts in San Diego possibly be intriguing?

Our Sweet-Toothed Sleuth said we were in for a surprise:

For starters, the architects and builders did not just throw up a bungalow or two. We were looking for not only the charming Spanish style of the period, but also, in the San Diego area, they built distinctive styles——Craftsman, Egyptian, Pueblo, Tudor,  Moorish Revival, and Deco/Moderne Bungalow Courts.      Lucky Us!!!                                                                                                                                                                                         They were predominantly built from 1920 to 1950 and eventually there were nearly 300 full bungalow courts and over 150 half courts built in San Diego prior to World War II. They also found that nearly 80 percent of them remain intact, a testament to the desire of people to have private space within a public setting.*

San Diego’s ample heritage of hidden gems were scattered throughout different areas and difficult to find when we started looking in the early ninety’s. We found them tucked between houses, apartments and buildings.  Ernie loved being in charge. (He probably would have worn a drum major uniform and carried a baton.)   Disappointingly, the first courtyard we saw had deteriorated. The central area was thirsty, the stucco was rough and craggy and the miniature houses looked lonely.

Ernie was undeterred. That first Sunday turned into multiple Sunday explorations.

Luckily for my future lecture, the Sweet-toothed Sleuth discovered the story of a young landscape architect who lived in a Court in the early 1980’s. Ron Wiggington, who went on to become a Fellow of the American Society of Landscape Architects in 2002, had an illustrious career.

Continuing his story, Ron shared a phone conversation he had with relatives, “I’m always describing this place. I tell them I’m looking out my window, and I see a banana tree loaded with bananas, an orange tree with oranges, a lime tree, and on and on. And they think I live on a plantation. They won’t believe how small it is if they see it. . . . Which shows you how much you can do with buildings and landscaping if you have the opportunity, and take the time, and go at it with a little care.”

Sy’s Salient Points:                                                                                                             Have we solved this PUZZLEMENT?

I loved the opportunity to research Bungalow Courts for my lecture. They were brimming with personality making it an incredulous delight for creating a story.

I hope you enjoyed their stories,

Sheila.

*sohosandiego.org—*sandiegoreader.com

             HAPPY, HAPPY 2024, DARLING BLAIRE

THE BEGINNING:

                                   THE TROGLODYTE SURVIVOR IS CLIMBING OUT OF THE COAL MINE

The troglodyte has survived four months of bone breaks and has been let out to be about! Her splotch streak has caused her car great anxiety; “Where is she, when is she going to drive me? I’ve been sending her smoke signals, AI mental images——all for naught!”

                                                                           Magically, the troglodyte appears:                                                                                “Oh No!”

Bottomless Sadness: My older, elderly, ancient car will not turn on. “IT” had not survived almost four months of sitting forlornly on a street desperately hoping anyone, someone, would open its door, press the gas pedal and zoom into the byways and onto the freeways. Hence, the smoke signals!

The troglodyte presses the key for that joyful first drive. She has been dreaming and plotting of a new freeway life. You guessed it. Zero, Zilch, Zippo! She keeps pressing a few hundred times more. Nothing happens, but a sore finger.

THE CELL PHONE

My cell phone and I are on two different orbits with my unparalleled technique——in other words, I have zero confidence, but I dial Triple A. When John arrives his answer breaks my heart. He shall “return” unless/until a bona fide mechanic analyses and repairs its problems. Spending the next twenty-four hours of lamentation has led to a still “dead” car.

 24 HOURS LATER

Armed with my tin-lizzie walker with only two wheels because it is light and I can ploddingly fold it to stash in the backseat of my car.  (My Tesla walker, slick with four wheels, a seat and storage space is too heavy for me to lift and crimp together by myself).          

