Monthly Archives: November 2014

The Little Signs that Keep the Wrecking Ball at Bay

17 Monday Nov 2014

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trains

BY JULIE SEYLER

Things change. All the time. Sometimes we know it, sometimes we don’t, but after becoming repeatedly aware that nothing will be the way it used to be, we wise up and try to see and feel that moment before it flits into thin air. New York City is the epitome of a fleeting landscape. Since it was populated by the Dutch in the 1600s, it has morphed. These days it seems to be at lightning speed. Blink and that brick tenement from 1920 is gone and a shiny glass mega-structure with a cantilevered overhang stands in its place.

But it’s not only buildings that vanish, the little details that mark the space and place of the past are also swept away with each renovation and generation. Things like signs. Signs that speak to a different era.

The other day as I flew through Penn Station, I stopped to take in the red white and blue subway tiles that directed a traveler to the Pennsylvania Railroad.  I saw men in gray flannel suits and women in gloves as they dashed to catch the 5:06 to Middletown. Inevitably the sign, like the gray flannel suits and gloves, will disappear, but knowing I know it existed gives me solace when all else around me succumbs to a wrecking ball.

Starting the Travel Bug Early

13 Thursday Nov 2014

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Bryce loves Barcelona!

Bryce loves Barcelona!

BY FRANK TERRANELLA

When I think of all the places I would like to see before I can no longer travel (or remember traveling), high on the list is Spain. You see, as the song says, I’ve never been to Spain, but I’ve been to Oklahoma. Yet I’ve always wanted to go to Spain. I studied Spanish history in college and have always been fascinated by the Arab influence there. The architecture and the art, not to mention the food and the climate, all beckon to me.

In fact, the only reason I didn’t get there when I did my college summer trek through Europe is that Spain was not covered by the StudentRail pass that allowed me to get on any train in any other European country. Maybe it was because dictator Francisco Franco was still ruling Spain at the time. I don’t know. But whatever the reason, the StudentRail pass didn’t work there, and so I didn’t get to Spain in 1972. And in the years since, I have not had an opportunity (either business or pleasure) to travel to Spain, even though my job causes me to communicate with people in Spain every day.

This is why it is particularly hard for me to take that my 9-month-old grandson Bryce has now been to Spain. His parents got a passport for him and took him along on their recent vacation to Barcelona. My wife and I had volunteered to babysit while my son and his wife traveled, but they decided that they wanted to experience travel with a baby. By all reports, the travel went well. My grandson did not terrorize other passengers on the overnight trip over by screaming or otherwise behaving like the baby he is. Instead, he seemed to take the airplane ride in stride.

Of course, unlike adults, babies take most things in stride. That shouldn’t surprise us because if you think about it, babies experience new things every day — new sights, new smells, new tastes, new sounds. So something new like an airliner is all in a baby’s normal day. At least he didn’t have to wear a costume like he had to do for his first Halloween a week earlier. And a new country where people speak a language other than English is no sweat to someone who doesn’t speak any language yet.

Actually, my wife and I also took a baby on vacation in 1986. The 11-month-old was Bryce’s father and the trip was to Orlando and Disney World. David did just fine back then and so it did not really surprise us that Bryce also did well. But like his father, Bryce will have no memory of his first plane ride. He will have no memory of Spain. And that’s OK. He has a lifetime to go back.

Since like many young parents we took our children on lots of trips when they were very young, we know that Bryce will get tired of being told that he’s been to Spain. He will complain, as our children did, that it doesn’t count if you don’t remember it. And I guess that’s true. And that may be my opportunity. I can volunteer to take a 12-year-old Bryce back to Spain so that I finally get there. I just hope that I’m not too old to remember it.

Suceava and The Painted Monasteries of Bucovina

10 Monday Nov 2014

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Sucevita Monastery

Sucevita Monastery

By JULIE SEYLER

Once we decided on Romania, I knew we had to see The Painted Monasteries of Bucovina, a UNESCO World Heritage, described by the Romanian Tourist Office as being:

Among the most picturesque treasures of Romania … decorated with elaborate 15th and 16th century frescoes featuring portraits of saints and prophets, scenes from the life of Jesus, images of angels and demons, and heaven and hell.

While such themes are not uncommon in Christian places of worship, what made this destination especially enticing was the fact that these monasteries are painted on the outside, (as well as the inside), and the stories they tell have survived winters, summers and wars (at least on the southern non-wind facing side of the buildings) since the pigments were applied in the mid-fifteenth century. So what if it meant a two hour flight from Bucharest to Iasi (pronounced Yash, not I-AS-I), a two hour train ride to the town of Suceava and a six hour train ride back to Bucharest departing at 11:00 P.M.? If we were heading to Romania, we (meaning me) had to travel to northwest Romania to see painted medieval monasteries.

