Category Archives: memories

That was Just Jan

memories, ,

I learned that my friend and colleague Jan Rosenberg had died from another friend and colleague, Sue Eleuterio, in a text about a week ago while I was having an otherwise happy day with my daughter who was visiting for the holidays. M.E. didn’t remember Jan too well, but here they are, in the only photo I could ever remember taking of Jan (at left, at a conference in Bloomington circa. 1992, Jan at right, long time secretary of the IU Folklore Department Velma Carmichael at the left).

When someone dies, you always immediately think of the last time you spoke to them. I called Jan around Christmas, and after playing telephone tag for awhile as we often did, we connected and chatted about her research, her book currently at the publishers, and the next thing she wanted to do. And about how hard going to dialysis a few times a week was for her but how nice the drivers who took her there were.

Lately, our conversations started as strong as usual, the same old Jan, a mixture of complaining, complimenting, laughing, and talking seriously about our work as folklorists. But I could tell that she was getting tired when she started not making as much sense, admitting to not having a lot of stamina. That final call ended abruptly when she said “she had to go.” I assumed she would call back at some point in the future when she felt up to it. Should I have tried to call her again later to make sure she was okay? Probably.

What’s the next thing you think about when someone dies? When I thought about Jan, I remembered that we had not seen each other very often, usually at American Folklore Society meetings where we’d steal away for coffee or, for her, a beer (in my memory, she rarely ate a decent meal, so lunch or dinner were usually not on the docket). She did visit us back when we lived in Olney, Maryland, staying for several days while she did research at the Library of Congress. (She had driven in her white truck with her dog, whose name I don’t recall. I don’t recall where she was living at the time, but it was a far piece. She didn’t like flying.)

I remembered the many long phone calls over the years, during which we usually hashed over the state of Folklore and Education endlessly. Why were folklorists always “reinventing the wheel” of folklore and ed? Why was something so obviously important (and with many historic antecedents, as Jan had documented over the years) still ignored by most mainstream educators? What could we do about it, if anything?

I recall one phone call, which lasted most of the way between Arlington, VA and Harrisburg, PA where I was driving to a Middle Atlantic Folklorists Association conference. So, at least two hours, which was common. I don’t recall everything we were talking about, but it certainly made the drive more fun, to have Jan there virtually in the car with me. There was no such thing as a short phone call with Jan.

I recall, when we did get together in person, she smelled like the heavy smoker she was. I remember her laugh, which was hearty and frequent, even when being expressed more in exasperation than mirth, and usually ended in her smoker’s cough. She had a deep sense of the irony in things. She cut to the chase. She was kind, curious, fiercely loyal to her friends, compassionate, and stubborn. Quirky, individualistic, and very much her own person.

Her expression in this photo is a little hard to read. A bit of amusement, a bit of tenderness, a bit of uncertainty. That was just Jan.

Rest in Peace Elinor

Elinor Belanus, ,

Since mid-November, it’s been a rocky road for our small family. While my brother in law, Bob McFadden, was in home hospice in Hilton Head, SC, my mom had two trips to the Hilton Head hospital. Bob passed away on December 2. Mom rallied a bit, able to come to my sister’s home from the nursing home for Christmas Eve via wheelchair van.

It was clear, though, that she was in decline, very frail and not taking pleasure in much of anything. I went home after Christmas, but was back for Bob’s memorial service in mid-January. The plan was to stay through my mom’s 96th birthday on January 28, but it became even more clear that she was not doing well, staying in bed almost exclusively and increasingly confused and in pain.

I stayed, and my sister and I went every day to visit, often finding her sleeping fitfully, or just plain knocked out by the strong pain killers she needed to make her some level of comfortable. On her birthday, we brought her favorite Chinese take-out and a decorated cake; she spent the day in a semi-stupor and didn’t get to enjoy any of it.

She lasted almost another two weeks, tenuously holding on to life, passing away finally on the morning of February 7. So sad, but finally at peace.

She was not always the easiest person to love, but we did regardless. She will be remembered for her sense of humor (sometimes a bit bawdy); her colorful sayings, many of which I find myself using as they are so ingrained; her love of cooking and food, which was hard to see her deprived of when she started losing her taste buds and desire to eat even the most tempting dishes; and her feistiness in general. She was mentally sharp up to the later stages of her decline.