So, it’s the tin” Model A Jalopy” walker, my purse, a book and my cell phone as I move outside and dial Triple A. Hmm. Long wait ensues, drivers are stranded on freeways and take precedence. I am reading a good mystery, so 45 minutes pass. John, from Triple A arrives. He restarts my grateful car.                          The mechanic is not close, I get lost;

It’s early Saturday afternoon and his workplace is tucked behind a building on the busy 101 CA Highway. He closes at 3 o’clock. I enter his office, say “Hello”, and smile my friendliest  smile. He does not look up from his desk.                                                                                                                                                                         Silence! I offer my earnest story. It seems to float into space as he continues to write and tell me he has to get his paperwork done before closing, also never looking up. I, on the other hand am in the middle of nowhere with a car that will probably not ever start again. I throw in that I am ninety and could he at least, please, look at my car. The heavens open, he looks up and then gets up. Delirious with joy, I clatter behind him as we make our way to my car.

The next blow, he’s way too busy to work on my car, announcing it’s my electric system. (Dollar signs images descend in vast bundles.) I will not budge even if I have to spend the weekend in his tiny office with about an inch of space for two nights. It is not warm and friendly.

THE VERDICT

An alternative question!  “Could I please leave my car to be worked on, on Monday?” “YES!”                              I think the tin walker, the big purse, the hefty book and my hand holding the cell phone finally got to him. I refrained from my tendency to hug people.

THE CELL PHONE

Oh, for the long ago days when you could actually speak to a human body with a voice who you could understand and who wanted to speak back to you. After calling Lyft, hitting numerous silent buttons, I said good by to my new and cherished friend/mechanic. It was a moment of blood, sweat, and tears as my walker bucked and banged forward on the blacktop while I one handedly approached the highway.

CLARIFICATION

I didn’t mention the broken, cracked surfaces of the blacktop where there was not one foot of smooth surface on this long expanse to get to and from his office to my highway perch and Lyft.  I could only clumsily try to guide my walker with one hand. I became the one-handed “walker driver”. 

                                                                              THE DIGITAL WORLD                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              Picture an older, elder, ancient woman standing on a highway that resembled the Indianapolis 500 Speedway holding on to a tin walker, a hefty book, a large purse and a cell phone on a windy afternoon who almost keeps dropping her hefty book. This was hard and it got even harder when Lyft did not arrive, texting me, that I had not put in the correct address and was being charged $6.50. In turn, I had been texting Lyft for over twenty-three minutes about my plight of standing alone on the speedway. The digital world abandoned me.

The day got even longer. There was more waiting, more story, BUT, then came, a storybook ending. On Monday, I delightedly said good-by to my my new best friend/mechanic and drove my car home.           

I am still learning, still surviving and still know life is worthwhile. Supporting each other makes it more worthwhile.

AN EVENTUALITY

A “way back” occurred when an artist contacted me and asked me to write a poem for a painting he was using for that year’s Christmas Card. I expected something along the line of a Christmas tree, a Santa or a snow scene, not a sensitive desert scene.                                                                                                                           I did not expect serenity!                                                                                                                                                  Wishing to respect/reflect that quietness of his harmonious painting, it was an honor and a privilege to hopefully embody his artwork.

THE FUTURE

It is a privilege to share my granddaughter’s clear-sighted, perceptive writing as she explores and crafts her teenage world.

Master W.W.S sends you a message…………….

**.

CELEBRATE LIFE!!!

SY’S SALIENT POINTS!                                                                                                                        My comments in regard to my dutiful “tin walker”are meant to evoke some whimsical or     genial humor. It is a beneficial and adjunct addition to my balance at this time.                     It has value and is an investment!

Huge thanks for visiting my blog! I  value your comments.

*Jane Seabrook: A New Zealand illustrator and designer known for her exquisitely detailed watercolor paintings depicting animals caught up in the joy and drudgery of life sharing her rich sense of humor.

**W.W.S. is three months old.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS FOR YOUR SENIOR YEAR, DARLING BLAIRE!

                                                                                             JANE SEABROOK*                                                                                             I like to think a bunch of my preservatives encompass ethos, logos and pathos. Ethos refers to persuasion based on the credibility or authority of the speaker/writer, Pathos referring to persuasion based on emotion, and Logos referring to persuasion based on logic or reason.

