I hope you and your Mommy and Daddy are having a lovely day. Here in Portland, it is raining and getting cold… if everything lines up, we may even get some snow! Or maybe just some ice that crackles under our feet as we walk in the Park.
Auntie Bridgett finds a decorated tree in Laurelhurst Park!
Christmas is about love and family even more than trees and snow. The last few years we have gotten to see Auntie Christy and Cousin Kyle, and they came up again this year. We enjoyed art, visiting Auntie Katie’s book shop, and ice cream at Fifty Licks.
It is the Winter Solstice again, and I am remembering marrying your Grandpa Nelson back in 1974.
Grandpa Nelson and me, 1974
We met and dated in high school. My best friend had a crush on his best friend, so he and I spent a lot of time walking behind them as they flirted with each other, making faces and talking about life.
When he went off to Long Beach State, I followed, and that year during winter break, we got married. It felt inevitable, like the thing that was supposed to happen next. As it turned out, it was. We were, and are, a good fit.
We moved to Eugene, Oregon, had your Daddy David and Auntie Katie, went broke, and moved to Salinas. Grandpa started a business and I taught other people’s kids. We never fought about money, because most of the time we didn’t have any to fight over.
Once our kids were grown, we got to do other stuff. Grandpa Nelson started sailing in the Monterey Bay. I took a writing class and met dear Kitty Petruccelli who encouraged me to continue writing.
While helping Kitty move (three times in two years) I met Auntie Bridgett. We became friends and, after a few years, she and Grandpa Nelson and I decided we should all live together and take care of each other forever. Again, it felt like what was supposed to happen next.
Auntie Bridgett, Me, and Grandpa Nelson
That was twelve years ago next week, so my two anniversaries are just eight days apart. I am a very blessed woman to have such loving people in my life, my house, and my heart.
Where do you find fresh, blooming flowers in the middle of winter? Turns out, it’s the cemetery. Lone Fir, to be exact. I hadn’t visited the Dead People for a while, so yesterday I bundled up and headed over.
The skies were grey, drippy and cold, and I was enjoying the sound of mud squishing under my boots when I saw the bright color in the distance. It was a new grave, belonging to Sergey Arutygnov, covered in flowers and ribbons. I can’t read Russian, but I recognize it. Go with God, Sergey.
Further along there was another flower-covered Russian grave. There is quite a large Russian population in Portland, but I only ever notice it here at Lone Fir. From what your mommy Olga tells me, our dark, damp weather must feel like a summer holiday compared to Russian winters.
This Russian woman’s family has planted a rose bush on her grave and tended it since she passed away in 2008. What a sweet way to make sure you visit your Babushka every spring.
There was more sad beauty as I walked around. One of the magnificent chestnut trees has been taken down, which steals some of the deep shade and history of the place. But its cross section seems to be a view into some sort of cosmic vortex. This tree has seen a lot in its hundred plus years, I imagine.
I realized that the rain had started up again an it was time to head home, full of gratitude and perspective to make some Albondigas soup for dinner.
The next set of galleries in the “All Things Being Equal” exhibit at PAM hit much closer to home for me. Called “Unbranded, a Century of White Women,” it used magazine advertisements to look at how stereotypes of white women had been used to sell products, but also, how the stereotypes themselves have been cemented in society so firmly that we see them as fact.
Mother and daughter baking, selling baking soda and gender roles
Since each other these images is THE picture that a company chose to sell its product, you have to ask… why this one? Mr. Thomas proposes that the men creating the ads wanted women to see themselves only as mothers, bakers and cleaners, and that these were noble, life-fulfilling roles. This kept them safely cloistered at home and let the men run things.
Making a new generation of housewives…
But it got even darker.
This ad featuring half a young woman’s unwrinkled face and half with wrinkles due to sun damage, is supposedly selling sunscreen. I remember when it was in one of my mother’s magazines, and she talked about how important it was to wear a hat and use sunscreen, because “no one wants to look like that.”
What she didn’t talk about, was that old age, for women in particular, was to be postponed at all costs. And she didn’t talk about it because it was assumed. Women were worthy while they were young and pretty.
Getting older….be avoided at all costs?
Other ads showed women in “a man’s world”, but always in a way that threw a bone to males and their opinions as being ‘right’.
For example, this politically active, joyous woman is celebrating at a political convention…. while wearing a pointy bra. “Yes, you can vote and stuff,” it seems to say. “But you still have to wear this ridiculous underwear to be a real woman.”
Underwear as …..power?
This ad shows two fellows mountain climbing with a woman, who is coming up from behind and slowing them down. “See?” The ad says, without words. “If you leave the kitchen and insist on being out in the men‘s world, you just look silly and ruin it for everyone.”
These images were created by companies to sell products, but were often seen by people as “showing the way things were.” Women should teach their daughters (no boys were used in any of these campaigns) to clean and bake. Women are prettier when younger. Women do look silly when they step into the political arena. See? It’s right there in the magazine.
