tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42084845293107448742024-03-13T14:02:59.103-04:00Eugenie Torgerson: A Visual Life with WordsEugenie Torgersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725769833779170036noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4208484529310744874.post-78197921273744660562013-05-01T14:46:00.002-04:002013-05-01T14:46:54.040-04:00The First of May<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I am delighted when people wear plants, and I am delighted when I get to turn a calendar page. Thus today is particularly fine, seeing as how it is May Day and a good excuse to put on a wreath of flowers.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I made one from felt for my granddaughter, Heidi, and although I am not sure she will be wearing it today, I like to think she will -- somewhere in New Jersey, perhaps in a garden, with sun on her shoulders.</span><br />
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<br />Eugenie Torgersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725769833779170036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4208484529310744874.post-62621013302673812752013-02-19T11:26:00.000-05:002013-02-19T12:05:24.255-05:00Underpinnings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In my experience, making a book is a slow and oddly tense undertaking. For my current project based on the first chapter of Margaret Fuller's <i>Summer on the Lakes in 1843</i>, the initial challenge was accurately transcribing the original text, including checking on antique spellings such as <i>visiters</i><i> </i>and <i>choa</i><i>k</i>. Because I am not using imposition software to organize the folios of words and image, I have to depend upon myself to make sure everything is in the right order and right-side-up. As any proofreader knows, this is a challenge when you are really, really familiar with the text. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When the twenty-two folios of this book, five folded pages each, were assembled, I was ready to sew them together. You might imagine this to be peaceful, meditative process, but hanging on to the ever-tall stack of pages while wielding the needle and waxed thread, not tying myself in knots, is no easy task.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Gluing up the sewn book block brings stability and a growing sense of bookiness to the whole thing. As of this morning, the body is secure, the end bands tight and straight, and Ms. Fuller's heady description of Niagara Falls is ready for a spine. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Eugenie Torgersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725769833779170036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4208484529310744874.post-54814863771850305582013-02-14T23:10:00.001-05:002013-02-14T23:10:57.157-05:00Heightened Sensibility<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> For a few years I have been circling gingerly around a book project suggested by Priscilla Juvelis, the astute owner of <a href="http://www.juvelisbooks.com/shop/juvelis/index.html" target="_blank">Priscilla Juvelis Rare Books</a></span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">in Kennebunkport. She </span>thought that the writings of Margaret Fuller -- </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">author, editor, journalist, literary critic, educator, Transcendentalist, and women’s rights advocate -- would resonate with me and with the themes I bring to my book object work. Priscilla was right, and I am intrigued by this Margaret Fuller -- trail-blazing, intellectual, and highly, deeply sensitive. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Her book <i>Summer on the Lakes in 1843</i> is packed with observations about the journey she made from the cultured atmosphere of Cambridge and Concord to the wilds of Buffalo, Chicago, and Milwaukee. It is, however, her nearly fevered experience of Niagara Falls that asked to be transcribed, translated, and re-imagined in my studio.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I have had my own love affair with Niagara Falls, and Margaret Fuller's response is entirely understandable to me. The phenomenon of the place nearly undoes her sensibilities:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">"My nerves, too much braced up by such an atmosphere, do not well bear the continual stress of sight and sound. For here there is no escape from the weight of a perpetual creation; all other forms and motions come and go, the tide rises and recedes, the wind, at its mightiest,moves in gales and gusts, but here is really an incessant, an indefatigable motion. Awake or asleep, there is no escape, still this rushing round you and through you. It is in this way I have most felt the grandeur---somewhat eternal, if not infinite."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So now I have gathered my own easily excited nerves and have embarked on a book of only one chapter -- <i>Niagara, June 10, 1843</i>. Her words are illustrated and, I hope, illuminated by my digital composites of rocks and water. The book will be dense with paper, thread, transparency, and rhythm. The structure that will house it is still in my mind --- sparkling, fluid, heavy, blue, and vivid. </span>Eugenie Torgersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725769833779170036noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4208484529310744874.post-50778304566196822742013-01-25T19:03:00.000-05:002013-01-25T19:03:55.656-05:00The Past in My Hands<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My studio days are full of interest as I help a friend with a mounting and framing project. She is the custodian of memorabilia belonging to one of the American soldiers who was on Okinawa in 1946. The collection of personal objects, military medals, and photographs fairly hums with voices from the past.