Ann Carol Goldberg

Our rig was perched in a campsite high above the beautiful blue Pacific Ocean. Our mail-forwarded package arrived on time (from our address in Texas.) Following our usual routine, Paul opened the large envelope and scanned through the mail that included most of usual items; magazines, bills, updates of accounts, Medical reports, agency and organizational letters and brochures (“tree-killing hard copies that we beg companies and agencies to only send via email.  (They don’t always honor those requests) and a few other items. A letter addressed by hand was included at our address. My name, Carol was quite legible, the last name was illegible and we never checked it and it was routinely slit open. The return address was an address in Denver  (no name, a place that we have visited and have acquaintances.) Paul nicely placed it on the table for my reading. 

Needless to say, I was in tears by the time I read the final words. First of all for her life story and second of all, because I felt like a voyeur, an intruder. At that point I looked harder at the front of the envelope. Our address was correct but the letter was indeed intended for another client of the mail forwarding service. Again, the first name was legible, the last name indecipherable. I placed the opened letter in another envelope with a note to the forwarding service to PLEASE PLEASE determine the correct box number and forward this letter to the intended recipient. I placed it on the dashboard to mail in the morning. 

Descent; descending; going down; it is all downhill from here. Reaching your low, down and under, all cliches that come to mind when thinking of simply going downward. But, I am thinking in simpler, physical terms. Our last week was spent camping in our rig in the mountains of southern California in Jojoba Hills, an SKP co-op park sitting 2200 feet above sea level, Our purpose, to audition” a possible location to call our western base. Besides our Rochester apartment, our Eastern base is our son’s and family’s wonderful farm nestled in a hollow in the Blue Ridge mountains of Virginia–altitude, 1250′ above sea level.

The location of Jojoba Hills is glorious and the membership so caring and friendly that we are now #18 on the waiting list for a lot of approximately 50′ x 70′ with views to raise your spirits and offering every amenity, class, activity, volunteer opportunity to fill a life time. Today, we tore ourselves away from the mountain refuge to spend a wonderful holiday–Pesach in Los Angeles with our other son and family. That is where the descent comes in.

I am presently looking through the windshield staring at the Pacific Ocean, vast, swift and beautiful. We are in Malibu Beach at about 12′ above sea level. The views are still breathtaking, the sea winds match the sweetness of the mountain breezes, the air is fresh if not a bit misty. The only problem is the relentless drought that has the Southwest in its tight grip (and of course, dense traffic.)

It is hard not to be grateful for the beauty of our planet and our common voices expressing disdain for the environmental problems, social behaviors, wars and conflicts that plague our world. Let us not fall into the pit and hit bottom, Working together (Utopian I know) we can return to the heights and breath the truly fresh air and see the stars in all of their glory.

Camped once again in Scottsdale, AZ, my head is turned toward nostalgia. As a family, we first journeyed to Scottsdale way back in 1972.  This was one of our legendary family trips orchestrated by my wonderful in laws. December school vacation, 1972, we had reservations for a week at the Wigwam Resort with horse back riding, chuck wagon cookouts and a good taste of life in the west in store for all of us. Paul bought his first pair of cowboy boots on this trip and perhaps, his first cowboy hat as well. Our boys were 4 and 6, my gosh, 43 years ago.

In search nearby farm markets and our continuing quest to support locals Tripadvisor pointed to a farm market in Litchfield rated 9th out of 10 markets:  location the Wigwam front lawn. Who are we to pass up a trip to the past. The market was disappointing (perhaps time of year) 


only 6 vendors, one luckily had lovely organic produce, so all was not lost. The Wigwam was very much a presence and going strong. Our curiosity was at high pitch, yes it still exists, but in 4 decades much had to have changed. I interviewed some of the locals, telling me that there was nothing surrounding the wigwam but bare land and farm land, as I recalled. 

Sprawl of course has inflicted itself
upon this area, not a surprise, but the Wigwam grounds were still vast and lovely. Many of the buildings are new or refurbished and we believe our rooms were in similar buildings as depicted in the second photo. When we arrive back in our home base, we will search for photos of that trip. I do remember splendid buffets of food, very attentive waiters and staff, the horse back rides and oh so sore thighs, cookouts on the plain and on Christmas eve the staff had “snuck” into each room leaving wrapped gifts for all patrons. The children awoke to see these gifts and tore open the wrappings as eager to have gifts, even on Christmas, not our usual celebration. Life is made of 50% memories I believe and I cherish our trip to Arizona. As an aside, we arrived home after the usual winter weather delays, late at night. We had just moved into our new house and were asleep when the workman arrived to start renovations. We all slept until late morning, not bothered by the noises and launched into the next phases of our lives. 

