Finger-Laking Good

Last weekend, Mr. Ginley and I ventured into the Finger Lakes region of New York for the East Coast celebration of a West Coast wedding. The bride and groom were our niece, Megan and her beloved, Liam. 

Like most of our road trips, this one involved Google maps and a lot of swearing.

Also, like most of our road trips, all's well that ends well. And the party in the park was definitely worth the trip. 

The actual exchanging of the vows took place last month among the redwoods in California. Our son and daughter-in-law represented for the family, but Mr. and I decided to attend the east coast celebration instead.

The bride wore her wedding dress, a lovely chiffon-skirted and lace topped dream that suited her nicely. The groom chose not to recreate his wedding day attire. A video of the ceremony was projected on the wall, and the slide show the bride's father put together was also shown, to the tears and applause of an appreciative crowd.

The weather cooperated, and we were able to feast and visit to our heart's content. The venue was Taughannock State park near Ithaca, on the Finger Lake known as Cayuga. It was a beautiful spot. The kids and dogs were able to run around and play like, well kids and dogs. The adults were able to visit and catch up. It was a picture-perfect event.

Alas, the day went by quickly, and we made our exit before darkness arrived. We only got lost once on the way back. And yes, it was dark way before we were back on the lighted freeway. 

But we made it back to civilization just fine, and with our happy memories intact.

Rocking the Bedazzler

"It looks like his wife got him a Bedazzler for Christmas," Mr. Ginley quipped last night.

The Bedazzler (photo credit below*)

We were watching episodes of The Midnight Special, a musical extravaganza of the 1970s that featured all of the popular pop/rock acts of the day.

The Bedazzler comment was made in reference to a member of Aerosmith, whose shirt sparkled with gewgaws. Back in the day, the Bedazzler was used to affix said gewgaws to items of clothing.

As well as sparkly shirts, vests, jackets and pants, performers were bedecked in large bellbottom slacks (which we used to call "elephant pants"), karate-style pantsuits, frilly shirts in yellows, pinks and baby blues and, of course, the requisite platform shoes. 

Plus lots and lots of guys with open shirts. (Not a bad thing for a young Peter Frampton, for example.)

While we enjoyed the trip down memory lane, and we were certainly guilty of some of the fashion OMGs we saw on display, it was all a bit sad, too, as the refrain became, "Is he/she still alive?" and "Whatever happened to...?" Along with, "Wasn't Graham Nash the lead vocalist for the Hollies at some point?"

So, as we listened to the music, I went a-googling.

"Which one of the Bee Gees is still around? (Barry Gibb). 

"Is Helen Reddy still alive?" (No)

"What song did War do besides Cisco Kid?" (Low Rider)

We also discussed the lyrics to Patti Labelle's Lady Marmalade, which was quite racy at the time but today wouldn't even raise an eyebrow. Mr. Ginley, having mastered three years of French I, translated Voulez-Vous Coucher Avec Moi to: "Will you sleep with me?" 

John Denver did a duet with Mama Cass. Ironically, it was I'm Leaving on a Jet Plane (although John Denver's final flight, as I recall, was a prop job).

I also commented on how one guitarist (who shall remain nameless because I don't know his name) must have a little willy because it seemed to me he was trying to overcompensate with an electric guitar that was an über-fancy double-neck behemoth.

And on we went, late into the evening, skipping over a bunch of the artists but savoring the likes of Peter Frampton, Robert Palmer and Blondie.

It was fun traveling back in time to our "yutes" (as Joe Pesci pronounced it in My Cousin Vinnie). But a little sad that so many of our fellow travelers are gone.

And I'll never again wear elephant pants or platform shoes. 

I guess it's true that every cloud has a silver lining.

*This image, which was originally posted to Flickr, was uploaded to Commons using Flickr upload bot on 25 October 2013, 21:38 by Ke4roh. On that date, it was confirmed to be licensed under the terms of the license indicated.

Bowling for Art

At the Rocky River Public Library there are several displays of artwork created by Cowan Pottery, a company founded in 1927 by R. Guy Cowan.

Photo attribution below*

The collection is housed in the library as an homage to the pottery company, which was located in Rocky River, Ohio. One of the pieces that kept attracting my attention was a bowl entitled "New Year's Eve in New York" created by Viktor Schrekengost. 

My curiosity getting the better of me – as it is wont to do – I took a book out of the library about Cowan Pottery and sought to get the whole story about the bowl.

In 1931, shortly after Viktor began working at Cowan Pottery, a request came in from a gallery in New York for a punch bowl featuring a "New Yorkish" theme. The patron who made the request was not named. Viktor chose to take on the project.

In Viktor's mind, New York was all about the nightlife. He saw the city in blue and black, lights and jazz music. He was inspired by Harlem's Cotton Club. And Josef Binder, an artist renowned for his stunning poster designs. 