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I lived on Okinawa in the late 1960's when the Ryukyu Islands were still under United States military command, and it is compelling to see the same regalia on the dancers, the same landscape, and the same tomb entrances we sought out, interested in the island's culture, decades after the battle for Okinawa.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How different the perspective of this young G.I. who notes on the back of one photograph that these are the people he was fighting against only weeks before. In the collection is a Japanese flag, the Rising Sun hand-stitched on a tan field that is, most curiously, painted with an image of Mount Fuji, a torii, and the words "Okinawa." What can be the story of this remarkable piece of cloth?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Handling these objects and helping to preserve them is a moving experience, resonating with vivid history and private lives. It is just the kind of thing that makes a studio life so rich. </span>Eugenie Torgersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725769833779170036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4208484529310744874.post-80519095445474325062012-12-14T13:12:00.000-05:002012-12-14T13:12:11.794-05:00Unchoosing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">When I am not in the studio, I work for a really big retail store.</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of my jobs is putting stuff on the shelves. The other is picking up after people when they decide that they really don't want to purchase something. This second assignment is tremendously interesting. For example: here I am, going along, efficiently plumping up spa towels, when all of a sudden I find an Angry Birds sippy cup, tucked discretely behind a stack of Muddy Azure Luxury Bath Sheets. And look over there, behind the Down-Alternative Pillows! A manly-sized bag of beef jerky.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because there is no designated dumping bin in the store to stash the things you realize you don't need, can't afford, or never should have picked up in the first place, you have to do something with your tube of Peppermint-flavored Pringles Potato Chips. I understand. You could trek back to the Healthy Snack Section, or you could make better use of your time and put it somewhere where it would eventually be found and returned to its proper home.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am endlessly intrigued by this unchoosing process. As shoppers, we have a sense that there must be cameras or people watching us and that unloading the item that has lost its allure will probably be observed. Right? Wrong. I have yet to see the stashing of an orphan product, When I find one, I do like to think about the shopper's strategy: </span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1) Putting this thing here is not really not too far from where I got it. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2) It's kind of the same shape and sort of the same color as the stuff already here.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3) Someone in the diaper aisle may just happen to need romantic pillar candles.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">4) I really have to get out of this store. Sorry. </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's okay. Really. When you have to discard a sweater in the pickle section, don't feel bad. You have entertained me.</span><br />
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Eugenie Torgersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725769833779170036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4208484529310744874.post-44604705115507115102012-01-07T17:56:00.000-05:002012-01-07T17:56:47.248-05:00My Powerful and Sweet Dragon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFiJUx-nGTYwwzAQeL4ixjyx2SVIw8Uk95f9KYdrKpoXZMdaUmmXJmwMULXykczEeUezvZvPsNKVqgfsS5EPQmZ7qHVJZcuw5YlVGLuSx3ZOe9iUgsiRci1nhUMMXT73VCoyWg-N1nzc3C/s1600/Louise+Dragon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFiJUx-nGTYwwzAQeL4ixjyx2SVIw8Uk95f9KYdrKpoXZMdaUmmXJmwMULXykczEeUezvZvPsNKVqgfsS5EPQmZ7qHVJZcuw5YlVGLuSx3ZOe9iUgsiRci1nhUMMXT73VCoyWg-N1nzc3C/s400/Louise+Dragon.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I am lucky to have Louise. She has been my friend since we met in sixth grade and discovered that there could be -- if the stars are right -- someone else who is just like you. Sure, I know that it is wonderful and challenging to encounter and to love people who are total mysteries to your mind and heart, but you can't beat having a friend like Louise</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">She is not a simple person, although her way of living is careful and orderly. She is utterly brilliant, but her way of being in the world is respectful, inquisitive, and admiring. Louise has a potter's gesture that reveals itself when she is making tea or making up the guest room. She knows just about all there is to know about Asian ceramics but is always on the prowl for new ideas and other ways of looking at things.