Rooms with a View...a Tale of 3 Rivers, part 1

Rooms with a View….A Tale of 3 Rivers

Il pleut.  Giving me incentive to stay inside and write.

We’ve been on the lam for over 2 weeks with another to go.

Tip:  Stay at least 2 weeks if you leave the country, lest you spend

most of your trip in dire jet lag.

Our first river is actually a canal, which should count.  It even

has locks.  Canal Saint Martin, hip and edgy, though Skip answers

“thugs” in response to my comment.  Ce ne pas vrai.  Kids abound.

Everyone seems to be on bicycles or driving remote control

sailboats on the water in the late afternoon sun.

boat lock Canal St. Martin
The #4 hotel in Paris on Trip Advisor, Le Citizen is aptly named for its power

to the people atmosphere and its emphasis on the environment

and the arts.  It passes for reasonably priced in Paris and overwhelms

you with service.  Your very own loaner Ipad is loaded with information

which I wish I’d paid more attention to.  A free mini-bar, an oxymoron,

with perhaps madelines or quelquechose baked in-house, drinks in the

little fridge.  Did I mention a real breakfast and happy hour?

Free calls everywhere, a big help after Skip was pickpocketed

on the Metro.  We let our guard down momentarily, forgetting that such

a helpful boy might have a motive when we were hauling luggage.

We thanked him merrily, but Skip’s inch-thick wallet was an easy score.

He’s collected the contents for years, so let’s hope it’s only credit cards,

cash, and driver’s license. 

Tip:  never carry anything in a back pocket unless it’s a mousetrap.

 

The Eurostar to London was a pleasure all by itself.  I was so happy, I

forgot to freak out during the 20 minutes under the English Channel.

A little over 2 hours from Paris to London.

I’d thought that London was the most expensive city for tourists, at least in

Europe.  Its hotels are up there in price, but it’s a mere #15, behind NYC and

Paris in an online survey.  I reserved a whole bunch of rooms,

upgrading us as I went.  I hope very much that I cancelled all but one,

our room with an expansive view of the Thames, journey’s river #2.

We loved staring at all the river activity, barges and bridges.  We also walked

up and down the river, our center for the trip.

The London Eye, on the Thames

Travel tip:  get a tiny little Fitbit if you want the easiest pedometer imaginable.

I gloat over my beaucoup de steps, once over 20,000 in a day.   It may help

override a few of the calories I am consuming.   Croissants, pan chocolat, Bertillon ice

cream, eclairs, little custards, flan, and meringues.  An ile flotante for dessert today.

 

London highlight:  a long-awaited reunion with my friend Yvonne and her husband

Chris.  I’d last seen her in the 60s and re-found her via a daughter on Facebook.

Yvonne was born in Singapore or Malay/sia and was sent to boarding school in

England at age 7, raised more or less by the nuns.  We met in summer at Las Arenas

on Spain’s north coast.  She was a beam of light for me.  I was a “Miss” (English teacher)

and then a substitute nanny when the real one quit in a huff.  It was a seriously

dysfunctional household, the Marquesa mother barely putting up with or seeing her children.

The rich can be at risk.  My cinematic lowlight was sitting in a park while the kids

played, knitting to pass time.  The other nannies gathered in a buzzing circle, talking about

me, until one approached and described my sin:  knitting on Sunday.

I grabbed the kids and got out of dodge before the stoning could begin.

Back to the reunion, Yvonne and Chris took us to La Casa Brindisa, an authentic

Spanish restaurant in Kensington.  We had every tapa imaginable from octopus

and calamares to tortilla de patata and cheeses.  When Skip’s sherry ended up

on my lap (I smelled lovely all day) another appeared by magic.

Our next stop was the unique Victoria and Albert Museum, an enormous and marvelous

place.  We had the most unusual tour imaginable.  You first had to sign your life away,

swearing you suffered no vertigo nor claustrophobia.  I lied. 

7 of us climbed into a wall, ascending a tiny winding staircase that went up and up and up

to a small room with a giant prism which collected data and showed it in color lines and

patterns.  I was busy in the corner surreptitiously using my inhaler, but off we went again

to the very rooftop and a dramatic view of London.  I felt so successful.

The following day we visited the National Portrait Gallery for an exhibit depicting the Queen

during her long reign.   Jolly good as we Brits like to say.  She loves to encourage the arts

 and seems to have no ego when it comes to her portrayals.  If you’ve not seen Julien Freud’s

 image, yikes.  I would have beheaded him on the spot.

We also visited Tate Modern, mostly a disappointment.  Paying for the Munsch show can

best be termed  big mistake.  It was a real downer, even without The Scream, MIA from the show,

apparently safe in Norway

I spent too long in the gift shop.  I emerged to the main hall of this drab former power building to

find Skip flushed pink and deep in conversation with a young woman who was practically sitting

on his lap.  Hmmm.  I stood awhile, taking photos as evidence.  Finally joining them, the

woman ignored me (as did Skip), continuing her intense monologue. It turned out this was

performance art and she was Skip’s second suitor.  I can’t leave him alone for a minute.