Motorhomers know that Elk Lodges (with membership) offer wonderful places to camp. Once again, we are perched on a site next to the Scottsdale, AZ lodge. I walked about with a storm blowing in from the west and with my camera slung on my shoulder. Self imposed photographic themes have shaped my work through the years and through one of those I was in search of shapes in nature, natural materials and happenstance composition. Some worker had recently pruned a Palm tree across from our rig. The cuttings were strewn neatly under the tree. The wind and setting sun were tough obstacles but  of course, I had to make images and clicked away.  I felt that after the storm the fronds and stems forming my subjects would be soggy and limp. Here are some of the shots to share;

After the storm, indeed the subject
matter was limp and soggy and had lost color and luster. But the Palm tree stands tall and proud with its new hair cut, a lone tree on the Elk Lodge grounds. Our neighbors come and go, as we will in a few days, but we have met a variety of folks from different states including Alaska and all with stories to share. Camp grounds of every type are rich mines for learning, meeting and making life long friends. Perhaps the tall and proud Palm tree stands as a symbol of welcome and caring, a few moments of silent thought and escape from our everyday cares.

It is not news that monstrous storms have hit the snow belt states and beyond hard, fast and furious. They bring severe cold, record snow falls, closed schools, disrupted daily routines, cabin fever and yearning for the spring thaw. Presently traveling in the deep south, heading toward summer-like weather in Arizona does not mean I lack empathy for my friends and families in the hard hit regions. But, I must say, it has jogged my memories of snow banks reaching over the top of windows and doorways, snow banks covering driveways and sidewalks and the trials of coping during and after a sundry of storms endured in my lifetime.

As a teenager, I held many all-season jobs beginning the day I obtained my work permit. One of the first was at Fromers a somewhat upscale 5 and 10 cent store, 2.5 miles from my house. It must have been the winter season of 1959-60, my senior year. Snow fell for what seemed like days. Six foot high snow banks lined the sides of the main street leading to Fromers and the shopping area. Everything was closed, or so we were told on the news. The phone rang, My boss Ed was on the other end, Ann Carol, I need you to come into work today. We are open.

No memories of my preparation linger, except the vivid memory of myself, bundled in winter gear to the hilt, bowing into the wind atop the 6′ hard-packed snow bank-cum sidewalk, plowing my way toward the store. It must have been safer to walk atop the “glacier” than in the street with the plows, or just the adventure loving teen ager huddling against the wind. Ed was at the doorway, grateful to see me, His left side glass eye was brilliant that day, looking truly glassy (as it was), larger and darker brown than his natural eye. I stood all day behind the cash register, occasionally stopping to arrange shelves or stock a shelf or case.  Ed and I ate our packed lunches together, served perhaps two brave customers, walking from their nearby homes, talked about the storms, my future plans, music, his young kids, store merchandise and managing a business and his living with an obvious “handicap.” In today’s world, it would not be so obvious). We had breached the subject before but never in depth.

I do not recall the cause of his lost eye, but he faced it in an upbeat, humorous manner. It was one of my first poignant opportunities learning about living with an in your face affliction, be it physical, a loss of a sense, race, mental illness and more that persons face often alone and lonely. He told about people avoiding looking him “in the eye,” even avoiding contact with him. or making a comment that always comes out wrong.  It is a different world now, but still full of angst for both the victim and the onlooker marked by action such as avoidance, a show of empathy-sincere or false, and all of the aberrations that are described by people with a difference.

My work days were valuable as a teaching agent to a teenager trying to make sense of the world. I believe I learned about tolerance, developed good work habits and flexibility and skills, strengthened my love for people and often think of the man named Ed and his brief influence on my life, probably unbeknownst to him.

To those enduring these stormy days, there is an upside; valuable family time together, learning to improvise and adapt and rise to the occasion as survivors of hardship do. Perhaps my hike on the high banks were the laugh in the face of mother nature. I remember smiling to myself and feeling 10 feet tall for a few moments in my life. My best to all of you.

Feb 2015 snow fall in Marfa, Tx after several days in Big Bend in sunshine and 80F. Snow on our Motor home happens every year someplace.

The choice has been made (as reported in the NYT–Feb 13th). The 2016 Democratic National Convention will be held in Philadelphia. PA. After much discussion, visitation and debate. Phila is the choice, over Brooklyn, NY or Columbus, Ohio. The Republican party reacted with the usual vile comments.  The “Dems don’t want the Ohio vote” which was not a major factor in the choice process, just the opposition’s usual sour grapes and criticism..  And, of course, the contenders and leaders in  Brooklyn, NY and Columbus, OH. were disappointed.  That is understandable.  Vying for the spotlight is coveted, putting the chosen city in the limelight. But, at the same time the city must carry the burden of preparation, planning and could face great financial risk.