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">For her birthday, for the new year, and to mark our long and important friendship, Louise sent me a beautiful Vietnamese robe. She and I will wear these dragons on our spines, together, simultaneously, and forever.</span>Eugenie Torgersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725769833779170036noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4208484529310744874.post-64293733871695725642011-12-24T17:27:00.000-05:002011-12-24T17:27:27.765-05:00All I Want for Christmas is a Goat<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z4gycrqcPSQ/TvZPmRxkl5I/AAAAAAAAALU/HWv4xrc-i4w/s1600/Jul+goat+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z4gycrqcPSQ/TvZPmRxkl5I/AAAAAAAAALU/HWv4xrc-i4w/s400/Jul+goat+copy.jpg" width="395" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It is interesting to me that these days the main actors in Christmas traditions are human or at least as human-like as angels and elves can be. Perhaps this anthromorphing has something to with the Age of Reason, the Industrial Age, or man's supposed mastery over the planet. Who knows? In contrast, old Scandinavian traditions designated a goat as the driving force of Christmas. This animal, the Julebukk, was the mythic descendent of Thor's companion. In rowdy Viking ceremonies, the divine and fearsome goat was portrayed by a man who would customarily die and be born again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The early Nordic Christians raised the stakes and viewed the goat as a sort of welcome devil who would appear in times of wild celebration. The Church was not pleased, thank you very much, and forbade the Christmas Goat which, when not acting out, had turned to supervising Christmas preparations and giving gifts. Eventually the active role of the Julebukk faded, to be replaced by the Julenissen, the Christmas Troll.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">You had to watch out for the Julenissen as well. If you did not provide it with a Christmas Eve bowl of </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">rømmegrøt</span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">, a </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">porridge made of sour cream, whole milk, wheat flour, butter and salt, it would retaliate by killing all your cattle. Norwegians take things very seriously.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">When I spent a Christmas in Norway, we set a straw Julebukk next to the chimney to guard the </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">rømmegrøt</span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">, and -- sure enough -- everything turned out fine. So tonight, as Christmas Evening comes to us, I wish you friendly visitations and much joy. </span>Eugenie Torgersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725769833779170036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4208484529310744874.post-34577169721725431752011-12-23T09:27:00.000-05:002011-12-23T09:27:16.314-05:00Lille Julaften<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E2uOa-em_hM/TvSO6o_-8XI/AAAAAAAAAK8/NDzh0GKfu-I/s1600/Lille+Julaften.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E2uOa-em_hM/TvSO6o_-8XI/AAAAAAAAAK8/NDzh0GKfu-I/s400/Lille+Julaften.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I love this evening. In Scandinavian traditions, December 23rd is Lille Julaften -- Little Christmas Eve. Taking note of this night spreads the pleasure of Christmas forward and intensifies anticipation. When I lived in Norway as a teenager, preparations for Christmas did not really begin until Lille Julaften. That was the day when people shopped for gifts and put up a tree which was decorated solely and purely with white lights, Norwegian flags, and small balls of white cotton snow. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Lille Julaften became part of my life as a young mother, wife, and artist in Cleveland as we threw a big party that drew together people from all parts of our lives -- neighbors, friends, family, work colleagues, and eventually friends of friends and friends of family. The preparations were daunting -- huge quantities of eggnog and strong punch, buckets of 1/2 inch round Swedish meatballs. I accomplished Herculean feats of lefse-making and fragile cookie cakes. And it was all wonderful as everyone I loved gathered together.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So tonight, even if you are far too busy and your list of tasks is still too long, even if the Christmas music that has played in your ears since Halloween has grown tedious, even if you are sad, even if you miss someone, perhaps there will be a moment of quiet joy and sweet anticipation of better times as Lille Julaften works its small magic.</span>Eugenie Torgersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725769833779170036noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4208484529310744874.post-52947864139235810252011-12-02T18:18:00.000-05:002011-12-02T18:18:49.156-05:00Thanks for the Ride<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDZwG5_J-vAFFnXoLOnnBihkNqENVwf1NAzoQRaxyZ4XY-WdN1z-Fs5KEECd1Yh1g719Jwv0QM79SQFlPiJ-nQ6Z4b-cQClGij7En89xILIKlAXgjzYDRXEwLCNDyZUEyYqUvhQTpTRIDN/s1600/Hip3+-use+VL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDZwG5_J-vAFFnXoLOnnBihkNqENVwf1NAzoQRaxyZ4XY-WdN1z-Fs5KEECd1Yh1g719Jwv0QM79SQFlPiJ-nQ6Z4b-cQClGij7En89xILIKlAXgjzYDRXEwLCNDyZUEyYqUvhQTpTRIDN/s400/Hip3+-use+VL.