Ann Carol Goldberg

Based on a story from when I was 5 or 6 years old 

It was early morning. Red roses and golden sunshine enveloped me. The rose wallpaper covered the walls lit by the sun that glittered in through the windows. I lay in my bed, sweating with fever, suffering from the flu. From my viewpoint in the bed I could see the trees blowing in the breeze as if bragging at the peak of their fall color.  They were translucent from the light and dazzling to my tearing eyes. I could hear my mother in the kitchen, humming to herself and I smelled the soup cooking on the stove. I lay quietly “suffering” in bed wishing I was outside jumping with my friends in the leaves piled on the curb or roller skating on the newly paved tree lined street.

The rose bedroom was my favorite in this early 1900’s style, two story house on Edgerton Street sporting a house-wide front porch leading to an entranceway with two doors to pass through into the parlor. Our upright piano sat in the parlor across from the staircase with a wooden railing, one of two staircases in the house. The back stairs were enclosed and fetching as a beloved play place for my fluid childhood imagination. The rose bedroom was large and bright, a corner room mostly reserved for guests or occasional renters in our home. The renters are another wonderful story. 

Of course when the rose room was occupied I had to move into another room; either the small back room not much larger than 5′ x  7′, or when my beloved older brother was away, (college or army) into his front room. My brother, a born electrical engineer, devised light switches mounted on the bed rail to engage or close the ceiling light so popular in that era, a fan to blow in hot weather and music system of some sort. These were bonuses easing my having to share the rose room with others. 

I also missed my dad, a Violist with the Philharmonic, the troup now on a 2 week tour in the Northeast. They still traveled by train, the favorite mode of the (mostly) men players before airline travel became available for touring. Dad was due home soon. As usual, I tried to color or play with my Alexander doll, but readily fell asleep, waking to find a PBJ or peanut butter and banana sandwich and glass of milk next to my sunlit bed. They were left untouched, not having an appetite. Perhaps it was the medicine I had to take that made me even sleepier and led to some vivid dreams.  I was in such a revery that when my dad walked quietly into my room, darkened by the deep night. I saw him in a blur, relished his hugs and kisses and promises to spend time with me the next morning before his next rehearsal. 

As he left my room, my head fuzzy with sleep, I noticed a package on the night table but was too tired to open it until dawn came and I awakened with the sunlight glinting in my eyes. I reached for the package, wrapped in newsprint with orange grosgrain ribbons. I ripped it open to discover a wonderful wax witch candle. 

It was a day before Halloween (and my dad’s birthday.) My eyes must have glowed with delight. The witch stood as close to my bed as possible and I held her on and off for most of the day making up stories and talking to her excitedly with my raspy voice. I knew that dad had missed me during the tour.

Through the window that mother had opened to freshen my room, I could hear the voices of my schoolmates skipping their way to school just 3 houses away. Was it the breeze I wondered as the wax witch seemed to quiver and to grow, sweeping with her broom and gesturing to me to climb aboard the broomstick.  I held on with all my might as we swept through the open window and flew above the tree tops, my eyes probably wide with wonder. I picked out my friends walking to school, rooftops of their neighboring houses and the volleyball and softball games crammed into the time until the starting school bell would resound in the clear air. How I wanted to call to those on the ground with a “look at me.” But we were too high to be heard.

Still holding fast to the broomstick, the upward draft pulled us higher and higher and further away from home. The clouds shimmered below us and the sky was the bluest I have ever seen. “Look there, it is Halloween Island,” the witch said quietly. We landed on a cloud full of wild looking creatures–chattering monkeys, big bats, slithering snakes, fiery dragons, blue and green monsters with ugly faces or many arms, some grabbing at me or pulling on my rose 
colored nightgown, my beloved ballet slippers or my curly long hair. I held on even tighter, feeling my eyes wide open with fear. The wax witch smiled and giggled as we swooped this way and that way to avoid the danger. A winged dragon with fiery breath that singed my eyes, pulled roughly at my foot wrenching me free from my grip on the broomstick. I could not hold on and the dragon ran with me to a forest. “Help. help I yelled,” trying to kick myself free, help wax witch help meeeee!” 