 

 

 

 

Come Travel with Tony Bennett: "Grant Avenue, San Francisco, California, USA..."

Come Travel with Tony Bennett: "Grant Avenue, San Francisco, California, USA..."

"Grant Avenue, San Francisco, California, USA..."

For those of you not in my august age group or who did not have mothers addicted to musical comedy (among
Other things), the title is from the musical "Flower Drum Song", probably Rogers and Hammerstein.
An Alaska Air fare sale during a time of much health anxiety brought us here in November of all things. Shouldn't we be in Maui?
In fact, it's sunny plus 60 degrees, good enough for moi.
I have been indulging my Fall of the Roman Empire ways, I.e eating and spending myself silly. I can feel Skip carefully
Avoiding comment, ever the prudent one.
We have netted almost 20 degrees rise in temp and close to 100% gain in sunshine so Whoopie!
I need to get on the Cloud computing thing so I can get photos to prove our temporary bliss.
We did manage to travel by public transport...BART...and foot from airport to hotel, thus gaining a couple carbon footprints
And a bale of hay in heaven (again, my mother who was not intended as the subject of this post.)
But we'll lose our hay on the return, a Groupon limo service. Still, isn't Groupon a public good?
if you've never been to the SF Museum of Modern Art, remedy this at once! The building is one of the 7 wonders of the modern world.
people made wonders anyhow. And we had breakfast at Lefty O'Toul's. Skip knew about Lefty and I learned a lot. His left arm
Is encased in plexiglass and a have the photo. We dined last night at a similarly quirky place, Lori's Diner, full of jukebox
Memorabilia and cheap eats. I was disappointed today to discover Other Lori's all over the place. A chain! Shame!
At SFMoma, we were engrossed in a photo exhibit by Francesca Woodman, who specialized in bxw nudes of self and jumped
Out a window at age 22. Major exhibits since then.
Skip, doing the carbon footprint thing with my indulgences, declined a late lunch, so I repaired to Nordstrom Bistro for the salmon nicoise
Salad and much photo taking out the window. On Market Street, I wanted to shoot but found myself sans camera. A frantic retracing
Steps for an hour was no use until I tried a last chance call to where I got a matchbook music box which plays "Jingle Bells" as the
Tiny village whirls around. As mother always said (she has taken over) I get in trouble when I'm in the wrong place...but she loved music
Boxes. Thanks to Janet for my birthday gift card lunch and to Carol for my birthday Starbucks card iced tea with new cup to replace
The one lost during the carbon footprint trek.
Apologies to Bill. I meant to be brief.