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I have used this loyal hip for a long time -- learning to walk, chasing my sister, climbing, dancing, running, skating, skiing, accelerating, and generally having a fine time. It is now time to give it a rest and get a substitute joint. How about something that looks like it was machined at <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">B</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">ayerische Motoren Werke AG, as sleek and expensive as a new car?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So off I will go on Pearl Harbor Day to have my hip replaced, interested in the whole process, eager to move again without discomfort & this annoying limp, and grateful.</span>Eugenie Torgersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725769833779170036noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4208484529310744874.post-24274270156729662132011-10-05T18:36:00.000-04:002011-10-05T18:36:37.887-04:00Lucky, the Blue Hen<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">When I last stopped by Shady Maple Farms for fresh, right-out-of-the-hen eggs,</span> <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Ms. Linda asked if I cared for a blue egg. Who could resist that offer? The egg is the offspring of a Blue Hen, who was abandoned injured at the county fair by some really bad actor of a 4-H kid. Ms. Linda and her husband, the vet, named the chicken Lucky, for good reason, and took her back to Shady Maple for recuperation and poultry companionship.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The egg is not a brilliant, knock-your-socks-off blue but rather a sweet, light azure, and we are delaying cracking open such a lovely thing. When we do, it will be our lucky day. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span>Eugenie Torgersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725769833779170036noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4208484529310744874.post-35999695817179631062011-09-05T10:12:00.000-04:002011-09-05T10:12:36.207-04:00A Girl in the Studio<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">When my ten-year-old granddaughter</span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">, Sterling Knight, visited for a week, we spent much of our time in my studio. She arrived with Fluffy, a cunning, lavender-plush, weasel-like toy pet who needed a house. As it turned out, Fluffy actually needed a contemporary, four-story condominium with a private elevator and garage for the red convertible Sterling would make for her/him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Above all she worked with enthusiasm and self-confidence, making what she wanted to see, making what would give Fluffy pleasure. Any artist can learn a lesson from this young girl. </span>Eugenie Torgersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725769833779170036noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4208484529310744874.post-69007621464831452992011-08-04T13:18:00.000-04:002011-08-04T13:18:42.890-04:00Comfort<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">After my son, Ryan, died two months ago, I kept moving forward with work --- in disbelief, in sadness, but buoyed by the</span> <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">love that poured over me from all quarters of my life. It was possible to work slowly in the studio, and I was able to measure, cut, paste up, print, and generally accomplish things. There is a notion, translated roughly from the German, of<i> "grief bacon,"</i> a slowness, a layering of emotion much like hibernation that comforts, nourishes, and protects those who have experienced loss. I had the grief bacon. Still do.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The action that brought me pleasure and peace was knitting, to no knitter's surprise, and I wanted to make something for Heidi, Ryan's young daughter. At Red Purl in downtown Niles, my choice was immediate, soft, and white: yarn that Amy had spun from local sheep</span>. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Delicious between my fingers and heaven to my eyes, it invited another yarn to ride along -- something perfectly named <i>Little Flowers.</i> The bright bits strung along the fiber remind me of Tibetan prayer flags.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So I knit my heart and my healing, my love for Ryan and his life, for his children, for all children into this rhythm of white and pink and red and sparkle.</span>Eugenie Torgersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725769833779170036noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4208484529310744874.post-7224537022750680062011-03-31T18:14:00.000-04:002011-03-31T18:14:44.039-04:00Wonky in Austin<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You don't have to be in Austin long before you realize that people here pride themselves on being different. "Keep Austin Weird" is a slogan plastered everywhere. To me, the city is more "original" than weird -- packed with independent stores & restaurants and bearing an attitude of insouciance & the off-beat. It is an altogether engaging place to be.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">A question though: is it the Austin attitude or the Whole Foods attitude that produced these parking jobs? All within a twelve-car corner of the lot. Even the Smart Car failed Driver's Ed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">What a wonderful place -- hats, hat forms, hat steamers, and Neal Shudde who knows all there is to know about fitting, wearing, and maintaining hats of character. I nearly succumbed to a black wool derby, thinking that wearing it would unravel the unbearable lightness of being. I did receive a gift of sharp, narrow-brimmed, flat-topped, straw hat with attitude. I think that, wearing it, I will be unstoppable.