Here are is a slide show with some fairly recent photos from my digital stock; there are so many more from the days of print photos of course which I will get around to digitizing some day maybe. I may do another blog later that delving into her earlier life, as I whiled away hospital hours during her first stay by doing a recorded interview. Hours of memory cannot be condensed into a few words or photos, but it helps to share some of this with friends. Cherish your loved ones, for all their faults, all the days of their lives.

  • Collage using some of over 100 cards she received for her 95th birthday. Some of you might recognize the ones you sent!
  • She loved her seafood, including the lobster special at Reilly’s Pub.
  • On her 90th birthday, we gave her 90 presents!
  • Granddaughter Mary Elinor (M.E.) Francis enjoyed learning about her mom’s early exploits through photos.
  • A visit to DC before she stopped traveling much; M.E. in full teenage mode.
  • Hilton Head “bestie” Betty Sebastian, her next door neighbor, was her game and pizza might buddy while they still lived in their homes.
  • Decorating Christmas cookies was a holiday ritual.
  • The cookie master.
  • Flower arranging at her assisted living facility was a hit. She did have a flair for it.
  • A cookie decorating session in assisted living which I masterminded.
  • M.E.’s high school graduation in 2009.
  • A trip with my sister to St. Augustine, FL when she was still able to travel.
  • She loved presents, giving and getting. A happy holiday moment.
  • Hamming it up for the camera. Bye, Mom!
  • At the “home nail salon” with M.E. as the nail technician.

(Musing) On the Rocks

memories, rocks,

In lieu of having anything even vaguely exciting to blog about lately, I decided to riff on some rocks. This came to mind when my husband and I took at walk around a Falls Church neighborhood one afternoon this week and noticed more than one group of painted rocks. This seems to have become a pandemic pastime far and wide, which even my 95-year old mother expressed interest in trying recently.

This made me think about rocks in general, and the many rocks that I may have encountered in the past year or so. So, naturally, I went to my Google photos and searched “rocks” to see what the algorithm would come up with. Mostly this involved photos of rocks in parks in Pennsylvania, where we spend a lot of time this past year. Pennsylvania, as I have mused in this blog in the past, is full of rocks.

Among the photos on rock themes, however, a few popped up that really reminded me of the sense of loss of the past one year+, some of it having to do with the pandemic, but some of it having to do with some dear friends we lost this year to non-pandemic illnesses.

And so, I offer a small photo essay on rocks, loss, remembrance, and hope for a better rest of the year and years to come.

Easter themed rock garden in Falls Church invites people to take/add a rock (or shell?). Painted rocks are popping up all over the Northern Virginia suburban landscape.
Another group of painted rocks at a local park. Not so curated but fitting for the setting!
When one has a lot of rocks in one’s garden they must be put to good use. There’s never a dearth of rocks to hold down garden cloth in our Pennsylvania garden. This is the start of last year’s garden. The tomatoes did well but those brussell sprouts never thrived I fear.
Travel with buddies was a big loss this year. Arlene and I missed out on a lot of ginseng fieldwork and its associated adventures in the Appalachian mountains, such as this one in the Great Smokey Mountain National Park in summer 2019.
I was most saddened by this photo of Steve and our friend Tarik, who passed away suddenly this past year. As a prelude to our trip to Mexico, we visited with him and his family in the L.A. area, including with his daughter Madeeha who lived with us while interning at the Smithsonian. Our families have become fast friends and Tarik’s loss was a real blow for everyone who knew him.
I like the idea of being commemorated “on the rocks.” I have no idea who this gentleman was but the location of the plaque is near our cabin in PA at The Pulpit, where hang gliders and parasails launch in good weather.
Rock graffiti on the banks of the mighty Potomac, below Chain Bridge. Nuff said.

Cold Comfort

poetry, refrigerator art, refrigerator art, ,

Since we haven’t been traveling anywhere interesting, or really doing much of anything new and exciting, I have resorted to turning inward for new blog material. Today’s blog, therefore, is all about what our refrigerator in Pennsylvania is sporting these days.

Some of the stuff on the fridge has been there for years, such as the recipe for crepes, and some of the magnets. When our daughter and her friends go up for their annual New Year’s Eve celebration, new items often appear. The ample poetry magnets (two sets, merged) make for an ever-shifting literary experience.