Jill and Toni's Excellent Adventure

Jill and Toni’s Excellent Adventure

It must be habit-forming, this going to Bellevue thing. For years I’ve rejected it: too glitzy and materialistic, boring and superficial. Where did I gather all that and why was I incredibly rude to a classmate’s wife at the reunion? They live in Bellevue and I made comments intended to be funny, which actually were not, about my recent trip to the Bravern. I’ve repressed what I said to avoid embarrassing myself again. And did penance in the form of dragging Jill over the water and through the bridge. She went over 2 actual bodies of water to come from Bainbridge Island.
It was my birthday eve last Saturday and we were celebrating by going to Fashion Week, to a real fashion show at the Bellevue Hyatt.
The last serious fashion show I attended was in Madrid Spain, 1962.
I was living in the home of a formerly grand widow, who took in students like me to make ends meet. It was my first of 3 years there, studying at the University of Madrid via NYU. With money my brother had given undeserving me, saying “buy a Balenciaga”, I had a suit made by the Senora’s dressmaker, probably comparable in cost to buying one at Macy's today. To celebrate, she took me to a show, where we sat in the front row. I felt like a hippie invader, but those were the days when a double breasted suit and a hairdo brought comments about my resemblance to Jackie O. Near that time, I was cornered in the restroom of Frames, a frumpy old Detroit restaurant, by 2 crazy women. Imagine their disappointment when they got a close look. Back to the Madrid show, all I remember is an icky woman repeating “I’ve lost my Paris address book. What will I do?”
Jill and I were gleeful as we shared our most recent secrets on the drive over Lake Washington. Reminds me of the cartoon: kid at blackboard where he’s written a fancy theorem or maybe it’s Einstein’s E=mc2. Teacher says: you know too much. I will have to shoot you. But Jill and I both know too much, so it’s safe.
Parking and show were at the Bellevue Hyatt, which is connected to Bellevue Square by a long sequence of labyrinthine passageways. I needed bread crumbs to find my way back later, but fortunately I had Jill and her built-in compass.
We had our pick of drinks served on trays, stuck to red wine because I did not see the Cosmos first nor do I much like champagne. We made a full course meal out of the hors d’s which we weren’t shy about getting: ahi tuna, baked brie, Kobe beef (only one I rejected), many others I don’t recall, all nestled in rich little pastry cups. Signs requested we not take food or drink into the show itself. When I noticed that virtually everyone had a drink, I snuck back out to get us some. Still
in high school mode. I finally secured one, white wine to be prudent, but got cut off at every pass. Like my mother, they did not accept “everyone’s doing it” as an excuse.
We were happily squished in the front row, eyeing the fashionable (skinny young women in little black dresses) and the less fashionable (women in fur coats, fortunately far enough away so we couldn’t smell them.) Maybe I’m unfair and they were faux furs. But they had that OLD FUR, been in the family for years look.
And we had what I’d come for: my first ever “swag bag”, full of samples and offers and even actual stuff. The used headband (was a return?) did not look appetizing, but a full foot care kit is good enough to use or regift. Well, I won’t say more in case someone is reading this and is a future recipient of some swag. Not exactly the Oscars, but tons of fun. The show was too short. I loved every second, with the loud music and flashing lights and ever changing photo montage up on the screens. The beautiful models all had hips smaller than my thighs and I’ve been practicing their walk ever since. Hips forward (such as they are), face noncommittal, slight swagger and a race walk. Come back! I didn’t get to see enough. Jill and I used the slender pencils and the booklet to make circles and checkmarks. We know how to behave in meetings. No prices, but since the stores included Macy’s and a few other regular people venues, presumably we might afford something. I hated it ending, yet we had more on the agenda: DESSERT! For that, we had to trudge over the labyrinth to Bellevue Square, lugging our heavy bags. I really should have ditched the Nordstrom giant water bottle, but it’s so pretty. Maybe you will get it for Christmas.
We scored BIG at the desserts center and even brought some back for the guys. Chocolate chip cookies, lemon tarts, chocolate covered strawberries, petit four style pastries, chocolate truffles…
It was all good. We did a little shopping, armed with gift certificates. I copycatted Jill and got the exact same Merrill boots. I tried on the brown, available in my size, but NO, I wanted to copy completely, so the black ones are being mailed and I really would have had to jettison the water bottle. We shopped some more with less enthusiasm, buying nothing, not realizing that we had coupons for a free haircut from Marisa at Obadiah and a free manicure by someone else in another store. They are still good through October, but it would necessitate another trip over the water.
We made it back to the Hyatt before 10pm and had to find someone to open the coat check. We were the last ones and they’d closed early.
The real adventure was yet to come. Almost to WA-520 bridge and in plenty of time for Jill’s ferry, traffic stopped cold. For 20 minutes. It wasn’t till later I noticed that it stopped on both sides, more ominous than an accident on the bridge. Loud yelling behind us and flashing lights of several police vehicles: GET DOWN ON THE GROUND…GET DOWN ON THE GROUND.
I opened the window, wondering how the police could get through the mass of cars to an accident. And the cars were already on the ground. Jill, wiser, said,
yikes, get down! They are apprehending people and it’s very close. Blair Witch of Cedar, MI vibes.
The car in front of us had crept onto the carpool-3 person-lane, but was hanging back to catch the excitement. We took her place, got to distance ourselves a bit, figuring it was not a major crime compared to what was happening in the rear. They’d closed the bridge. Cars coming East were in a real mess as the Mariners game had let out in time for the closure.
Jill raced out of the car at the ferry terminal with 5 minutes to spare. I hope she made it as we haven’t talked since.
It was an excellent adventure and I’m ready for more.

Note: photo is from an earlier adventure.

Home Sweet Home

Where do I blog from here?

Henry and me

The only time I ever saw Henry Ford face to face was when I was age 5, April 1947. We had to wait in a long, long line and it still amazes me that mother wanted to do this. The surprise for my brother was that Henry was lying in his coffin dead. He'd been told we were going to see Henry. I can't remember his funny comment.
The place to visit has always been Greenfield Village, Henry's recreation of all kinds of historical buildings and places, most of them the orginals: the Wright Brothers bicycle shop, Thomas Edison's Menlo Park Laboratory...all in a village setting. Carol and the kids once sat grimly and lengthily for an old time photo. Last visit was on September 11, 2002 when the actual Henry Ford Museum was free. It's an amazing place and I wanted to return to make some more little orange plastic Oscar Meyer Weinermobiles. The price had jumped 100%, but I made 6, as well as 2 Rosa Parks Montgomery buses. I bet the bust of Henry Ford one is not nearly as popular, though I should have thought to do one for Danny. We posed in front of the giant Weinermobile though we did not dine in the Weinermobile Cafe. We also posed in Rosa Parks' actual seat on the real bus where she made history. Naughty Skip also posed at the back of the bus, recalling how Aunt Lillian yanked the kids out of the back when they visited New Orleans many years ago. We do not sit there anymore, she declared. JFK's limo is here, Lincoln's chair from Ford's Theater...My favorite exhibit of all may be the theoretical last breath of Ford's pal Edison, lovingly preserved in a test tube. Seriously weird.
It had started to rain and it was time to go home. Our flight sat around for almost an hour as we waited for all the people with late connections, late due to the torrential rains. Goodbye, Michigan. I hope the calls for a 55th reunion come to pass, though not on a cruise. I will want to return to my home state. I am still a Michigander at heart.