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Edward looked fantastic in a black top hat, but he was on a quest for that exceptional hat.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">It was amazing. It was undeniable. It was Edward.</span>Eugenie Torgersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725769833779170036noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4208484529310744874.post-25202613222078684942011-03-10T22:06:00.000-05:002011-03-10T22:06:02.099-05:00One Thing Leads to Another<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I came across some small pieces of beautiful Asian papers and thought I would put together a diminutive book -- a few poems, a few images, bound simply and quickly finished. Beware such unambitious thoughts! Here I am, weeks later, in a complicated and enticing undertaking that has involved the purchase of more paper, the writing of more poems, the construction of more images, and some engineering possibly beyond my skill level.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The parts so far: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a chunky, poem/image-packed book with a beaded silk cover</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a box that will hold the book and whose sides will have digital images printed on Yupo</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">the parts of a platform for the box</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What is next in my imagination:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a statuesque cover for the platform that will have openings screened with knitted stainless steel yarn and a window in the top</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">a four-legged base for the whole business</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Stay tuned.</span>Eugenie Torgersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725769833779170036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4208484529310744874.post-83970875083606473802011-01-12T21:32:00.000-05:002011-01-12T21:32:54.023-05:00Pleasures of the Hand<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have taken up knitting again -- something I delayed for fifty years because I was afraid I would not remember how. Yes, I knitted when I was an exchange student in a small Norwegian town, but I did not actually learn to knit. Every girl and a few of the boys knitted all the time, everywhere, and so it was a no-brainer for me to hand any problem I created for myself over to the kid sitting next to me. To really knit again, to really create a textile, I would have to do some learning, and, because I prefer to do everything perfectly the first time, I put the project off.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Luckily for me on a visit to Cleveland, the seduction of the yarns at Liz Tekus' Fine Points <a href="http://www.finepoints.com/">http://www.finepoints.com/</a>, proved to be no match for the habits of my ego, and I began to teach myself from books and on-line videos. The allure of holding and manipulating yarn is so compelling and delicious that I have been trying to figure out why I do it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I know some knitters are in it for the creation of objects, and some perhaps for the challenge of patterns and structures. For me, it is the feel of silk or wool or cashmere or alpaca or merino between my fingers, in that sweet V between digits that is so sensitive and always available. As I child, I slipped my hair through that intersection for comfort and pleasure, and I have seen my mother and my grandchildren do it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The act of knitting has many attractions --- gorgeous materials, visual construction, the emergence of pattern, the sound & action of needles, and the capacity to make something while talking and listening to others. Who knew it was also so sexy?</span>Eugenie Torgersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725769833779170036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4208484529310744874.post-63921704498852445232010-11-02T19:00:00.001-04:002010-11-02T19:03:23.635-04:00Four Horse Town<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We live in Pokagon Township, a name whose pronunciation distinguishes locals from outsiders. You are probably thinking it is POE kah gone. Wrong. Poe KAY gun, for future reference. Be that as it may, after casting the 278th and 279th votes this afternoon, we drove home through our tiny village, Sumnerville. There is one church and one business in Sumnerville, and the latter has been in continuous existence since 1835, giving it historic status.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The Old Tavern Inn, once a stagecoach stop, has cultural status as a popular burger joint and a watering hole for people who drive pick-up trucks. Apparently there were cowboys chowing down today after exercising their right to vote, just up the road. We live in the past and the present, still knee deep in autumn leaves.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Eugenie Torgersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725769833779170036noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4208484529310744874.post-47037764507386884382010-09-22T23:29:00.000-04:002010-09-22T23:29:36.769-04:00Timber<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While city trees were ripping apart and crashing onto parked cars in Brooklyn and Queens last week, here in rural Michigan an old giant was being intentionally and methodically brought to earth across the road from our building.