Because I did, and still do love research, I am returning to some of my favorite researched Designer Giants. They used all the preservatives they could find and even invented some. This is a chance to connect the dots and be enriched by the ethos, logos and pathos of architects Antonio Gaudi and James Hubbell and their preservatives.

Way back, I wrote a design article regarding two ingenious architects. One living, one not. One on a distant shore, one down the road. Many of their design conceptions and philosophies invited comparisons between their masterful inspirations. 

 We were spending a month in Spain and I had all my preservatives…two washable wigs needed for one bald head from chemo, bags of prescriptions, my favorite hat, (still have it, wear it, terribly battered) and all the other travel paraphernalia.

During our week in Barcelona we encountered timeless Catalonian symbols——cuisine, late night revelry in the land of  the Matadors, the distinctive Sardana dance and the architecture of Antonio Gaudi.

If you were to excavate a time capsule, you would find in the architectural characteristics of Gaudi—— Moorish, Neo-Gothic, Art Nouveau and Gothic influences. Parabolic arches soar and float while miniature towers become minarets on mosques that confront tile patterns devoted to flights of fancy. And that is only the tip of the iceberg in his imagination.

The St. Louis, Arch is a Parabolic Arch

The biographer Rainer Zerbst commented, “Gaudi’s life was full of contradictions. As a young man, he joined the Catalonian nationalist movement and was highly critical of the church; then, at the end of his life, he devoted himself solely to the construction of a single church. Again as a young man, Gaudi liked the glamour of an active social life and had an unmistakable penchant for being a dandy. Yet in old age, ‘he lived a spartan life’.”

The city and culture of 1877 Barcelona was flourishing when Antonio completed his architectural studies. Trade, cotton and iron produced upper classes where the rich liked to surround themselves with artists and writers who often lived under the roof of their patrons.

Senor Guell became the patron of Gaudi and allowed him free rein to fulfill their joint dreams. Guell was a successful brick manufacturer who was not only acclaimed for his wealth, but for his ardor for social reform. He was interested in the growth of industrial cities and engaged Gaudi to design and construct a garden for a residential settlement.——”Parque Guell”.

A visit to Parque Guell shows a wondrous array of “architecture and urbanism dedicated to his fundamental source of inspiration: nature!” A cement serpentine bench covered with colorful broken glazed ceramics enclosed a perimeter of some fifty acres. There was no grading or leveling of hills in the park. Instead Gaudi created cavelike passageways, (arcades) that became a forest of pillars. The administration buildings were topped by fantastical roofs. The recreation area is an art filled oasis of shapes of gigantic proportions denoting what a gifted sculptor was Gaudi. And yet, the park was almost completely built of material found on the actual site.

At one point in 1908 a New York multimillionaire became infatuated with his work and asked for ideas to build and design a New York hotel. Gaudi sketched a building  similar in height to the Eiffel Tower with a central  tower crowned with a powerful beacon in the shape of a star. Parabolic arches spanned two floors resulting in an auditorium for several thousand spectators. It was never built. Gaudi’s new architecture was not to be in the New World.

But there is architecture in our corner of the world that is equally rich in symbolism. There are sculptural figures accented with illusionary and realistic animals. There are cement plants that blossom… Architecture that is capricious and audacious and fluid.

It is the work of James Hubbell, artist, craftsman, poet, stained glass designer and architect. During a lecture by Mr. Hubbell, he spoke of his inspirations, “the sky on a moonless night, or seeing the wind wave over a field of grass, or noticing the dust at play in a shaft of light, or felt the warmth of another’s hand….someone you cared for. This is where architecture must come from”.

During an interview, I asked James Hubbell if he had personally seen the work of Gaudi and if he felt any of his work reflected parallel forms and textures. He replied he had seen Gaudi’s architecture and the way in which he had been “personally been influenced by the work of Gaudi was in the sense that you could treat architecture like sculpture” And he felt that for both Gaudi and he nature was, and is the primary inspiration.