At the Hop

At the Hop

The Grosse Pointe Yacht Club is located on Lakeshore Drive, home of the Fords and their ilk. By way of minimizing, mother liked to point out that nobody much wanted to pay the taxes or the upkeep on these absurdly large mansions. They look like institutions more than family houses. My only contact with the Ford daughters was in dancing class. Charlotte looked rather ungainly and either painfully shy or terminally snooty. It can’t have been easy for her. Boys asked her to dance, surely egged on by mothers who envisioned being asked to tea.
Nobody ever said anything good about her mother, but the younger sister was well liked.

At least 300 of us ate and drank and danced. Skip does not dance and was happy taking pictures all night. I danced with “girls” and with the air, too shy to ask the guys. The twist, the chicken, general rock and roll to a D.J. and his 50s music. Doing some wild maneuver with Judy, she fell flat on her back, managing to look graceful while doing so. She claimed to be fine, but is still suffering major bruises. Skip captured it all on film. I will include only a photo of her dancing upright with Steve. I’d informed him I’d thought of him as one of the
“hot” but still nice guys. Friends informed me he felt the same.
I continued to harass the very grouchy woman who was horrified on Friday when
I asked her for her “birth” rather than “maiden” name in order to give her nametag and booklet. She gave me too much lip, so I chanted “birth name” whenever our paths
crossed. So childish, so high school. It was all fun.

The High

TEXT http://gpschools.schoolwires.net/gpsouth/site/default.asp

Trying to link blog to a website depicting the school

Top Ten Capers at the HIGH

Top Ten Capers in High School

The title is a misnomer to get you interested. I probably can’t repeat the top ten, nor much remember them. Here are a few odds and ends of shredded memories:
+Cigarette breaks behind a grungy building across the street. It was kind of a big thing to be smoking at age 15. Surgeon General report was years away.
+The PJ party complete with midnight visit from the boys. Dianne threw up in the
basement sofa. A week later, a large beer bottle was discovered in the basement
fridge. I was in major trouble, threatened with boarding school, also at 15.
+The publicized police raid on the public library next to high school, demolishing my
way to get out of the house on a school night. I always did like libraries.
+Forging notes, a specialty I was proud of. I was especially proud of ability to match mother’s scrawl. Caught once, a note I didn’t need to fake, but it was a habit. The teacher was a pal of Miss Eldred’s and she retaliated by making me explain “menstruation”(fancy pronunciation of hers) to the coed class. Humiliating.
+Variety show performances, maybe more of these in Jr. High. We’d practice in my basement. Mother said everything we did looked like the Highland Fling.
+Favorite teachers/classes that I can actually recall: Miss Varano and Spanish. (Thanks Miss V.for getting me started with this). An English class which would be called AP today. I loved doing term papers and amazed myself by reading all of the endless and romantic Kristin Lavransdatter.
And an earlier English class with a teacher I’m sure was a lecher, on whom I had a crush. He approved me reading the full-of-sex Forever Amber. I will never forget the Black Plague descriptions. 14 states once banned it as pornography.
------------------------------
The Saturday morning tour was lots more fun than I’d expected. What a beautiful place it is, especially since a recent renovation. State of the art swimming pool, lots of old beautiful details, the old library now a place for meetings and teas. Josie, Judy and I climbed the twisty and hazardous metal stairs to one of the balconies. I used to hide out there reading the latest Janet Lambert.
Judy and I learned a new and startling fact: the boys always swam nude. But not their coach. Skip says that was standard, in fact, all the Yale boys were photographed nude.
Nice fact: the school is now 15% African American. I wanted to photograph a black kid I sawcoming from the pool, restrained myself.
Not so nice fact: Skip noted he was the only person of color among 300+ attendees.
One of 2, counting a pretty and very young Filipina accompanying one of the men.
A bunch of the ladies lunched after by the waterside after the tour and I include a photo. Thanks, Diane, for arranging this and so much else.
It was okay, after all, to go back home again.
Next stop: the yacht club.

I don't wanna go back to high school!

I don’t wanna go back to high school!