Moldavia

Moldavia

The Romanian Tourist Office did not disappoint. The 2-day journey for the 6-hour whirl around the Moldavian countryside delivered in every way. Besides the raison d’etre of the monasteries, there was this bucolic, open landscape of mountains and sheep farms, apple trees and horse-drawn carts. We even saw one of the estates owned by Prince Charles, who has a particular affection for Moldavia, because his ancestral heritage includes Romanian royalty.

In Suceava, where I had booked us into the Villa Alice, a picture postcard of perfect quaintness, the concierge was most helpful in arranging for a driver and a guide to transport us from monastery to monastery because there are about five of them that are must sees: Humor, Voronet, Moldovita, Suceavita and Dragomirna, (which actually is not painted).

But before we started out we had the most grand homemade spread. Laid out were fried eggs and bacon and sausage and home baked toast and yogurt and cheese and ham and fruit and olives lovingly presented by the matriarch of the hotel. Her son lives in Queens and since we were from New York there was an immediate connection and she intended to feed us, very well. We sent him a photo by text to say hello.

Me and AliceMeanwhile, her grandson Chris, a graduate student in political science at the University in Suceava and a wedding videographer, was going to give us our tour. (He kept trying to pose us in classic wedding photo mode before each monastery).Chris and Humor

It would take years for me to understand the nuances and individuality of each monastery, but this is unnecessary to appreciate their grandeur, beauty and uniqueness.  Chris was wonderful in explaining the history and pointing out the highlights.

What they have in common is their dual function of being spiritual places for worship and a visual testament to the history of Moldavia and its struggle to defend itself against the invading armies of the Ottomans. Thus each has its version of communicating the path to heaven and the temptation of hell and the battles against the Turks.

Detail of wall of Sucevita showing how difficult it is to climb the ladder to heaven

Detail of wall of Sucevita showing how difficult it is to climb the ladder to heaven

A depiction of war as heads are severed. Sucevita

A depiction of war as heads are severed. Sucevita

We learned that Stefan cel Mare or Stephen the Great was the grand monarch that defended Moldavia from invading armies over and over again. According to Chris, each time he did, he built a church to thank his power to be. His son Petru Vares continued the tradition and thus, a common theme emerged of the King, with his family in attendance, thanking Jesus for his beneficence by a gift of a monastery.

Stefan presents the church

Stefan presents the church

We saw, and learned, that each of the monasteries is associated with a dominant color. Red for Humor, green for Sucevita, yellow for Moldovita and blue for Voronet, but most significantly the blue of Voronet, which mimics the sky at dusk on the most perfect day in autumn, has been compared to the red of Rubens and the green of Veronese.

Partial rendering of the western wall at Voronet showing the path to Heaven,

Partial rendering of the western wall at Voronet showing the path to Heaven.

The Blue of Voronet

The Blue of Voronet which has not been accurately captured in this photo.

The last monastery we visited that day was Dragomirna, built in 1609. The style is different. The exterior architecture more detailed and no longer painted.

Drgomira

So here is a mini tour of what we saw starting at Humor, where we climbed the fortress to look over the countryside and ending in Dragomirna, where we heard the bells being played to announce the evening prayers.  It was a fine ending to a fine day and boarding the night train back to Bucharest turned out to be much less adverse than we anticipated. Plus, it signified the onset of the next adventure: Transylvania and the Land of Vlad Tepes, aka Count Dracula.

Looking at Humor from the fortress that defended it

Looking at Humor from the fortress that defended it

Detail of painting from Humor

Detail of painting from Humor

Closer view of Humor

Closer view of Humor

The countryside of Moldavia

The countryside of Moldavia

Another view of Voronet with the western wall.

Another view of Voronet with the western wall.

Moldovita Monastery

Moldovita Monastery

Another view of Moldavita

Another view of Moldavita

Defending the town. Moldavita Monastery

Defending the town. Moldavita Monastery

Woman at Moldavita Monastery

Woman at Moldavita Monastery

Sucevita Monastery

Sucevita Monastery

Sucevita. Wall detail and window

Sucevita. Wall detail and windows

Detail of Dragomirna

Detail of Dragomirna

The nuns play the bells. A little protege watches and listens. Dragomira.

The nuns play the bells. A little protege watches and listens. Dragomirna.

 

Preparing the bed on the night train to Bucharest

Preparing the bed on the night train to Bucharest

Blacked-Out and Bottomless

06 Thursday Nov 2014

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culprit

The culprit.

BY LOIS DESOCIO

Once the temperature officially shuts the door on summer, when I trade bare legs for black stockings (which warrants slipping into my favorite, thigh-gripping black slip), I’ve more than once forgotten to put my skirt on (which is usually black). It seems the more black I have to put on, the more often I forget to put it all on before I walk out the door. And often, everything I’m wearing from the waist down is black.