The dragons breath was hot, about to catch my hair on fire.  We moved deeper into the dark and dank forest. “Help, help” I cried again and again, terrified. The dragon stopped short. Three giant chattering monkeys grabbed me from the dragons burning arms and ran out of the forest. My wax witch swooped down and I grabbed the broomstick and held on until my hands ached.  Shaking and scared, I let out a big, shaky sigh. The witch gave me a hug with one arm and said, “My friends came to the rescue and I bet that shook you up a bit. What a good sport you are and you look unharmed except for missing a slipper.” I gasped, but was happy to be flying again. 

My friend announced, “Let’s visit my home sky island to see the excitement for Halloween.” We flew for a long time until literally out of the blue there appeared a colorful and waxy town with shiny houses, trees and flowers and other wax witches welcoming us to their home town. I heard cackles and chants, saw witches both ugly, scary, jeering and frightening, but some friendly and smiling like my friend. “Come, let’s have a treat.”  

We were met by ghostly characters appearing in and out of the mist, glaring or shimmering in and out of view and disappearing, frightening me until I could see the delight in their eyes and hear giggles in their throats. Fried donuts, corn candy, bowls of floating apples, cobwebs, jack o’lanterns, glasses of cider, broomsticks, witches hats and masks of all sorts floated around me for the taking. The fried donuts were delicious, the cider warm and the apples crunchy. I felt wide awake and happy. 

Lightening flashed followed by a long lasting clap of thunder. It grew very dark. I felt cold and shivered, I felt hot and sweaty. We swooped in the air once again until all was quiet but the thunder sounding in the distance. My eyes popped open, strange, I lay shivering in my bed. My wax witch was on the table as if we had not flown away. But, her wick was lit and shimmering before my unbelieving eyes. 


I watched the flame, mesmerized and full of wonder, perhaps hypnotized by the mysteriously lit candle light.  Dawn light was streaming through the window as I awoke. 

I reached for the waxy friend next to my bed. She was now a lump of melted wax, orange and black and sitting on the little broomstick that had been in her arms. Her witches hat perched burned and ruined on top of the melted pile of wax. I must have cried out because my dad came into my room alarmed and worried. He saw the melted gift, wondering how the candle was lit and why one ballet slipper missing.  I reveled in his warming and welcome hugs.  

Mom walked in adding her soft hugs and kisses and expressed sorrow for the melted witch. They sat and listened with glee to my tales of flying and the witchy adventures. “It could only have been magic” they both concluded and were delighted that I was feeling better, back to behaving more like their little girl. 

I dreamed I was flying for more many nights to come.

(A day late but life is full.) I can’t shake from my mind the memories in the aftermath of our visit to S. Africa, not that I want to shake them away. The wildlife is, of course as spectacular as the people. This is not a revelation. Last week, I wrote a bit about the people.  In conversation, the questions of favorites always arises and I usually side step the question because picking one of anything is daunting, So I ramble on and attempt to sum up what may be favorites. 

Truly, my lifetime of delving into photography, art, design and the visual world influences my every thought. The strong patterning, my lean toward the contrasting tones and my love for black and white and the beauty and grace of the Zebra (pronounced Zehbra in the areas we visited) is powerful to me. Supporting the intent of my blog to be brief but with a message to share, I will simply share some of my photos of the zebra as seen in South Africa. I learned that as with every species in nature, there are many sub species and variations. It is so with the zebra, sometimes displaying brown tones in the stripes and in other physical characteristics. However, they remain distinctly “Zebra-like” and easily identifiable unlike the antelope family for instance featuring subtle nuances of difference and variation; eye candy for sure.

More about my travels to South Africa, this blog centered in Zimbabwe (formerly Rhodesia). After a total fill of the wildlife as I have written before, we enjoyed many hours of “face time” interacting with the people, to get to know them, learn first hand about their lives and to visit and observe life in the towns and villages.