I left town immediately after high school graduation. Literally, though at first it was only to do the usual Up North summer trip. We would be leaving at 4am, my mother’s favorite time to travel in our non air conditioned vehicle. (Once she got air conditioning, she never turned it off, not even in the dead of winter). I drove home alone from a graduation party and had a flat tire at 3am in an unfamiliar, shuttered neighborhood. I had somehow bumbled into the actual Detroit! Nobody was thrilled to have a knock at the door in the wee hours, even by a skinny girl in a pastel party dress. At the third house, I was allowed to slip my auto club card through the mailbox slot. Those were the days of the Cat Burglars, an unseen
presence which kept me up at night. Someone had to be watchful, though
it’s hard to believe I matched a profile as I paced the middle of the street in the middle of the night.
CBs did not knock on the door. Hello I’m your cat burglar, come to rob you. They crept in through a basement window, thoughtfully kept open by my unconcerned mother. Now you see why I had to be vigilant.
My survival those 3 years depended on my pack of friends, 2 of whom are included in the “In Memoriam” list, among the 15% who can no longer go back. A third friend has been MIA for sometime. As was I until Julie R. re-found me 20 years ago. I was jet lagged and virusy with sudden weather change last night and brought out the yearbook I'd recently uncovered. My search reminded me of a book I loved in high school. Not as short as Goodbye, Mr. Chips, but still a nice choice for a book report was The Bridge of San Luis Rey by Thornton Wilder. It may not have aged well,though it won a Pulitzer in 1927. Brother Juniper explores the reasons why 5 people die when the
finest bridge in all of Peru collapses. Why them? Familiar topic: what is the meaning of life and does fate play a major role or is there a larger plan? I looked up each of the almost 80 people, in a class of 517, found some similarities, more differences. A number had nothing beneath their names.
Most of us did, though mine were pretty fake. “Candy Sales”, “Senior Activities”… nothing really civic, just ways to fill the spot, to appear involved, to avoid being seen as the outsider I felt. There seemed to be lots of jocks, though I did not cross check on the living. It was probably hard to be a teen boy and not a jock. Unlike today, girls had no such obligations. Like Wilder, I found no real connections, just shivers with the realization we are all headed in the same direction. He concludes with something about a bridge between the living and the dead, the only bridge being love.
My first conscious awareness of being the “other” and of later seeking out other “others” was at Indian Beach Camp in Northport, MI, a place for little Wasp girls, a place I loved for 3 summers. I must remember to look up Julie Dauraty, if I can remember how to spell the name. Maybe I was 12 the first summer when a campmate I don’t recall approached when we were alone and said: You shouldn’t
be here: you’re Jewish. I had no idea what she was talking about, my suburb being as lily white and as Wasp as the realty exclusion codes could make it. Differences were not talked about except to command Jacques: Are you a Democrat or a dead dog? (you had to nudge him as he was in fact a closet Dem). I kept this scary thing to myself until returning home, when I asked mother about it. “Don’t worry dear. You’re not Jewish.” Mother and I were not close, so now I knew: I was in fact Jewish, the family Jew, the reason for being an outsider in my own family. The story
of Mom and Me is a bit whiny and for another blog or even a memoir if it's not too late to add to the burgeoning oeuvre. In retrospect, this sense of
isolation was a good thing and why it was easy to escape and seek another life. My first fiancée and my first husband, 2 different people though both New Yorkers, are both Jewish, inevitable choices.
Back at the reunion (are blogs supposed to be more succinct? Am I capable of that?), going to a cocktail party at Marie’s mom’s was a perfect, small scale way to begin. Most of us present, not including partners, had been friends since Defer Elementary School. I’d had a falling out with sweet Marie in 2nd grade, however, and wondered if her 91-year-old mom would remember. I brought a small peace
offering in case, a little notebook from the D.I.A. with a Jacob Lawrence painting cover. It could even have been 1st grade, as we did “Show and Tell”, a practice alive and well today. My grandbaby invents his own. As I walk in his front door, he rushes madly about, looking for things to show me by way of greeting.
My sophisticated, irreverent mother was full of stories and jokes and this one had something to do with God giving out the looks, I thought he meant books; the brains…trains… Next day, Marie told me her mom said we could not play anymore because I had blasphemed. In present day, Marie is just as sweet and
gracious as I recall, even prettier. Only neurotic me recalls such stuff with clarity. I never got to see mom.
On to the Grosse Pointe War Memorial,(1910 estate on Lake St. Clair dedicated to WWII veterans and to hosting such gatherings) where I was thrilled that Diane, a major organizer, allowed Judy and me, as well as Liz and Julie, to work the front table, checking people in, handing out name tags and the much sought-after reunion books. We were firmly instructed not to give the books out except under certain conditions, this not by Diane, but by another committee member who was always shushing people. We soon had to alter this rule and she belonged at the elementary school reunion anyway. It was all good and I enjoyed re-meeting my first Ken, of several. He liked that and told Skip I was really cute at age 14. Next to him, Nancy, as civic today as she was in high school. My favorite new friend was Jaime aka James, an exchange student from Spain. He indulged me and we spoke Spanish. Skip and I are eager for the book he hopes to publish on Goya. Still, I spent the weekend wondering what to say to people. The names and nametag badge yearbook photos were familiar, but beyond that? “Where have you been keeping yourself these 50 long years?”