Of the three mentioned, I believe Phila is the best choice. We are fortunate to have a dear friend in Brooklyn who showed us the Barclays Center and surrounding area.  It is indeed, a busy and vibrant part of town,  but the congestion, lack of hotel space, dense population and other factors are bold and in your face. Columbus is a lovely city, but again lacking enough hotel, road surface and venue space to manage the crowds of a major convention. The long history of Philadelphia is of course rich and deeply embedded in the building of our nation.  The infrastructure in already pretty much in place, tried and true.

How many “winning” cities in the past have suffered huge debt, rushed projects to meet the impending deadlines, tough criticism from the population and jabes and jibes after being chosen to hold major conventions, games, musical extravaganzas and then almost buckled in preparation for the deadline looming over them?  The leaders have scrambled to finance, plan and build by the deadline, side stepping the needs of the citizenry and raising the ire and level of desperation of the those whose needs for special services are cut or ignored.

The event takes place and is over quickly, After the event, roads, venues and the huge facilities often go unused, facing decay and ridicule in the years following the few days of glory. The decaying sports stadium in Havana, Cuba comes to mind. For the week of July 25, 2016, the eyes and ears of the nation will be focused on Philadelphia. The good news–the sights and sounds of our country’s historic birth will be featured. Independence Hall, the Liberty Bell and other sights may lure families to take an educational tour of Phila, enlightening a new generation of young people learning to love and respect history. In the week preceding the Phila convention, the Republican National Convention will be held in Cleveland, OH. Ready, set, go!!

….

Birding in Southeast Texas is highly rated and indeed meets it all of its promises. The sky was shrouded with gray/white clouds and the temperature in the high 70’s. Not bad for the first day of February of 2015.  To the Jeep for a drive From Falcon State Park east toward Mission, TX and one of our favorite birding spots, the Great Texas Coastal Birding trail and wildlife center, in Bentsen Rio Grande Valley State Park.

 It was a 90 minute drive accompanied by an audible book; Vol 3 of Laurie King’s Sherlock Holmes/Mary Russell Series. (Delightful and highly recommended–full of surprises, I promise.) After what turned out to be a delightful lunch at the highly rated and popular Taco Ole in Mission, we drove to the birding headquarters planned our walk that would last for several hours.

Stops included the well supplied feeding stations, a bird blind and a climb onto the Hawk Tower.  The birding headquarters is not huge nor overwhelming, having been transformed from a former RV campground.

Delightful encounters with Cardinals, Green Jays, Orioles, Kiskadees, doves, and the humorous Chachalacas, brought joy to us and folks we met along the trails. In the bird blind, the sighting of the flock of Chachalacas was brief. Soon after our taking stations inside the blind, the big birds flew away in panic, not because of us but from a hawk circling overhead. Disappointed but not discouraged we stayed our ground. After 10 or 15 minutes, two of those birds reappeared but stayed well hidden behind the brush, reluctant as yet to show themselves in the open space for food and water. They were determined to hide and we finally continued on our way, content at least to have spotted the birds, apparently only found in Southern Texas and Costa Rica.

The Hawk tower is not what I pictured, a typical 2 story structure with staircase. It is indeed 2 stories high but with a ramp to make the tower easily accessible. How thoughtfully planned. No hawks flew overhead, but we had a wonderful 360 degree panorama. Peering through my binoculars I spotted a deep reddish structure, a church dome. With bare eyes and off to the right I spotted what looked like a white square shape. When seen through the binocs, it turned out to be head in white with a hint of a bright yellow dress and one hand raised. We believe it is an add for a ice cream store. Both structures are in Mexico as shown through the Maps app on the cellphone. What an era of wonder.

As usual, it is almost closing time and we are among the last to leave. We had to tear ourselves away, such a great day it was. At least on the road we have lots to discuss and our book to keep us entertained and happy. It was a fulfilling day on the Birding trail. Happy trails to you too.

I haven’t been blogging and I miss doing so. Our 11-person family trip to Israel filled my head with too many ideas, thoughts and I haven’t fully processed them as yet. It was a wondrous trip. Now, Paul and I are continuing our trek cross country via our RV and now sit in the “bottom” of  Texas, in one of our favorite places; Falcon State Park. On the map it sits close to the banks of the Rio Grande just west of Roma.