OAT, (Overseas Adventure Travel) is noted, among other activities for offering a Day in the Life, a chance to visit people in their spaces.  At the school we were greeted by the total student body singing and dancing for our entertainment and admiration. We met with the principal and several teachers to hear about their full curriculum, full classrooms and how they meet the challenges before them.

We then visited various classroom where each of us met small groups of students for discussion and dialogue.  How very ambitious the children are, most hoping to attend university and enjoy a career that a few years ago would not be within their reach, especially for women. most often in the sciences, medicine or social services. 

A drum circle in another community

The whole school sang and danced upon our arrival

More song

children sing for us

It is common for village children to attend schools that are distant, demanding long and grueling walks to and from school for children of all ages. We see them walking as we drive by carrying heavy backpacks in all kinds of weather.  After school, they must return home and attend to their chores in the village. 

Briefings were offered about life in a village describing the typical physical layout of the buildings and farmland, the political structure including the chief, his assistant and the roles of the men, the women and the children as they carry out their daily routines.  They all face the hardships, the terrible effects of the severe drought throughout much of the South. 

In Hwange village, we joined the villagers in the community common area–the BOMA, a round peaked roofed building where meetings, rituals and community events are held. Each villager starting with the chief, the assistant to the chief and then the woman and children spoke to us of their lives and wants and needs. We in turn shared our lives with them. Most of the men were out tending to their chores, the boys left to play soccer or tend to the goats.

The boma

Inside the Boma

demo grinding the polenta. We were next

Want to give him a hug

Some of the boys

He stayed at my side, clinging to me

Finally we walked around the village to see the animals, the chicken coop, the homes (children’s, parents and grandparents) and the silo. Sadly the silo was empty, sad as this is harvest time. They are plagued by drought, killing the plants they depend upon. Our group had raised enough funds to purchase and deliver staples to the community, including the precious polenta, flour, sugar, laundry
detergent, personal care items and more. It felt good to be able to help in this real and hands on manner. 

our gifts to the community

As photos tell more, I share images of the school children and the villagers we met in the boma. I can’t help but wondering what, especially the children, make of our visit, our gestures and our show of warmth toward them all. 

The recent tour of South Africa lasted 27 days. Processing, ingesting and digesting the experience will last for a lifetime and hopefully include at least one return visit. The purpose of the tour was based heavily on
photo safaris through the major reserves in Botswana, South Africa, Zambia and Zimbabwe. Many of you have been on similar tours and I felt quite well prepared for the trip through conversations with travelers, my own study, the tour group (OAT) literature and an adult lifetime delving into the history, news and study about the region. 

Our group was so fortunate to meet and greet almost all species of the promised wildlife while nestled in the safety of the safari vans armed with cameras and binoculars. We encountered many unexpected creatures as well to our delight and enlightenment. I did not realize how many different “cousins” there were in the Antelope family, the bird or the reptile families. Statistics specify over 1,100 different species of mammals in Africa and over 2,600 species of birds.  

On several occasions, we observed the variety of behavior among the big cats, watching a mother lion adamantly defending her young from the abusive wiles of the daddy lion, the Black Rhino who kills his young to maintain his predominant male status. I relished the discovery of a small mammal, the Rock Hyrax, who is slated to be linked by genes and ancestry to the elephant. 

Sadly we observed the effects of the current drought in many of the regions we visited, depleting the food supplies for the wildlife and impacting the well being of the people in the villages and general population when their silos are empty after the harvest, food and fuel prices are sky high, unemployment is epidemic, and their currency worth little.  The impact of the most recent international economic downturn and political strife makes the news every day. With all of the hardships of life, I was astounded and struck by two attributes of the people of South Africa; their heritage being taught respect for others ingrained in their psyche from a young age and their innate sense of humor in the face of hardships they have endured. 

I observed this sense of humor almost daily interacting with staff in our tent camps, vendors in the markets teasing us as we tried on the phrases we had been taught in their native languages, children in school after their long walks from home to village schools

or the stern and official looking expressions, turned into a glimmer of a smile and welcome as the border guards loudly stamped our passports.  