Reasons to visit Detroit and spend lotsa $$$

Reasons to visit Detroit and spend your money there

#1: They can use the money
#2: Real estate is super cheap
#3: You can make a circle tour of this beautiful state (see previous blogs)
#4: Its rich history...a bit of which in a future blog
#5: Motown!
#6: Last, definitely not least: the amazing D.I.A.

We visited the Detroit Institute of Arts on Friday before the beginning of reunion
festivities. Located in downtown Detroit’s “Cultural Center”, across from the
main library and Wayne State University (ask me if you want to know about Uncle Gordon and Wayne St, DIA houses one of the country’s premier art collections, valued at over $1 billion. Detroit was once a rich city, 4th largest in the country. I spent my childhood nights terrified that each plane I heard was about to drop the atom bomb on our important city.
DIA is also the 5th largest museum in terms of space in the US, thanks to an expansion in 2007. It is noted for its significant survey of American art,
the beautiful building and the Diego Rivera frescoes, which occupy a large central room.
We spent a long time admiring his “Detroit Industry” cycle, which Rivera himself
called his most successful work. It was quite controversial in its time:
Rivera’s Marxism and the pro-labor theme. We were certain he depicted Lenin in the details, couldn’t find him.
The photo exhibition, “Photography, the first 100 years”, was fantastic and it alone made the visit worthwhile. It has been well reviewed.
DIA is quite user-friendly, with lots of interactive stuff and 2 self serve restaurants, one of which is in a kind of cloister which has wi-fi! I had blackened trout for lunch, grilled as I watched. And in keeping with Skip's comment about my preference for museum cafes and gift shops, I also liked the shop.

Village Idiot Pub

Actually we went to the place across the Street from the Village Idiot, Marge's Sports Bar and Grill. I took a photo of the Pub for pure nostalgia, as it was one of mother's (ever the wit)nicknames for me as a young child. See how I've matured?
Instead of 8 classmates, our group morphed into 3 tables of 16 people. We laughed and laughed, I'm not sure what about as I could barely hear a thing, even before Tom Saunders and the Detroit All Stars began playing. Like the rest of us, Tom looked older than last we saw him, 7 years ago. He'd had a stroke, but it has had no effect on his playing, which was amazing. I met his lady, Judy. The room was full of Judys. It will be easier to recognize people tonight when we all wear our high school photos (I hate mine and I did not get the memo about wearing pearls). Someone said I look just the same, probably not a complement! I sat next to dear friend Julie, pals since earliest grade school when we were performing the hula to "Little Brown Gal in Hawaii" and racing about between houses. Across from me was Diane, one of the prime organizers and the most hilarious person in the world, Judy Latimer and Judy Hutchison, who was a major pal in high school and had just flown in from Boulder. Behind me was Janice, another organizer and the person who exclaimed on the list "Just you wait, Toni Myers, just you wait!" re my health care views. We are now reunion friends and Janice, if by chance you read this, vive la difference!


Cornetist Tom Saunders (b. Detroit 1938) has been the leading figure of Detroit’s dixieland (or “traditional jazz”) scene for forty years. In 1962, after playing jazz around Detroit on a part time basis, and having returned from a three-year stint in the US Navy, Saunders quit his job to go on tour with Pee Wee Hunt. Tom has been playing full time ever since. He remains one of the few performers, anywhere, to continue to play authentic Dixieland jazz successfully as a full time performer.

In the 1960’s Tom Saunders’ Surf Side Six became one of Detroit’s most popular bands…initially at the Surfside Lounge on East Jefferson, then later at the Dearborn Towne House and finally for a 12 year run at the Presidential Inn, playing six nights a week with a six piece band. During this period Tom took periodic time out to travel, performing on occasions with such greats as Eddie Condon, Ralph Sutton, Bobby Hackett, Arvell Shaw, Herb Hall, Claude Hokins, Peanuts Hucko and others.

Saunders’ “hot/swing style” is a personal jazz sound, but his strongest influence came from his friend, mentor and early performing partner, the legacy 1920’s cornetist Wild Bill Davison