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Although a venerable sentry for the Sumnerville Bible Baptist Church, Old Tree was also a threat and a nuisance as it shed its branches in windstorms, and Dan the Minister had no alternative but to have it taken down--- heavy limb by heavy limb. We are relieved that all the neighborhood foresters survived the Felling Bee, and we are mesmerized by the sheer volume of wood, of accumulated vegetable growth -- photosythesis writ large -- that lies on the ground. The ancient girth of Old Tree stumped garden-variety tools, and someone will have to find a chain saw with a 36" blade if the remainder of the trunk is not to be a permanent lawn ornament in front of the church.</span><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHV-uVRIOJIYK0FMuWJulXHM5FntqLpcVu1wHFuitBP-vn1lRx0ORgnNxq6haz0i4JlbRGIyoF6dFJS6L1D7c10wQ4xkUxiBig_rrVhru0CN2Ei9xuzpB3myG4mWcsM3TI-lrCjwEe-KE1/s1600/Tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHV-uVRIOJIYK0FMuWJulXHM5FntqLpcVu1wHFuitBP-vn1lRx0ORgnNxq6haz0i4JlbRGIyoF6dFJS6L1D7c10wQ4xkUxiBig_rrVhru0CN2Ei9xuzpB3myG4mWcsM3TI-lrCjwEe-KE1/s320/Tree.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Arial;">For all its dignity, the tree seems to have had an unfortunate name. Botanically, we are a casual lot around here, and we sort of agree that it is a Stinkwood tree. Green-a-Planet says that the Stinkwood is "tough and strong, and polishes well, but is difficult to work. It is a good general timber suitable for making planks, shelving, yokes, tent-bows and furniture. The African people have always used it to make a variety of household articles. It is also thought to have magical properties. The wood is mixed with crocodile fat as a charm against lightning, and many people believe that it has the power over evil and that pegs of wood driven into the ground will keep witches away." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Perhaps the mighty root system will continue to keep this little village free from harm.Taking the giant down required two hard days; reducing it to firewood will take weeks. We are grateful for its life, from shade to heat, with good juju.</span>Eugenie Torgersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725769833779170036noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4208484529310744874.post-28471881049264016232010-09-04T22:44:00.000-04:002010-09-04T22:44:59.570-04:00I Have Quit Picking Huckleberries<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After a hot and humid summer, the new season gave us a cool, bright, windy day, and with great pleasure I went a few miles up the road to the annual pow wow of the Pokagon Band of the Potawatomi. It is an event of great vitality, spiritual significance, and beauty.</span><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj78eKHLoK7V9CRFmsRpt2V2bFACMCpVd2wxk09w5f6c6cGH0rvnBYcV3E538zWKoF1Ehtd5XsdXiggJroEMpUtQyGDN864hLnL4NWieLS7-Nwc3SIlTl4LcAauax1z_St25TOmpDjfO4eB/s1600/poki.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj78eKHLoK7V9CRFmsRpt2V2bFACMCpVd2wxk09w5f6c6cGH0rvnBYcV3E538zWKoF1Ehtd5XsdXiggJroEMpUtQyGDN864hLnL4NWieLS7-Nwc3SIlTl4LcAauax1z_St25TOmpDjfO4eB/s320/poki.bmp" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">Called <em>Kee-Boon-Mein-Kaa, </em>the pow wow celebrates the harvest, and the name means literally "I have quit picking huckleberries." In my years here I do not think I have seen a huckleberry, although I could be wrong. An ancient tradition, the pow wow serves as a reunion, a renewal, and a chance to dance.</span></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">These dances are the focus of the public experience, and how wonderful they are. Wearing regalia that defies simple description, the participants are as flamboyant as the men's fancy dancers, as dignified as the women's shawl dancers, as deliciously noisy as the women's jingle dances, as rooted in practical tradition as the men's grass dancers, and as revered as the Great Lakes Old-Style dancers.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">People being people, the celebratory dances are also competitive, and I was told that dancers travel a "pow wow circuit" that involves performance categories ranging from the Tiny Tots to the mature adult dancers. And, yes, there are stars, favorites, and rivalries.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Whether participating in the come-one, come-all Intertribal dances or in the category competitions, dancers do not move alone. In meandering single files, they circle the dance arena. All the girls' jingle dancers, for example, are in view at the same time, and although they are competing, they are dancing together. There is much to be learned in this community.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Although the family lineages are long and deep, it is obvious that they include new blood, and it is not unusal to see blond boys dancing in fierce competition with their Native pals. A close look at the image here reveals not only light hair but plaid Old Navy shorts. The pow wow is quite a patchwork that includes fry bread pizza.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The traditions also teach respect and acceptance. An important part of the Grand Entry of the dancers is the recognition of veterans - Native American and other. Deep gratitude is shown to all those who have served their country. All are asked to look after the elders and to have good thoughts.