When we visited last week, we hadn’t been there since December. The new items included a blue paper snowflake and the drawing of two cats in cowboy outfits roasting some mice on sticks over a campfire. (Sorry, mice fans.)

What’s on your fridge? Chances are it is full of wild and wonderful magnets, stickers, and works of art. If it isn’t, I’m not sure we can be friends.

This was one of many art snowflakes produced by the snowbound over New Years.
Artwork by Steve during a Pictionary type game.
This is real artwork by our daughters friend Annie. Though not sure what is going on with that one cat and the happy looking roasted mouse. Annie, can you explain?
One of the sets of poetry magnets was a successful bid at a Public Sector Section Auction at our annual American Folklore Society meetings. They are Cowboy Poetry magnets.
Crepe recipe. No instructions necessary for us, but if you want to try it: Mix it together, let it set for a little while, mix again, and then pour a little into a flat-bottomed frying pan and swirl around to make it thin and pancake-sized. Cook till light brown on either side. Serve with whatever you like in your crepes such as fruit, cheese, sauted vegetables, etc.

Lake Affects 2: Loony Tunes on the Pond

Adirondacks, memories, travel, Uncategorized, , ,

During the second part of my vacation, I joined my old high school buddies, Debi, Debbie and Chris on an Adirondack adventure. (Not that this was really “roughing it”, but tent camping in your 60s is an adventure in and of itself. No matter how soft your camp mattress is, you wake up stiff and fold yourself out of the cocoon of the sleeping bag slowly and ungracefully. Groaning.) Lots of fresh air and space for distancing, especially after Labor Day.

We met up at lovely Rollins Pond. Why are some of the innumerable bodies of water up there are called ponds and some lakes? Apparently it has to do with the depth. But anyhow, Rollins is a pretty big pond and most camping sites are situated a short distance from the shore. Perfect for kayaking or taking a swim right from your “back door.”

Water-based activities by day, roaring campfire by night. This was our “routine” for three days.

The first full day there we set off in kayaks after breakfast and encountered one of the famous northern loons and her chick swimming placidly along. I regret the decision not to bring my phone with me to snap some shots, because I got close enough to stare into the mom’s beady red eye and to scare the chick into keeping close by her side. During various parts of the day, especially around dusk and dawn, we heard their haunting call.

I was hoping to see another loon or two when we took a sunset paddle, but alas we only crossed paths with a large group of hooded mergansers. I was prepared with my camera this time, though.

After dinner, Chris chopped a couple of humongous logs into oblivion, and the dry wood Debi and I had purchased along the way kept the stockpile going. Toasted on our front sides and chilled on the back sides, mesmerized by the glowing coals, we sipped wine and gossiped for hours about our acquaintances.

Our family always took camping trips when I was a kid, so this form of vacation always brings back childhood memories. I recalled how my mom would save up waxed half gallon milk cartons for the trips, and each night when bedtime approached, she would bring them out, one for me and one for my sister. She set them on the back of the fire pit and set them on fire. When they had burned down to ashes, we had to go to bed, no whining or cajoling for more time in front of the warm campfire allowed!

We didn’t have any such time restrictions on this trip, but by ten p.m. we were ready to call it a night and climb into our cocoons, lungs full of fresh pine-scented air, lulled to sleep by the loons.

Home away from home. (That was the name of our pop-up camper when we were kids by the way; Debbie and Chris have not named their small RV.)
The merganser group takes in the sunset.
Even a non-spectacular sunset is worth a paddle. Can’t complain about the one we got.
Second day paddle started in Rollins, through a stream to Floodwater Pond and through more channels like this one ending eventually in Fish Creek Pond.

Bagpipes and Big Wet Rodents: Expect the Unexpected at Cowans Gap

#Pennsylvania State Parks, memories, ,

As I pulled up to the parking lot nearest the tiny beach of Cowans Gap Lake for an evening swim, I thought I heard bagpipes. In nearly thirty years of coming to the lake to walk, swim, boat, surreptitiously pick apples, and otherwise commune with nature, that was a first.

Cowans Gap is our default Pennsylvania State Park. Located about six miles from our cabin atop Tuscarora Summit, it offers year-round recreation. Sandy beach without jellyfish and sharks – though maybe a few stray Canada geese – boat launch and rental, and, most used of all by our family, a one-mile trail circumnavigating the lake.