In Cubist style, Viktor created the Jazz Bowl, employing the sgraffito technique, which he'd learned in Vienna. Sgraffito is created by covering a white clay base with a black clay. The design is then etched into the black clay, exposing the white base beneath. The bowl was decorated in stylized images that celebrated the Jazz Age: stars and neon signs, skyscrapers, ships, a bottle of Champagne and a cocktail tray. Once the design work was completed, the punch bowl was glazed in Egyptian Blue. 

The completed piece was shipped off to New York. In response, a letter came from the patron, who turned out to be Eleanor, wife of then-New York governor Franklin Roosevelt. Eleanor so loved the bowl, she commissioned two more. One was to be placed in the Roosevelts' Hyde Park Home, the other in the White House. (Presumably, she was confident FDR would be living there soon. Two years later, he was.)

Viktor ultimately crafted ten of these bowls, although not all were in the Jazz style. One featured a fox hunting scene with matching plates, each plate with a different rider. To find the fox, the bowl had to be emptied – the fox was situated at the bottom of the punch bowl.

Now that I knew the history of the Jazz bowl, I became intrigued with Vicktor himself.  

Victor Schreckengost was born in Sebring, Ohio, in 1906. At an early age, he followed in his father's and uncles' potter-professioned footsteps, making toys out of clay and using crayons as the glaze.

At The Cleveland Institute of Art, he earned his diploma in design in 1929. He studied for a short time at the Kunstgewerbeschule in Vienna, where "Victor" became "Viktor." He returned to Cleveland and in 1930, joined the faculty at the School of Art. Three years later, he started the industrial design program there, which was the first of its kind in the U.S. Generations of industrial designers were taught by Viktor, including a man named Joe Oros, who was the chief designer of the 1965 Ford Mustang. 

Viktor was called to serve his country during World War II. While in the Navy, he aided in the design of radar-dectection systems and later, artificial limbs.

Espousing a credo of "function first, form after," Viktor Schreckengost designed a wide range of everyday items. Some of his more well-known pieces include:

• 1930s: A china pattern for American Limoges called "Flower Shop"

• 1933: The first cab-over-engine truck

• 1930s+: Children's streamlined pedal cars

• Mid-1960s: Sears Spaceliner bike

Other everyday items he designed were baby walkers, golf carts, flashlights, furniture, fans and lawn mowers.

Viktor passed away at the age of 101 in Florida. At the time of his death, he was an emeritus professor at the Cleveland Institute of Art, where he'd taught for 78 years.

It's theorized he would have been world-famous had he abandoned the shores of Lake Erie for, say, The Big Apple. But I have a sneaking suspicion Viktor was pretty happy with the way his life turned out.

What a great ride, and a truly cool Cleveland native.

*This image was originally posted to Flickr by Tim Evanson at https://flickr.com/photos/23165290@N00/39517173152(archive). It was reviewed on 6 January 2019 by FlickreviewR 2 and was confirmed to be licensed under the terms of the cc-by-sa-2.0.

Hating Meeces to Pieces

"Why does she just stare at it, why doesn't she kill it?" asked Mr. Ginley for the umpteenth time.

I explained once again that our cat is not a mouser or a bug killer. She will stare in the general direction of where her "prey" is located, like a lab technician stares at germs in a microscope. Never really engaging in the whole activity, just observing. She'll look at you, look at the prey, look back at you. Like she's done her job, and it's up to you to dispatch the offending critter.

So off I went to the store to acquire a mouse trap. On my first trip, I had a choice of two types. One was the traditional version you see in old cartoons. A little too graphic for me. The second, which I chose, was semi-covered. I went with that one.

I went home and set it up behind the stove, where the last-known sighting had occurred. Later in the evening, as we sat watching television, I heard a snap.

"What was that?" Mr. Ginley inquired.

And just like that, Mr. (or Mrs.) Mouse was dispatched to the great beyond. 

Unfortunately, given that the trap was somewhat exposed, I was witness to a pair of beady eyes, suspended in the throes of sudden death, that will haunt me for quite some time.

The mate to the now-deceased vermin turned up at 1:30 a.m. in a garbage can. Mr. was able to take care of him/her without using a device. But the next day, I went to a different store to look for a new set of traps.

This time, I found a model that's completely closed. So if any of these critters show up and take the peanut butter bait, I won't have to look into its accusing eyeballs. 

I'm knocking wood...so far, no more bodies. Given it had been several years between sightings, I hope we don't have to deal with this problem again for another 10 years or so (if ever). 

Critters are free to roam outside. But if they come in my house, all bets are off.

I'm a stone cold (rodent) killer. 

As long as I can't see their eyes.

Day Break

Every morning I wake up and go over everything I need to do that day.

What articles am I going to write? Do I have any appointments to keep? Any errands to run? Bills to pay?

All this consumes my waking moments until Maggie Cat starts banging her head against mine, and I drag my sorry ass out of bed to start the day.