Two artists that transformed traditional design——the 19th century Gaudi and the 20/21st century Hubbell allow us to participate in adventurous and creative architecture. Both worked in stone as well as iron to create surfaces that flow. These surfaces contain great complexity with intricate mosaics. There is a wide range of artful structures as well as decorative innovation.

And lucky us, because if you’re not packing your suitcase for Barcelona, head on up to Santa Isabel. It’s worth a visit to view James Hubbell’s fantastical organic-architectural house and adjacent studios located in the mountain community of  Santa Ysabela,  near Julian, CA, 60 miles east of San Diego.

James Hubbell Home

              Temple of the Segrada Familia

The ethos, logos and pathos embody the “PRESERVATIVES” of two groundbreaking and visionary architectural humanitarians and the living monuments they created.

Sy’s Salient Points: James and Ann Hubbell have recently moved to a CCRC      Continuing Care Retirement Community near Mexico. James Hubbell, when  speaking to Marianne Gerdes, executive director of the Ilan-Lael Foundation established by James and his wife Ann: “explained to her that he looks at the challenges in his life these days as opportunities to see things from a fresh perspective.” James Hubbell has Parkinson’s Disease.

Antonio Gaudi began work on the Segrada Familia in 1883 and devoted more than 40 years of his life to the Temple of the Sagrada Família. He became increasingly pious and after 1910 he abandoned virtually all other work eventually secluding himself on its site and residing in its workshop. He was struck by a trolley at age 74 while still working on the Temple and died a few days later. On 7 November 2010, Pope Benedict XVI consecrated the Temple and granted it the status of a Minor Basilica. It is slated to be completed in 2026, 143 years after its inception.

*Jane Seabrook: A New Zealand illustrator and designer known for her exquisitely detailed watercolor paintings depicting animals caught up in the joy and drudgery of life sharing her rich sense of humor.

Congratulations Editor Blaire on winning 1st Place by the AZ Interscholastic Press Association with 34 total awards.     HAPPY BIRTHDAY DARLING BLAIRE & HAPPY THANKSGIVING

A NEW!???

THE  NOUVEAU NONAGENARIAN!

It seemed a bit of a stretch to move into this ninety year old nation, but the paradigm shifted and I’ve been busy joining the esteemed nonagenarian population.

I did not apply, neither did they recruit me or vote me into their group. Nope!  I arrived to join this sterling group because of a date on the calendar. They are the real deal. Providence has smiled——friendships reigned and rained!

We can not be described as a one-size-fits-all population of the human old and tired. Respondents in one part of a study published in the journal International Psychogeriatrics said, “From interviews, researchers concluded that “exceptional longevity was characterized by a balance between acceptance of and grit to overcome adversities, along with a positive attitude and close ties to family, religion, and land, providing purpose in life.”

I love the grit part because my friends do not characterize a “slower pace” or a “helpless” mode. Their “grit” is the M.O. of reality, riveting stories, shared empathy, strength and outrageous humor. Certainly, personalities that augment and jazz up my own ninety-year old nonagenarian dessert course. We may have questions about today’s world…

                                                                            **

But, many, many of my friends will agree with David Brooks when he said,  “The quality of attention you bring to the world determines what you see in the world…..she who looks with eyes of compassion will see complex souls, navigating life as best as they can.” ***                                                                                                                                                  We nonagenarians always dressed our best to go shopping,

board an airplane,

park parallel,There were no computers or TV as children and when TV arrived, Saturday nights was devoted to….of all things….wrestling!                                                                                                                                                                                 We also lived through a nasty pandemic and a lot of barbaric, cruel wars. Plus those aching years of the losses of friends and family members…..Filaments of our  memories….                                                                                                                                                                                         We will continue to learn——Michelle Feng, chief clinical officer at Executive Mental Health, said that the assumption that getting older is a downhill journey is just wrong. She calls it a mindset that can lead to “taking fewer chances and, in turn, experiencing less in life. But by being brave and choosing to carry out activities that might seem challenging, we are able to expand our life experiences in worthy ways.”