We started coming to the park when visiting my (then boyfriend, now husband’s) friend John Small, who lived nearby. I recall, though he doesn’t, talking about our future on the one occasion I talked him into renting a paddle boat. (He’s not a boat person, and I now know it must have only been true love which drove him to acquiesce.)

Several years later, we introduced our baby daughter to the joys of walking around the lake on a cold February day. Not sure she was convinced then, but when she got older and we had built our cabin, many more weekends included a walk around the lake. We formed a ritual which included: 1. Always turn right from the parking lot and walk across the dam first. 2. Pitch a good sized rock off the dam aiming at the stream below. 3. Stop to walk out on the small fishing pier to look for fish or other wild life (salamanders, newts, etc.) 4. Skip stones at the shallow spot near the island. 5. Have a stick race at the bridge.

Over the years, we encountered many wonders walking around the lake. The eerie sound of ice cracking in a spring thaw. Exploring the contours of the lake bed the year they drained it for dredging. And once, while walking around the lake after dark (which they don’t let you do anymore now), a perfect luna moth glowing green in the moonlight.

But, I had never heard anyone playing the bagpipes before, and thought I might be imagining those faint but distinct notes of Scotland the Brave and Amazing Grace. To make sure I wasn’t going crazy, I asked some other beach-goers, and they heard it too. The music brought back memories of my one and only trip to Scotland in 1988, and another bagpiper playing the same tunes when we visited Loch Ness.

When I got home, I looked up the events page of the park to see if they had scheduled a program of bagpipe playing that evening. But all I found was an upcoming program celebrating Big Wet Rodent Day. The wonders of Cowans Gap never cease.

M.E. does not look all that thrilled at her first walk around the lake.
When Steve’s cousins visited, a walk around the lake was mandatory.
A few years ago, our friends Alex and Anastasia got married in the lakeside pavillion.
Fall glory, looking down on the beach from the overlook.
Even the starkness of winter brings its own beauty.
I guess not!
Moonrise. Nuff said.

Encountering the Ghosts of the Past

childhood; stuff; family, Hilton Head Island, memories, ,

Last week, my sister and I embarked on the task of cleaning out my mom’s condo.  Mom is now in assisted living, and has everything she needs in her one large room.  (“Needs” and “wants” might be different things… let’s say, she has everything that could possible fit there and then some.)  So, the accumulated remaining possessions that were left in the closets, under the beds, in the cabinets, on the shelves, in the drawers, on the walls, were left to be dealt with.

This is not our childhood home, but the retirement home of my mom.  Still, some of the items dating back to our childhoods made it to this location, in a couple of enormous boxes in the corners of the spare bedroom closets.  These brought back memories, mostly fond and but some not-so-fond.   From my old report cards (which recorded your height and weight back then along with your academic achievements) I was reminded what a fat little kid I was.  Our old slightly beat up Madame Alexander dolls reminded me how I once shamelessly abused my sister’s doll by cramming corn flakes into its eyes.  A tiny set of metal pots and pans reminded me that, as children, we had a functional small electric stovetop – how many times did we come close to burning down the house with that beast?

We kept a few of the items that we just couldn’t part with – my sister took, among other things, the pancake pitcher and griddle, and we vowed to make pancakes served with sausages, maple syrup and applesauce at Christmastime like our Dad used to for dinner sometimes.  I took the family photos in various media – slides, loose snapshots, arranged in albums, framed.  We brought more small knick-knacks and mementos to my mom. But many of the items will find new homes via the many boxes we donated to a charity shop, or, if they were too far gone, have been deep-sixed in the dump.  It’s just the way of things.

It was sad, and exhausting, and frustrating, but we got through it, with the help of some friends and our husbands.  Ghosts have been encountered, dispatched, and banished along with about a ton of stuff.  The memories remain.

Summing up Summer

#hiltonheadisland, beach, memories, museums, summer, travel, vacations, , , ,

Wow, here it is the end of summer already.  How did that happen?  After our Bengali visitors left, it seems the rest of the season just flew by.  And now its a soggy and humid Labor Day weekend.

So, that’s my excuse for not blogging more the end of the summer.  That, and the fact that my phone was in the shop for a week.  It is my primary camera now, for better or worse.  (And the dog ate my homework.)