I offer a poignant example and living proof of this sense of humor and courage felt during a home hosted dinner in a colored township near Capetown, S. Africa. Our hostess, Maureen, a widow, still working and avidly volunteering in her town along with her long time friend Wendy entertained us with a wonderful meal almost overshadowed by their steady comedic glee and almost show-stopping display of optimism and hope. They both acknowledged that moping and looking for pity was not part of their being and would only downgrade them to depression and hopelessness. Afterall, they now both enjoy having decent housing, food on the table and a comfortable life.

There are overwhelming hardships in their pasts and in their community, but they are proud to be able to give back to the community helping others. I will never forget the image of these 2 women vigorously waving goodbye to us as our van pulled away from their home until we were out of sight of each other, their faces bright with smiles, their eyes shining. For me, these faces are the faces of hope continuing to convey to the world that they are made of the same strength as the wild animals that are such a part of their world. 

Magic Thornybush nature park adjacent to Kruger park. The 2 parks are currently merging during this long term drought especially to allow more wildlife to survive, Lakeside lodge is an A plus, too high scale but once in awhile it is good to be pampered. Pail has shared over all adventures in his blog, my short blog will pinpoint adventures, No photos until I find a way to load them in undr minutes per image.

We have enjoyed 5 safari drives and a hole led by Dan a native of SA. He can drive that Toyota mountain lion rig anywhere, and he did, thru brush thick and thin. We were in pursuit of a male leopard on the good. The gorgeous animal stayed in sight and did not go off into gullies so as not to be seen. In our speedy pursuit we climbed over trees, up and down “would be” mountains. and and logs. In the van we were ducking Acacia branches with their terrifying thorns and big branches. I was protecting my head but was punched in the eye to my dismay just as we began to track the beast, I could not shoot photos due to pain, I have quite a shner now but did get 2 shots. bummer! I m fine but disgruntled, However as we enjoy our final day here we anticipate more critters, Dan and hi co worker found all 5 big jungle animals,  amazing!!!

Three days to go before we trek off on a wonderful trip to S. Africa. No matter how many times I do the travel prep and check off items on the to do list, it is always a bit chaotic and stressful. Being in town for a month felt like a long time at the beginning. However, when we hover for a period of time in Rochester, we have the usual push to get to doctor appointments, making plans to see with friends, check off places to visit in town or take short side trips to visit family and friends and then handle the angst of not doing it all or seeing everyone we want to see.

Luckily, after enjoying so many extended travel adventures, the packing becomes much easier. The less taken, is of course better and we have become skilled at lightening the load so much over the years. Yesterday, we took a break and had the joy of once again, of visiting the Sonnenberg Gardens and Mansion in Canandaigua, NY.  The mansion is open for tours, a massive 40 room Queen Anne structure built by Frederick Ferris Thompson and his wife, Mary Clark Thompson between 1885-87. 

What impresses me in the architecture and design of this mansion is the high regard the couple held for wall sized windows, large rooms and high ceilings reflecting their love of light and breathing space.  Learn more by going to http://www.sonnenberg.org/about-us/.

Reflecting on my efforts at getting packed, I chuckled upon viewing the various large and unwieldy steam trunks used in that era for travel by ship to Europe and the Orient. Not only were their travel times long but the fashions of the times had no relationship to our modern travel clothing that can be rolled and packed, hand washed and dried in no time with very little weight or bulk. Probably the bulkiest items we carry today are the binoculars, cameras and too many hand held electronic devices. They are not roll and stuff friendly or easily hand washed.

The fashions in the Thompsons’ days, of course, included long and bulky dresses, voluminous hats, men’s suits and jackets and more hats plus lots of accessories and toiletries. Many steam trunks were partitioned in layers and sections for specific types of items as are the modern packs and duffles of today but layering large and long dresses, crinolines, and all of the items of the period into the wooden trunks would be daunting. How heavy they were when fully packed. But travelers did not carry them or transport them. They had lots of help with strong backs in that department.