This is the hanger-version, shaped into what I was wearing as I made my way out my door on my way to work the other day:

photo-27

The culprit with a top.

I looked in the mirror before I left — all good. I even wrapped up the whole outfit with a funky black belt. But looks in the mirror can be deceiving. I saw my slip as a skirt.

This has happened before. But I’ve always caught myself before I made it past the front door. Always. Until now. I had even adopted a back-up plan to make sure I’m dressed when I leave the house. I do a quick, full-body, mental scan from top to bottom, every day, as I’m walking to the train or to my car in the driveway: Earrings? Yes. Top? Yes. Shoes? (I’m a barefoot girl — I drive without them and have inadvertently started driving away without them, and have had to go back to get them. But usually–yes.) Bottom? Damn!

This time I got all the way to the car, thinking I was dressed. It wasn’t until I sat down behind the wheel did I notice that my “skirt” was hiking its way up to inappropriate. Because it wasn’t my skirt. My skirt was still in the closet.

skirt

Slipped out the door without this.

“Write everything down!” I’m told by friends and family. I try. When I do write things down, it’s usually on the fly, so more often than not, I can’t find where I wrote anything down.

“Put everything in your phone!” I’ve been reprimanded. I already sleep with my phone, that’s as far as I’ll go.

I will hold out as long as I can, and will leave it up to my aging hippocampus to (at least try!) to never forget — like it used to. I fear if I don’t, I will lose more than my skirt.

Of course, because I refuse to write everything down, or because I forget where I wrote it down, I forget to do lots of things (pay bills, make an important phone call, put on my skirt). So I did write this down, to remind me to embrace my black-outs: “Forgetfulness is a lapse in memory. It’s not a loss. It’s normal.”

Followed by the maxim that I hurl at all my over-50 mishaps: “What’s the worst that can happen!”

My 81-year-old mom told me recently that as she was getting dressed for a doctor’s appointment, she checked three times before she left the house to make sure her “slacks were on the right way,” because that is not a given with her. Once in the exam room, as she was getting undressed, she saw immediately that her slacks were on the wrong way. The back was in the front. Surely, a snippet of what lies ahead for me.

But I figure as long as I still, eventually, remember what I forgot — like my skirt — I’m still solvent. Normal. In the black.

My (Un) Bucket List

05 Wednesday Nov 2014

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IMG_0293

BY FRANK TERRANELLA

One of the realities we over-50s face is the reality of time. We all sooner or later come to view time as a precious commodity. It’s something that we are going to run out of sooner or later. So it’s time to make some hard choices.

For example, of all the places we can travel to in the world, which do we need to make happen, and which are a lower priority? The number of future vacations is limited; it’s time to focus on the important ones.

Which activities do we need to try and which are not important? This is why we have bucket lists.

Drawing up a bucket list requires making some choices. Some things go on the list and some don’t. So for every bucket list, there’s an un-bucket list — a list of things we have not done that we’ve decided to pass on (at least until after we complete our bucket list). In that spirit, I have compiled my own un-bucket list. It’s just mine and I don’t expect that anyone will agree with all of it. But I think it’s a useful exercise to list some things that I have never done that I absolutely don’t have to do before I die:

1. Hike the Appalachian Trail. I have visited every state in which the Appalachian Trail travels and I don’t need to hike it.
2. Golf my age. I’ve played golf and I like it, but I don’t need to shoot a score to match my age. Anyway, I don’t think that human beings live that long.
3. Scuba Diving. This is something I might have done when I was younger, but the boat has sailed, so to speak, on this one.
4. Sky Diving. I don’t care how old George Bush was when he did it. It’s not natural to jump out of an airplane. But then again, it’s not natural to fly. Of course, it is natural to fall, but falling several thousand feet does not strike me as fun.
5. Water skiing. I used to drive a motor boat for others to water ski, but never wanted to do it myself. I still don’t.
6. Surfing. I love to watch, but this is definitely a young person’s sport. My balance and reflexes are not what they used to be.
7. Rock climbing. I swear these people have a death wish.
8. Visit Asia. I’ve visited Turkey and so I’ve technically been to Asia but I have too many other places I want to see in the world before Asia (including Australia, South America and Africa), so if I have to miss a continent, this is the one.
9. Run a marathon. I don’t even want to drive 26 miles any more if I don’t have to.
10. Go to the moon. When I was a kid, a trip to the moon in my lifetime was a given. People spoke of honeymooning on the moon some day. Now, this is one dream that I have come to accept will never be realized, and I’m OK with it. But I’d still like to orbit the earth!

The Bullied Often Stand Alone

04 Tuesday Nov 2014

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Bullies are bad
BY BOB SMITH

When I was in junior high school, we looked up to, and generally feared, the upperclassmen who were in tenth grade or higher — all between 15 and 17 years old. Some of them were shaving already, some driving, and if you believed their stories, all were having rampant sex with every hot girl in town.