This morning, I got up and fed Maggie. Passing the windows to the backyard, I heard the crickets still at it, and Mr. and Mrs. Cardinal chirping back and forth to one another. I  went back to bed and snoozed a little more, then I rolled over and looked out the window. It was Saturday-morning quiet. A little bit of traffic noise and a choo choo. But mostly just birds. 

And a glorious sky.

I lay on my side for some time and watched the clouds shift and crawl across the heavens, the sun winking in and out like a child's peek-a-boo. Instead of reviewing my itinerary, I watched the specs that were birds soaring up and about, and I wondered what it would be like to fly. 

And wouldn't it be so cool to take a train someplace today. Where would I go? Whom would I see?

There are times when I miss having cable television and Netflix. 

And then there are mornings like this, when Mother N. provides all the entertainment I need.

Plumb Amazing

She was the perfect foil for the saccharine-sweet Shirley Temple. Franklin Roosevelt admired her ability to mimic him. And she sold a lot of cleanser. 

Jane Withers, a child star whose career took some interesting twists and turns, passed on this week at the age of 95.

Pushed by her mother, a wannabe actress, Jane Withers began in vaudeville at the age of 2. By the time she reached the age of 4, she was starring in her own radio show called Dixie's Dainty Dewdrop. Her specialty was imitating celebrities and other famous people. 

At 6 1/2, Withers headed to Hollywood, where she started applying for the roles that would make Shirley Temple a star. Temple, with her buttery curls and icky-wicky sweetness, was the soothing balm to a country dealing with the Great Depression. It turned out that Withers was the perfect salty to Temple's sweet. 

The two came together in Bright Eyes, with Temple playing the poor little orphan to Withers' bratty rich girl, a character that must have been a hoot to perform. Eight-year-old Withers bangs on the piano, chases Temple on her tricycle, makes rat-a-tat machine gun noises and tears a doll apart so Temple can't have it.

Withers appeared in several films during the remainder of her childhood, including one with W.C. Fields. Playing out a 7-year contract with Twentieth Century Fox, Withers gradually eased away from her bratty persona, acting in films, doing hilarious impressions and performing song-and-dance routines throughout the 1930s. 

There were bit parts and voiceovers. A leading role in a low-budget flick. And a hiatus during which she had three children and focused on family. One marriage ended, another began, and Jane returned to the screen with a role in the blockbuster film Giant. Other films followed, but it was TV that saved Withers' career.

From 1963 to 1974, Withers was the spokesperson for Comet cleanser. As Josephine the Plumber, she played a friendly, down-to-earth character who demonstrated the power of Comet to clean stubborn stains. Some have said she was the precursor for Progressive Insurance's "Flo."

Withers made appearances in a number of lightweight TV sitcoms in the 1960s and 1970s, and she took on voiceover work for Disney. Occasionally, she did interviews and appearances at conventions. 

Withers' second husband, with whom she had two children, was killed in a plane crash in 1968. She married again in 1985. Her third husband passed away in 2013.

Outside her acting career, Jane Withers took part in charitable work and animal rescue activities. She taught Sunday school. And Withers collected a ton of movie memorabilia, including a pair of Fred Astaire's (autographed) dancing shoes and a dining table owned by Mary Pickford.

Withers' daughter summed it up nicely: 

"My mother was such a special lady. She lit up a room with her laughter, but she especially radiated joy and thankfulness when talking about the career she so loved and how lucky she was."

Benchmarks and Bookends

My mom was the same age when I was born as I was when my son was born.

This fact has given me pause from time to time, as I consider where my mom and I were in relation to where my son and I are now.

At my current age, my mom was working at Hill's department store part-time and my dad was nearing retirement. I had just moved to Alexandria, Virginia, having accepted a job at Kay Jewelers, which had bought out J.B. Robinson. Mr. Ginley followed me there later in the year after his stint at JBR came to an end. 

Flashing forward to the present, my son started his dream job at about the same age as when I was moving to Virginia. 

All of this is apropos of nothing, I supposed. It's just that we always think of our parents as being older than we are. It never feels like we're going to catch up with them. But here I am, facing the same challenges they did at this stage of the game.

I heard the Simon & Garfunkel song, Old Friends the other day. And the words struck me, Can you imagine us years from today, sharing a park bench quietly, how terribly strange to be seventy.

Simon & Garfunkel are seventy-nine.

Well, time flies and there you are. I guess the moral of the story is, don't squander your time. It's so cliché but it really does fly. 

I confess I didn't cut the hedges this week. Instead, I went to a cruise-in where I bopped to old music, chomped a cheeseburger, savored some ice cream and admired vintage automobiles, which are pure art, as far as I'm concerned. Today, I went to Lakewood Arts Festival and strolled among throngs of other art fans looking to enjoy an event that didn't happen last year because of you-know-what. Not exactly setting the world on fire, I grant you that.

Still, I'm not quite ready to sit on a park bench, lost in my overcoat, waiting for the sunset.

There's time enough yet for that, I think.

(Old Friends, lyrics by Paul Simon)