Keeping the ways of the distant past in mind relieves some of the stress and angst I may feel in preparing to depart. I anticipate many new adventures and will share them in the coming weeks. I also enjoy the great feedback I get from you folks and appreciate hearing of your adventures to some of the same regions. Enjoy the final weeks of summer.

The arrival in Rochester this July was a bit traumatic and not according to our usual homecoming. However, all is well and we are nested among our favorite works of art, books, familiar items from a lifetime and fabulous friends and family. We have learned patience in awaiting the outcome of our RV repair or other choice. However, we are so busy catching up with our city life, preparing for our upcoming journey to South Africa and beyond that we have to make lists of our lists to remember necessary chores to get us efficiently moving ahead. 

I have always been a list maker. Even in facing advent of on line data bases, calendars, notebooks and smart phones, I still resort to handwritten paper lists and notes. My husband giggles but I stick to my old ways (along with on line resources as I am trying to stay up to date). 

I do maintain a paper calendar that hopefully reiterates the entries on our on line calendar, therefore hopefully avoiding double booking and having one car between us. Amazingly, we have discovered the advantages of living next to the relatively new Rochester Bus Terminal next to our St. Paul Street apartment. Often we will walk to a destination on Park or East Ave and then, using Paul’s Rochester bus schedule app we can determine what bus stop to head toward for the next bus home. What bus line?  Park Avenue of course. Some things do not change. I have always been an avid people watcher and what better place than on a bus.  What a tickle it is to ride the bus at 50 cents per senior and then walk a short distance to our Apartment door. 

Of course, I reminisce. Having grown up in Rochester, I also rode the bus with my girlfriends to Grants 5 and dime. We were 7 or 8 years old I guess and carried our favorite dolls with us to purchase doll clothing and accessories. After all, my Alexander doll could drink from a small bottle and then needed a fresh diaper and perhaps a change of clothing. We rode the Park Avenue bus line from Edgerton Street into town. 

An image of a more modern Alexander doll

Or I would ride the bus with my mom or both parents to shop downtown at Sibley’s, McCurdy’s and Forman’s department stores or purchase shoes in the shop with the hydraulic basket system flying over our heads to transfer the bill and payment from the sales floor to the sales office. And along with my memories, my mother was an avid list maker. So I come by it naturally and from a good teacher and role model as well. My den/computer room rises over St Paul street and as I type, I hear the buses pass by on their scheduled runs. A sort of percussion music to my ears. Back to my list, written of course. 

Time zone changes become common when traveling across country or across the world. However, entering the eastern time zone always gives me a surprise, a spark,  a comfort zone that I don’t feel in other time zone changes. It is indeed coming home, coming full circle, having lived a long life in the east.  Even though I have traveled through time so often, there is always this subtle undercurrent, a low-key pulse of return when I reach the my homeward bound time zone.

Bad breath, a touchy subject, suffers a bad reputation, and well it should. Can you imagine a time when it may be acceptable and even shared with others. The Fox Run Garlic Festival on Seneca Lake in New York State’s famous Finger Lake’s Wine region took place this past weekend and Paul and I and our lovely cousin Ellie took it in. Of course, garlic is a controversial herb, loved, hated, tolerated or even allergy inducing for many. What does a garlic festival offer? For one and the most important the knowledge that garlic means much more than the white, dry, somewhat bland imported garlic found most often in the ever flourishing grocery chains lining our roads and byways. (That is a topic for another day).

Most obvious, immediately on stepping in front of the vendor tents are the numerous varieties of garlic available. Choosing a few to take home among the huge range of flavors, shapes, sizes, colors is daunting. Tasting becomes an adventure in itself.  Each garlic vendor offers samples in small cupfuls of chopped garlic with name labels, toothpicks and the chance to explore the world of garlic. The flavors are fabulous. the breath is another matter. But it is a shared matter. The saying to your companions is “if I taste garlic you have to as well” so as not to offend but to share in the experience. Some attendees walk with their hands in front of their mouths at first but soon become caught up in making choices among the vast array. Chatting with the growers is invaluable in selecting a variety of flavors, sizes and hints and recipes and roasting directions as well. The shame is that more varieties are not readily available to place in our shopping carts at the groceries. Online ordering is helpful in that regard.