There were some highlights – a bit of time on the Hilton Head beach despite most of the time helping my sister work out plans to transition our mom into assisted living.  A trip to California for Museum Camp at the Santa Cruz Museum of Art and History, and visit to the daughter in San Francisco.  A couple weekends at the cabin.  The lovely wedding of a good friend.  A bounty of green beans and tomatoes from the garden.  Some time around outdoor pools.

Here’s a few highly random photos highlighting those activities.

And so, fall looms on the horizon bringing (eventually) crisp weather and that “new school year” new beginnings vibe.  A sort of reset button for “normal life” after the time out of time of summer schedules and activities.

So, as summer 2018 fades into the sunset, no more excuses.

 

Sharing Art, Culture and an Apple

#myculturemystory, culture, memories, travel, West Bengal, ,

I promise not to write blogs about our Communities Connecting Heritage cultural exchange project forever.  But, I had one last one to share here.  And, the only other thing that has been happening to me lately involves my mother and assisted living… which I’m not ready to write about yet at all.

During our three-week cultural exchange hosting five Bengali friends here in DC, we made many personal cultural connections.  On the afternoon of July 11, I took Mamoni Chitrakar, a traditional patachitra scroll painter, to the Smithsonian American Art Museum and Portrait Gallery, wanting to share their exhibitions of American folk art with her, as well as the portraits of the presidents.

Before viewing a dizzying array of art, including the works crammed into close quarters at the Luce Center to maximize our time, we fortified ourselves at the cafe in the magnificent Kogod Courtyard between the two museums.  We shared a sandwich (relatively easy to cut in half with a plastic knife) and a rock-hard Red Delicious apple.  Anyone who has ever tried to cut one of those beauties with a plastic knife knows the drill.

Our attempts at halving this large fruit specimen were at first frustrating, but then we both began to giggle.  Since our mutual knowledge of each other’s language is minimal (she is doing much better at English than I am doing at Bengali, though) we didn’t have words, we only had facial expressions and our laughter at our futile attempts, the butchery that ensued, and the juice all over the table before we were successful.  It was all that we needed.

Mamoni is back home now, but I think of her every day, and my fondest memory was her laughter and her smile.  I admire her bravery in leaving her family and coming to a strange country for three whole weeks, her eagerness to share her culture, and her willingness to try anything – even cutting an apple with a plastic knife.

I was thinking of writing a poem about the experience – still might – but for now, I leave you with this thought.  Share an experience with someone from a culture other than yours.   Whether its a chat on the train, some other chance encounter like a taxi ride, or an actual planned cultural exchange.  Don’t worry about language, just have fun with it.  Giggling is not required but helps.  You won’t regret it, though it might be a bit uncomfortable or messy.  Just do it.  Like the bodily nourishment of that shared apple, sharing culture feeds the soul.

 

 

Remains of the Days

#myculturemystory, culture, memories, West Bengal,

I’m recouping from an intense few weeks of the Smithsonian Folklife Festival and the three-week in-person visit of our Communities Connecting Heritage “Learning Together” team from the state of West Bengal, India.  So many logistics, so much running around, and so little time to process the whole double experience!

The Festival was fun for me, since I had visited one of the featured countries – Armenia – and I had gotten to meet many of the folks who became researchers and presenters.  (To get a sense of what I learned – and didn’t learn – there, check out my work blog on “Armenian Sneakers“!)  The program was a lovely space in which to let the warm and talented Armenian artisans ply their skills.  I enjoyed spending time there very much, munching on lavash (flat bread being baked in a clay oven on the premises), trying my hand at some crafts (I failed miserably at “walnut embroidery”), and experiencing the recreation of a traditional Armenian wedding, and just chatting with folks.

I didn’t have a lot of time to enjoy the Festival as a whole, though, since I led the team of responsible hosts for the CCH visit.   (Really our Coordinator and summer interns did a great deal of the heavy lifting, planning and execution as well.  It was a true team effort.)  Our aim was to introduce the group to the culture of Washington, DC and environs while allowing them to share their own amazing culture with a wide audience, and I think we succeeded for the most part.

So much planning, so many details, and then suddenly it’s all over.  The agenda runs to the final page, we get them on a plane, and they are off.  So much to think about and process.  So much good stuff to write about!  For now, a few photos and many more on our Facebook page (link above) if you’re interested.  And more reflections to come both here and on our work site in the future.