From Toronto to the once mighty Motor City

Driving west from Toronto, I thought about how alike and how different are our cultures. The painfully obvious difference is health care.
Highway signs, those overhead neon ones, offer suggestions:
It is safer to stay off cell phones while driving
Keep a safe distance around large trucks.
The QEW is moving well
Maybe a little nanny for our don't-tell-me-I-have-to-wear-a-helmet USA. Still, I
felt like someone cared about everyone's welfare.
We are staying in Roseville, outside Detroit and close to our weekend reunion.
In my sporadic attempts to find something other than the black on black tops and bottoms I have resigned myself to wearing (so slimming they say), I bought a very RED dress in Traverse City. And have probably gained another 5 pounds along the road. So I took off alone to return it, returning to Grosse Pointe village, site of many shopping forays as a teen. No more Peck and Peck, nor Beck's, not even Jacobsen's where the store detective (a large bosomed woman with a hair bun and a battleship purse) gave us what-for when we giggling girls had half the store in our dressing room. At least they never told my parents, but then we were only having a non-larcenous lark.
Today I got lost and ended up in a desperately poor neighborhood. Grosse Pointe, not so far away in miles, is moons away in affluence. Leafy green and big red bricks. Getting directions from the store employee, she exclaimed: "Oh no, you were in Detroit! Not good." And so sad. This piece, from TIME, was on its website today. The photos alone will make you cry:

http://www.time.com/time/nation/article/0,8599,1925796,00.html?xid=newsletter-daily
We've all wept for the New Orleans tragedy. It's time to care for Detroit.

Farewell Canada and I must learn how to edit these

Daniel Libeskind is not a German architect, rather an American of Polish-Jewish origin.

A few more photos for the road. We love Toronto and its people. On to the scary part: the high school reunion! Do I really want to relive high school again?

Scary dinos and spring peepers too

Toronto Top Ten Highlights: We did #1 and #8 today

We did #10, Niagara Falls, yesterday and don’t much care about the rest.
It was fun to stroll through the University of Toronto campus this morning
on our way to ROM. For those not in the know, it’s the Royal Ontario Museum.
I puzzled a student while asking directions to the Royal “Canada” Museum,
so I am only recently cool and in the know.
The dinosaurs were beyond amazing. I loved the bat cave and other things designed
to entice children. We did an hour tour to get an idea of the scope of this
natural history/world cultures museum, the largest in Canada and the 5th
biggest in North America. They have space to display only 5% of holdings at
one time. I wished my siblings were there: lots of Great Lakes habitat stuff.
The old building has and is currently being renovated, the most dramatic
part the entrance façade, a series of 5 interconnecting crystal structures
designed by German architect Daniel Libeskind. It didn’t feel as jarring to me
as Pei’s pyramid entrance at the Louvre. The museum visit would be worth it
for the new “Crystal” structure alone.
I felt some shame in the cafe lunch line (always in the lunch line) when a guy
expressed horror that his friend did not pay extra to see the Dead Sea Scrolls
exhibit. “I’d have paid $100 if they asked.” A second later, he protested as the
checkout person asked for $2.25 for his bottle of water. She and I bonded
when I observed, “She did not set the price!” We’d decided the regular museum
would be more than enough, maybe see a TV production on the Scrolls at a later time.
We had fun playing with 2 German women who discovered the photo tricks
one could perform with sheets of laminated plexiglass in front of ROM.
More photos on Facebook.

The rains come

The rains come and exhaustion sets in

Skip thought Toronto’s Chinatown would be a good place for dinner and I agreed.
Chinese buns are listed in our Toronto’s Top Ten book as the first of top 10 snacks.
Before dinner, I took advantage of the hotel’s pristine pool and swam vigorously for just 15 minutes.
It seemed to be too much after our trip to Niagara, though we planned to try out the
excellent public transportation. One foot out of the hotel into the brand new rain
gave me pause. What is this? I remember it Labor Day weekend, but that was the only
time I’ve seen serious water from above since May.
Soon we were in a taxi headed for the heart of Chinatown.
It lookws bedraggled and depressing in the dark rain. A huge police presence on a
Monday night made me more rather than less anxious. My shoes slipped on the pavement.
I felt as decrepit as the surroundings appeared. We picked a place doing lots of business, mostly in takeout barbecue chicken, and settled for standard Cantonese fare:
Shrimp with noodles and lemon, very lemony, chicken.
No buns! I crept into a bakery for my favorite egg tarts. We rolled into bed early.

Oh Canada, my Canada!

Oh Canada, my Canada!