This Variety is called Music, It is large, flavorful and wonderful to roast as well as use in recipes

Garlic aside, the festival presents, food demonstrations, vendors selling honey, maple syrup, oils and vinegar, salsa, spreads, as well as handicrafts. The constant musical performances are wonderful as well as enjoying the Fox Run wine tasting bar and cafe and taking in the sounds, smells, landscapes and joys of visiting the Finger Lakes region of New York State. The lingering mouth taste of garlic fades and becomes pleasant in anticipation of using the purchases in your own kitchen. Yesterday, I made a delicious Garlic soup, a warm mushroom salad (with roasted garlic dressing) and I invented a version of potato pancake or latke using sweet potato, Yautia (a Tuber in the Yucca family) and of course, garlic. Yum. Bon Appetite

Some goals take years to come to fruition and one of those goals has been met.  My husband Paul and I managed to spend 4 full days in the Grand Canyon National Park. I am sure many of you have visited the park at some time in your lives and have fabulous memories and marvelous photos of your adventures. It is impossible to photograph this vast canyon without allowing the shutter finger to work overtime or to take meaningful pictures while cramming so much into so little time. I have good “record” shots which has become a standard way of shooting (recording these adventures) lately while covering so many of the wonders of the world on a tight schedule. 

Today, we took a wonderful drive toward Desert View Tower exploring the many breathtaking vistas along the way. What set today apart for me was the spectacular sky that served as a dramatic backdrop to the indescribable vistas around every curve. The winds were playing games, firstly with us land lovers trying to hold on to our hats and holding tightly on the steering wheel while driving down the road or trying to open or close car and RV doors without being blown in or pulled out of the vehicle. Secondly, mother nature played “wind wars” above us as the abundant currents painted fabulous cloud pictures in abstract against the deep blue sky. What a gift of a day. I share some of the photos with you here. 

We were due to leave Grand Canyon the next day, reluctantly because we had missed some sites but rationalized that we would just have to make a return visit. The next day dawned. we packed up and prepped the rig to depart the campground for the Four Corner area and beyond. Fate stepped in. Our passenger side slides would not come in and our levels would not lift; faulty operation in the Hydraulic system. Paul tried several possible remedies and then called our roadside service and send messages asking for anyone with experience or knowledge to help us solve the problem. Within an hour Paul received a call that a roadside RV “Doc” was on his way from a nearby town. For Paul’s blog about our default day see his blog at change-of-plans.html

Instead of reacting with consternation or dismay about the problem we were cool and calm and even collected. We signed up for another night at the Grand Canyon Camper RV park and realized we could visit the Kolb Studio along the blue shuttle bus route, a visit we had wanted to make. Now we had our chance, by default to see these historical sites. The RV Doc Randall arrived, After much time, he ultimately tried to jumper two wires and Viola! the slides and levels worked. That made 3 happy people. We jumped in the Jeep, still fighting heavy winds and drove to the Visitors Center and the Blue route shuttle bus. It was there waiting for us when we arrived. What a lucky day. There were were at the Angel Falls Trail head and the Kolb brothers photo and movie studio of great reknown.

What a wonderful dive into the history of the development of Grand Canyon exploration in the early 1900’s. These brave, daring and somewhat crazy brothers took off in a small boat with bulky film and motion picture cameras of the era and made a movie of the “float” down the Colorado River. Remember, this river is rough and tough and offers abundant  and fierce rapids. They survived, producing a long and memorable film that offered them a career and great presence in the history of this country. If you are not familiar with the history visit  the Kolb studio at https://www.nps.gov/grca/planyourvisit/art-exhibits.htm or look up more about Kolb Studio and Lookout Studio. Fred Harvey and the Harvey Girls,a pioneer in the development of the hospitality industry in this country, and Mary Coulter, wonderful architect of the era.

How fortunate we are to have such a fabulous National Park system and how often we praise the design and approach to saving and presenting the history and hands on adventures of our national heritage.