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I go to the tribal land and walk each year through the campgrounds that are filled with tents and woodsmoke. I go in part to look at the craft of the regalia, in part to observe the earnest energy of the children, in part to eat fry bread. But mostly I go in gratitude for the grace of people whose ancestors inhabited this land and were stewards of its bounty, its huckleberries.</span>Eugenie Torgersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725769833779170036noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4208484529310744874.post-12011620046694724482010-08-16T18:13:00.004-04:002010-08-16T23:24:25.313-04:00Double Dutch<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If I go down Indian Lake Road, cross the bridge, and turn left onto Creek Road, it feels like I am in the Netherlands of my imagination --- although without the spare, flat vistas. These two barns are tucked deep in the dense Michigan woods that hug the edges of farmland, but they seem to have been constructed by the Dutch settlers of this region with a mind's eye looking to the old country. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjodqKcTghTze6xkWEUMI6awT0kbt1P3SAUe4ri6B6QAF9Mzj8vGT29maYciLieo42q66bYq_WKFrVCv7qojpnkC-9k_RXw4KVflxFAZORXf0MzlpCMOHnMybE6MVSBx94r9_Ep4Uh4684E/s1600/Double-Dutch-Barn-Yellow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="176" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjodqKcTghTze6xkWEUMI6awT0kbt1P3SAUe4ri6B6QAF9Mzj8vGT29maYciLieo42q66bYq_WKFrVCv7qojpnkC-9k_RXw4KVflxFAZORXf0MzlpCMOHnMybE6MVSBx94r9_Ep4Uh4684E/s400/Double-Dutch-Barn-Yellow.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The Dutch presence is pervasive here, particularly at election time, when the roads are peppered with signs for the Hoogendyks, VanderBurgs, Bowkers, and Behnkes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">In addition to the Dutch in this part of southwest Michigan, there was a 19th century African-American population second only to that of the Detroit area in its size. According to one historian, the experiences of our county's African-Americans were unlike those of northern urban African-Americans. The economic balance and dependency that developed between Cass County's white and black populations helped to minimize racism, promote cooperation between the races, and create an African-American community of prosperity and confidence unique in the North. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The fate of the indigenous population, the Potawatomis, is a sad and sorry story of injustice to be told another time.</span>Eugenie Torgersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725769833779170036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4208484529310744874.post-26169623559557891562010-07-27T13:47:00.000-04:002010-07-27T13:47:04.541-04:00A Big Sale<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnIFR6R-lD5rZp0s9LkjmpjJ0r2ZhSq7DXb32FYuFgDFOVuYaoJ3f9BTpiRJf6YKUFJ4SaGVanfRH-ZNcBpbVZ2PmHlpMfciWK_1LSdvQhUHoVRFEZ9-R68cJc7VOBYssgOKyPJwE31y7W/s1600/Sale+Tags.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnIFR6R-lD5rZp0s9LkjmpjJ0r2ZhSq7DXb32FYuFgDFOVuYaoJ3f9BTpiRJf6YKUFJ4SaGVanfRH-ZNcBpbVZ2PmHlpMfciWK_1LSdvQhUHoVRFEZ9-R68cJc7VOBYssgOKyPJwE31y7W/s320/Sale+Tags.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I will be showing mixed media work and some pastels in West Bloomfield, MI July 31 and August 1 at the Orchard Lake Fine Art Show <a href="http://www.hotworks.org/orchardlakefineartshow/">http://www.hotworks.org/orchardlakefineartshow/</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I am offering a 10% discount with a mention of this notice or of the e-mail announcements I have sent. This also extends to friends and neighbors you might direct to my space at the show, #227.</span>Eugenie Torgersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725769833779170036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4208484529310744874.post-41640408891529464032010-07-14T22:25:00.002-04:002010-07-14T22:35:49.193-04:00Catching Air and Letting It Go<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am wild for wind turbines. I can't get enough of the white height and grace of them, and the moving space between the blades seems as visible as those big wings themselves. The first wind farms I ever saw were around Palm Springs, and the turbines actually looked cool in the sere, hot desert. On and on they went, spreading over dry hills for miles, and my fascination was cemented. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Thinking of wind turbines as Western creatures, I was surprised and delighted by the array along the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Issues surrounding objections to the Nantucket Sound Cape Wind project are foggy to me, enamored as I am. The easy answer is that I would rather have a wind turbine than a yacht. But then again, I live in an old school that has five restrooms and no closets. What would I know?</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUuenpmhbyAuiPWJB5FAmwEKpCpi3qHuDiFMtKfI5ixEYk2sMK4a9zl_R94VOlUpwV9cFkJp2joK5P00EuywZnYp8vHd6Y2MpYfLgbKpHwwCPP4If97CBTlW0FKyyOHbL1YBjv_umpFJ4l/s1600/turbine-copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" rw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUuenpmhbyAuiPWJB5FAmwEKpCpi3qHuDiFMtKfI5ixEYk2sMK4a9zl_R94VOlUpwV9cFkJp2joK5P00EuywZnYp8vHd6Y2MpYfLgbKpHwwCPP4If97CBTlW0FKyyOHbL1YBjv_umpFJ4l/s320/turbine-copy.