Throwing good food away goes against the grain, such a waste. How many people go without enough in their larder.  Our upcoming travel however, means leaving the RV on its own for a couple of weeks while we take the clan to Israel for a long dreamed-of family reunion.  Necessity means use it or loose it; the perishables in the rig refrigerator or fruit and veggies in the drawer.  Creative juices must be called upon to blend what is left together to avoid any waste.

I love a challenge and like most of us “cooks” never follow a recipe anyway.  Paul prepares his non-veggie part of any meal on his own. So I will deal with the rest of the menu. Our latke intake suffered this Chanukah, because I did not care to purchase anything so close to our departure. Therefore, the first night of Chanukah, I made delicious lentil/spinach veggie burgers that Paul grilled along with small peppers and onion and tomato slices.  This year, we chose to deprive ourselves of latkes or Sufganiyot (Israeli jelly donuts), but made sure the oil of the Maccabees still played a role in our celebration in preparing the burgers for sauteeing the spinach, onion and garlic. They were delicious and satisfied our needs.

So far, we have feasted upon buttercup squash filled with a kale, mushroom, bean saute and baked, omelets filled with veggies and cheese, a Tamali casserole topped with corn bread that bake gloriously together, Southern Tomato Pie, Tortilla and veggie Jambalaya soup, roasted sweet potato, onion and carrots, the lentil burgers and gorgeous salads chock full of avocado, jicama, fennel, more kale, edamame and nuts along with the usual suspects. The final contenders as we approach our departure date include onion, garlic, mushrooms, pinto beans, eggs, carrots, celery that could be paired with pasta, couscous or a lovely brown pecan rice grown and purchased in Louisiana. What fun, and nothing to throw away.

Off we go to delight in seeing our beloved Israel through our grandson’s eyes, to catch up with family and friends, to refresh our sense of history, of belonging and of returning “home” and to feast on Israeli and Mediterranean meals and the renowned milk and honey of the land of Israel. This is just a small way of getting to repeat again to all of you, wishes for a happy and special holiday season and a healthy, wish fulfilling new year.

Last year’s Latkes

Southern Tomato Pie

In my last post, I confessed an obsession based on recording too much info in the form of electronic data bases, having succumbed to modernity and putting my collection of yellow-lined pads to rest. My book lists go back many years and wading through available book synopsis, reviews, Goodreads, word of mouth and the best-of book lists in search for the next read gets harder and harder. We live in the age of too much info at our fingertips. My fingertips are calloused for sure.

In the “old” days of wandering through the candy store-a.k.a libraries with physical shelves, I was endlessly overwhelmed at the number of tempting tomes I lugged to the check out desk to consume before the due date (online renewal being an option). It is even harder now, since my quest for each book to be a great read, a literary gem that I “can’t put down.”  Not every book fits that bill of course, it is what I anticipate and hope for with each choice.

Decision making is truly an art. What gets in my way is my confessed tendency to become too “cerebral,” defined as a tendency to intellectualize and over-analyze every step of the way instead of just zeroing in on the decisive moment. I know I am not alone. Picking a “good” read is usually not life threatening, not as essential to our careers, health, or well being as the larger decisions we have to make through out life, but, none-the-less, remains a challenge.

So, as a follow up to my last blog and my data base library and the desire for word of mouth recommendations from revered family and friends with similar obsessions, I am asking for your input. In trade for suggestions of your favorite reads, I offer the following list for your consideration to read and some images from my book projects.

A few quickly chosen favorites starting with fiction (especially expressing my tendency towards historical fiction) All the Light you Cannot see, Anthony Doerr, The Invention of Wings, Susan Monk Kidd, TransAtlantic, Colum McCann, Twelve Years a Slave, Solomon Northup, The Book Thief, Markus Zusak, Discovery of Chocolate, James, Runcie, The Reader, Bernhard Schlink and many more.

Some non fiction favorites: 1491, New Revelations of America Before Columbus, Charles Mann.

Reading Lolita in Tehran, Nafisi, Azar, The Piano Shop on the Left Bank, Thad Carhart, Sixpence House, Paul Collins, Prague Winter, Madeline Albright–her autobiography, True North and Road from Coorain, autobiography by Conway, Jill Ker, Longitude, Dava Sobel, Evangaline, Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth.  I best stop there short of listing favorite authors, genres and themes. I look forward to your offerings, especially to download on my Kindle for our forthcoming trip to Israel with our family. There will be much more to share upon our return. Happy holidays to all, good health, good weather and good times. Grafiti found along the way Book of graphics Open book sculpture, 3 gorges project, China