I am fascinated about the impact artificial intelligence, AI, will have on our humanity. “Artificial intelligence’s impact on society is widely debated. Many argue that AI improves the quality of everyday life by doing routine and even complicated tasks better than humans can, making life simpler, safer, and more efficient. Others argue that AI poses dangerous privacy risks, exacerbates racism by standardizing people, and costs workers their jobs, leading to greater unemployment.” What would the eminent physicist/mathematical “AE” possibly observe about AI?:

A Humanitarian’s Answer!

THE SWEET-TOOTHED SLUTH:

I believe resilience is our by-line and the Sweet-toothed Super Sleuth has a question for some AI chatbots:

Can you tell me one thing about being a nonagenarian that is special?

From Chat GPT: Answer: “One special thing about being a nonagenarian is the wisdom and life experience that comes with having lived for nearly a century.”

ChatGPT is a large language model (LLM) chatbot developed by OpenAI. It is trained on a massive dataset of text and code, and it can generate text, translate languages, write different kinds of creative content, and answer your questions in an informative way.

From AI Bing:  Answer: “One thing that is special about being a nonagenarian is that you may be eligible for some benefits and privileges from the government or other organizations.  For example, in some provinces of the Philippines, nonagenarians can receive cash gifts, certificates of recognition, and other incentives during the Annual Elderly Filipino Week.  In the United States, the Social Security Administration conducted a Nonagenarian Project to verify that older beneficiaries were properly receiving their benefits and to prevent any fraud activities. Being a nonagenarian also means that you have lived through many historical events and changes, and that you have a wealth of wisdom and experience to share with others.”

Bing can be accessed from your home page on the Microsoft Edge app.

From AI Bard: Answer: “Age 90-Plus Adults Tend to Be Resilient and Optimistic.”

A conversational AI tool by Google to brainstorm ideas, spark creativity, and accelerate productivity.

Woah, with all the computational power in the world, making computers supposedly smarter and smarter, don’t we need to know more from these digital wizards?  Should we expect more? Obviously, AI has a LONG, Long way to go in order to understand my human life experience.  This is not the answer I want for my dessert course!

Our Sweet-toothed Sleuth still has questions for the human nonagenarian  side.                                                                This question is to one of our 102 year old Centenarians, “Will you share something that was special when you were in your nineties?”

From L:  It was a happy, festive time because I enjoyed going out to dinner, wearing make-up, loved dressing up! Lately, I am only able to go out on rare occasions, but I still dress to go to church on Sunday’s and visit my sister.”

Now, on to a bona fide nonagenarian, “Please share something that you take pleasure in as a nonagenarian beside breathing?”

From J: “I am happy and relieved that my bag of marbles has a very slow leak.  I believe that 2…maybe 4 have squeezed through.  I know the seams are getting a bit frayed, but I am counting on them to hold fast.  This is called ‘wishful thinking’ and I believe in it. Whoops, was that a clink I just heard?”

More Importantly,

We still have time to smell the flowers!

Sy’s Salient Points:

The generative AI bots are here to stay. They are commercial businesses that will “make a mint,  “200,000 books are being pumped into the electronic brain LLaMA, the chatbot developed and distributed by Meta Platform (formerly Facebook), in competition with…ChatGPT bots marked by OpenAI.”****.                                                                           “In the next few years, the computers that power artificial-intelligence could consume as much [electricity] as some countries do now.“*****                                                                      Age does not matter if we continue to hear the eloquent voices of our friends.                  The “robot/bot” answers and quotes throughout this blog have no sentient. There is not the reality of offering emotion, passion and/or intuitive personal happenings and awarenesses. We want our humanistic qualities to shine.

  *Encyclopedia Britannica                                                                                                                                                                   **Art by Sue Berman                                                                                                                                                                  ***David Brooks, Twitter, Sept. 14, 2023, New York Times Editorial Columnist                                                                          ****Michael Hiltzik  Business Editorial LA Times 10-5-23                                                                                                                  *****Oct. 11, 2023 The New York Times Morning Edition “Technology”

Happy Homecoming Your Senior High School Year, Darling Blaire