And to demonstrate their dominance over the pimply horde that comprised the seventh grade, the nastier ones among them would administer “wedgies” to any unsuspecting kid they caught near the railroad tracks on the way home. It worked like this: you got behind the victim, reached inside the back of his pants, and grabbed the waistband of his underwear. This was the late sixties, long before the “homeboy” look, when you’d actually have to reach inside someone’s pants to find underwear.

It was also before kids started wearing boxer shorts or designer underwear in exotic patterns and colors — most, if not all, the boys in junior high were wearing tightie whities. So you’d reach in, grab the elastic waistband, and yank up as high and hard as you could, causing the victim’s underwear to lodge firmly in his butt crack. Thus the name “wedgie.”

A fairly innocent (if crude) prank, you might think. But then came the “atomic wedgie,” a particularly nasty variant invented by the more sadistic upperclassmen. In the atomic wedgie, the perpetrator would yank on the waistband so persistently, and with so much force, that the elastic ripped away from the fabric of the briefs. Once critical mass was achieved and the waistband ripped off, the pressure of the wedgie subsided.

However, the victim was left not only humiliated and in pain (the wedgie put extreme pressure on the entire groin area), but he was now wearing an elastic band above his waist and saggy, ruined briefs below. And he had to puzzle-out as he walked home how he was going to explain to mom what had happened to his new BVDs without admitting that he’d been bullied, and had taken it like a wuss.

Happily, I was never on either the giving or the receiving end of a wedgie — atomic or otherwise. But I’m ashamed to admit that I witnessed a fairly brutal wedgie being adminstered to one of my classmates. The bullies — three burly wise guys — were repeatedly pulling on the waistband so hard the kid would briefly leave his feet, crying and screaming for them to stop.

But they were trying to “go atomic,” and his underwear wouldn’t rip. They must have yanked him up and down nine times, each time hoisting him off the ground and eliciting pitiful wails and cries for mercy. He’d dropped his schoolbooks, and his shoes were scuffed and dirty from being dragged across the rocks by the railroad tracks.

He looked to me once for help, but I just stood there. I rationalized my inaction — he was an acquaintance, not a friend. With three big guys against us, I couldn’t possibly make a difference. It was going to stop soon in any event. But the truth is, I was terrified of getting beaten up, or of becoming a wedgie victim myself. So I did nothing.

The older kids grew tired of the game and ran off, laughing, as quickly as they had come upon us. I helped him pick up his books, and find his glasses, and told him I was sorry I didn’t help him. He said he was all right, and that he understood — he just asked that I not tell anyone about it. We walked the rest of the way home in glum silence.

Bullies today terrorize, belittle and threaten their classmates online, or they post embarrassing pictures for the world to see. In the online context, the victim can feel utterly alone — there’s not even a sympathetic (if cowardly) friend standing by to console you, and help you clean up afterwards. There’s no way to ask anyone not to tell. The story’s out there beyond control in the blink of an eye, and it persists forever.

Bullying by schoolkids has always been brutal and disgusting. Now, however, in today’s electronically enhanced form, it’s downright dangerous.

AT&T Presents … Your Wireless Bill

03 Monday Nov 2014

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By JULIE SEYLER

A new video popped into my inbox. It was from AT&T. It is called Your Personal Video Bill. It opens with a warm welcome:

Hello Julie

And the journey begins. I am taken on an audio-visual trip of what I owe this month, starting with Bill at a Glance. It moves along to highlight my previous balance, as the narrator soothingly points out the new balance I have to fork over to stay connected to the digital universe.

The next scene focuses on my Monthly Charges, and the breakdown for voice, data, and messaging services all brightly presented in varying hues of magenta, blue and yellow. Bouncing balloons appear and disappear in the background.

Monthly chargesNext up are Plan Changes and a Summary of all that has gone before. It’s the cozier way of being hit with a bill to pay. And for the finale, a little free advertising to keep me enticed by the AT&T family. Just click and I may be able to lower my bill.

you cn lower your bill

Does AT&T care that I have no interest in a multimedia presentation of my bill? Ha. Ha. Ha.

The idea of the old fashioned email may have been staid, but it was oh so efficient and cheap. Open and close. Now I am an unwilling viewer of a 2 minute 17 second segment about my expenditures with AT&T. Given the banality of the content, and no doubt the significant amount of money that was invested to create these individual video bills, it strikes me as an unnecessary waste of advertising dollars. Doesn’t that ultimately translate into less dividends being paid to their stockholders? Hmmm, just wondering. (Of course at the moment they are also being sued for their false advertiising claims about “unlimited” data plans. It seems like AT&T needs to eject the head of advertising.)