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial;">I do know that I lost my heart to Iowa's wind farms when we recently drove to Denver and back. On one particular dim, damp, hot morning --- with the sky preparing for some extravagant storms --- we just gazed at the wind workers in the field down the road, and wondered how much it would cost to get one. Or two. </span>Eugenie Torgersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725769833779170036noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4208484529310744874.post-33075127342634175622010-06-18T04:13:00.000-04:002010-06-18T04:13:44.451-04:00Plein Air in Plain View<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Christine Brenner and Christopher Castelli have been with us at The School for nearly a week, and our days have been filled with good conversation and incredible food. We have cooked Aloo Gobi & Lemon Dal, Chicken with Tomatillos & Hominy, and Polpetti & Spinach. Christopher made popovers, and Edward made butter. We have watched: Snow Cake, The Music Man, You Can Count on Me, Zoot Suit, Walk Out, and Sunday in the Park With George. We are close to swooning with the pleasures of friendship and sensory experience.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">So Christine offered a display of enviable discipline, setting up her easel in the lee of the Blue Sprinter. It was not long before she had a trio of kibitzers who had a thing or two to tell her about blue. As if she didn't know.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Tonight we will take a break from high culture to watch the South Bend Silver Hawks play the Fort Wayne Tin Caps. It's a busy life, this being artists.</span>Eugenie Torgersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725769833779170036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4208484529310744874.post-46717544947238871502010-06-10T00:23:00.001-04:002010-06-10T00:25:20.003-04:00Olga at 95<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am lucky enough to be celebrating my mom's 95th birthday today, separated by some miles but not by feeling. On the ground in Cleveland, she will be taken out for dinner by her favorite friends -- who are younger than I am --- to her favorite restaurant on Lake Erie with a view of the city lights and the water.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Olga is a remarkable person. She is spunky, bright, curious, stubborn, flexible, loyal, opinionated, generous, optimistic, honest, and good. She graciously accepts assistance now that she is older, and has only praise and kind words for those who help her. She is passionate about current events, books, and the Cleveland Indians. For her knowledge and judgment, she was prized as a seller of children's books and an expert on the US First Ladies. Competitive and smart, she takes no prisoners in Scrabble or at the bridge table. She has expected a lot from life and given much back.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Her company is sought by people of all ages because of the warmth of her personality, the range of her interests, and the modernity of her attitudes. I have never, in all my life, heard her say, "I'm too old for this." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">There is one beautiful and pivotal thing she does customarily say, however. Looking around, taking life in as it happens, she smiles and asks with pleasure, "What could be better than this?" </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitFMZje6g0pNqjb4yuPu7Un4MfClzTLoGO1gWstMHP0_aPg7ISp_IIQKhCFN8AK_kLfDJ0vEaVxlNjlST67cuChl5NCGg8mqCMdI2jppT3M6Xm24LwY-1kWT4NqbbvZRq4SG3hYZLWBrab/s1600/baby-Olga-copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitFMZje6g0pNqjb4yuPu7Un4MfClzTLoGO1gWstMHP0_aPg7ISp_IIQKhCFN8AK_kLfDJ0vEaVxlNjlST67cuChl5NCGg8mqCMdI2jppT3M6Xm24LwY-1kWT4NqbbvZRq4SG3hYZLWBrab/s320/baby-Olga-copy.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Baby Olga is held by her grandfather, the orchardist Harry Frank, nestled next to Lizzie Frank. The people in the fine hats are Baby Olga's parents, Luella Frank Shortess and Jesse Cloyd Shortess. Jesse was an artist who died young, and Luella was a postmistress and peach vendor. The mournful woman seated in the front is Cousin Edna Beaver, and we do not know why the occasion made her feel so low. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">Pennsylvania, 1915</span></div>Eugenie Torgersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725769833779170036noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4208484529310744874.post-75799736776937890822010-06-05T08:45:00.001-04:002010-06-05T08:47:00.951-04:00Jack and His Kubota<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When Edward and I bought The School from John McQueen a decade ago, we became the custodians of a thousand trees. City kids that we were, we failed to supervise them, and, in the passing years, those trees became the masters of our long views. Thanks to our neighbor, Minister Dan, and his chain saw, we have recently gained more light and space.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Yesterday Dan's friend, Excavator Jack, made quick work of the stumps and brush, while we stood around, not getting poison ivy and sore backs. At 76, he is quite the agile and opinionated machine operator, and we were impressed by his turns-on-a-dime.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-family: Arial;">This morning we do not feel so enclosed by brush and trees, but the chipmunks are outraged and letting us hear about it.</span>Eugenie Torgersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725769833779170036noreply@blogger.com3