And also, as Sybil notes,
“O Canada! Terre de nos aïeux”
since Canada is an official bi-lingual country.
It was multi-lingual at Niagara Falls yesterday. Oh yes, this is the place to live. Every language imaginable seemed to be in attendance as we all vied (peacefully I might add) for a spot from which to shoot the Falls.
Okay, that’s an overwrought sentence, but the people scene was as exciting as the natural wonders. And most of the visitors live in Ontario (a guess).
Since I probably will not be moving to Canada, can we at least share your health plan?
Your use of guns to hunt animals rather than people?
Aside: It was, on the other hand, cool to stay in Glen Arbor where the deer roam free,safe from guns on their national lakeshore turf. You couldn’t walk to town without deer crossing your path.
There’s a sense of déjà vu looking at the Falls, what I experienced going to the Grand Canyon and also seeing the Mona Lisa. (Though the M. Lisa is actually a surprise: so tiny)
On the other hand, Wow! This is astounding. Mist fell on us like rain and I took fewer pictures, worried about the water engulfing my already damaged lens. That big spot on photos means someone needs to open the camera and clean it. It shows up well in misty wall-of-water pictures.
Travel tip: Skip says the viewing is much better on the Canadian side. From the US, you miss part of the American Falls.
I had no interest in riding the Maid of the Mist and he’d already done it.
We repaired to the Buffet for my favorite activity of the day, all you can eat
for only $15.95, and found a table overlooking the scene. A mean man made us move. They were expecting tour groups and the best seats were reserved for big business.
Aside: Robin and friends once followed a hot tip and arrived at the Sistine Chapel at 6am, in order to be first in line at 8am opening and intending to lie on the floor to view the ceiling. At 7:59, tour buses pulled up and were ushered in first.
I practiced my really really bad French when a French-speaking man asked me to save their table and protect his backpack.
Life goal: I WILL learn to speak basic French!

Toronto scenes

We arrived in the largest city in Canada, the 5th most populous in North America according to Wikipedia. More from Wiki:
Toronto's population is cosmopolitan and international,[11] reflecting its role as an important destination for immigrants to Canada.[12] Toronto is one of the world's most diverse cities by percentage of non-native-born residents, as about 49% of the population were born outside of Canada.[11][12][13] Because of the city's low crime rates, clean environment, high standard of living, and friendlier attitudes to diversity, Toronto is consistently rated as one of the world's most livable cities by the Economist Intelligence Unit[14] and the Mercer Quality of Living Survey.[15] In addition, Toronto was ranked as the most expensive Canadian city in which to live in 2006[update].[16] Residents of Toronto are called Torontonians.

Sitting in the sun at a chic and pricey cafe in trendy Yorkville, we had fun people and dog watching.

In the middle of nowhere

We bid a sad farewell to Danny and our amazing time up north. 5 hours later, with a stop in Midland, we arrived in Port Huron. According to what I read online, population is 31,000 or so and unemployment rate 18%. We are spending the night in an okay motel with a deserted mall across the street.
I swam in their pool while Skip watched the U Washington - USC football game. UW is unrated and USC is/was #3 in the nation and WE WON. Skip is very happy and we went out to dinner to celebrate. We could find nothing in the area, so settled on Billy Boy's Family Diner right next door. No liquor license, but good food. I even dared order broiled whitefish and, though it was frozen, it was fresh and tasty. For a total of 20$ including tax we got hot rolls, salad, main entree, potato or rice, vegetables and dessert. I blurted out to our server, "This is an amazing find in the middle of nowhere." The stuff you can't retract. Maybe that "Tacky Toni" nickname I once had is still true. Anyhow, I meant that nothing was in the vicinity...you believe me, right?
The gas station restroom poster photo is to show how multi ethnic Midland MI has become. No photo with Danny (farewell) did not come out.
On to Canada in the morning.

How we spent our last day up north

How we spent our last day up north

+I luxuriated in the Amitra Spa on the grounds of the Homestead, an idyllic place hiding in the woods at
the top of a long hill. A pool with above-water jets, a to-die-for view, lovely people working there who
enjoy talking about their personal history in this area. And I got 10% off the manicure because I showed
up yesterday to find the manager had scheduled me for a week from today in error. I poured a little
glass of wine and soon found 7 of the ubiquitous little bugs swimming in red.
EVERYTHING in the past week is a top travel tip and I am stone cold sober.
+Danny got a call from Carol. The death of their dear friend Sandy was not unexpected, but no less
tragic for the advance warning. Good thing he is returning tomorrow. I met Sandy. She was a joyful
person who fought hard to extend her life these past years. She loved going to movies so we should
all see a movie this week in Sandy’s honor. She owns the “Yarning for You” shop in Carlsbad, so we
could start knitting up a storm.
+We packed a picnic and drove to Peterson Park outside Northport. It feels like the edge of the Lake
Michigan world, kind of like going to the Neah Bay NW corner of Washington state. The rocky beach is
a great place to find Petosky stones, relics from an ancient coral bed. We found clam shell fossils and
I intend to bring one home.
Our picnic was hastily packed. We had bread and meats and cheese, not much else, leaving behind
lettuce, tomatoes, condiments, water…
+We looked for treats to send Carol in Leland.
+We again crossed the 45th parallel, a thrill every time. Not as thrilling as the Equator, “la mitad del
Mundo”, but I’d rather be in northern Michigan.
+Skip and Danny went canoeing; later Skip and Toni went kayaking. We got ourselves very wet.
Skip is currently lying down, nursing a hurt arm, acquired while putting the canoe away.
All this and our last day is not yet over. I am in the Admin building, must get back to do more stuff.
http://www.thehomesteadresort.com/
The sunset is brilliant orange and now lights up the entire horizon. We’ve had 6 perfect days.