So, when you watch TV or read online or in a magazine, look at what’s being shown, and ask yourself, “What are they really selling?”
I was feeling the need of some inspiration yesterday, so I went downtown to the Portland Art Museum, called PAM for short.
Totally empty courtyard
The first thing I noticed was that the courtyard between the two buildings has been cleared of all the sculpture that usually stands there, because this outdoor area will soon be indoors. A glass gallery will be built to connect the new and the old buildings at ground level, and for a year or so, this will be a loud dusty construction sight. I look forward to the new space.
Inside the museum, I found swarms of high school students there for the same reason I was: To see the new exhibit, called “All Things Being Equal”, which looks at race (which means the color of your skin) and gender (which means if you are a boy or a girl), and makes you think about how these things, as well as money and power, effect how we move about in the world.
The first piece, in the tallest gallery, is called 14, 719. It is 16 long banners, exactly the color of the blue field on the flag, with one star for every man, woman and child killed by gun violence in 2018. Hank Willis Thomas created it after his mentor was killed. An installation in the stairwell gave an idea of the sweep of grief all these killings had, showing the faces of the people directly affected by just this one murder.
The next part of the exhibit discussed, by the works shown, how college and professional athletes, particularly African American men, are used to generate money for the white-owned colleges and business franchises they play for.
Soccer player chained to his ball…
The NCAA and NFL systems are depicted as a new form of slavery, and the pieces were very moving.
Comparative forms of slavery…
The largest piece in this gallery was a satire of Picasso’s masterwork Guernica, also called Guernica (which is confusing). It is a textile piece about twenty feet long and six feet high, replicating the famous painting in football jerseys. It leads to conversations about power and death and those who can inflict it with impunity.
Guernica, 2016
The next gallery showed photographs from old magazine advertisements featuring African American people. The words had been removed so you weren’t told what was being sold, although I remember some of these ads and can recognize a McDonald’s ad when I see one.
McDonald’s ad from the 1970s, showing black people what success looked like.
But what was interesting to me was the question, “What is actually being sold in this image? Is it just pants, or soap, or fast food? Or is it an idea of who we are and what we aspire to? And what is the value of what we aspire to?”
There were many other galleries, which I will tell you about tomorrow. My brain was so full, it will take a few days to unpack!
When we first moved to Portland, we rented a duplex apartment at the corner of 29th and SE Pine. Just a block from that place stands a tiny white church, built sometime around the 1920s and, until recently, a functioning place of worship.
Signs of renovation and ceramics!
But neighborhoods change and congregations shift, and the church had to close. It was bought by a fellow who planned to turn it into a home. His plans have slowed down, but are still in the works.
Adorable rabbits
In the meantime, ceramicists Catherine and John Rondthaler use the space as a studio and, occasionally, have exhibits.
Catherine and John Rondthaler
Last year we met Catherine. This year, saw both of them! They are really sweet folks. They met 38 years ago and have been silly-in-love ever since.
Accidental perfection
Besides enjoying the variety of ceramics they create and sell, we got to enjoy their stories. One piece was created when a throwing wheel malfunctioned and pitched a few gallons of indigo blue glaze into the air, splashing everything in sight. They liked the splashes, and some great bowls were created. I love accidental perfection!
Besides their ceramics, John and Catherine were showing beautiful prints made by another friend. Needless to say, we got some Christmas presents… but shhh! Don’t tell anyone!
It is getting dark really early here. This coming Saturday will be the Winter Solstice, which is the shortest day (and longest night) of the year. Yesterday, it was pitch dark at 4:30. I am missing those long warm days of summer!
But winter has its own charms. Hot cocoa with peppermint schnapps… snuggling Mousekin by the fire… and the colors I see when I make myself get off the sofa, into three layers of clothes, and into the park.
There are just a few plants that are still green. Out-of-place transplants like magnolias and fuchsias look embarrassed, like they got into the party under false pretenses. Pines and firs keep their needles. Maples and birches drop their leaves in a well practiced dance. And ivy just hangs around, leaves intact, like it hasn’t noticed it is winter. Like if the ivy just ignores it long enough, winter will go away.
And guess what? This strategy works!
Every single year, the winter eventually GOES AWAY! So, I will try to emulate the ivy. Lay low, hunker down, and out last the winter.
I know there are squirrels where you live in Salinas, but here in Portland, they really seem to be everywhere!
They hop across the roads like little flying grey rainbows, dash up and around trees like the police are chasing them, and use the telephone wires as freeways.
Having his say…
The other day on my way home from the park, I saw this fellow sitting on the roof of a house, making that chittering noise squirrels do when they are mad at some one or some thing. I was the only one around, so I guess it was me.
Showing off!
He chittered at me for a while, and when I started to move away, he ran to the peak of the roof, as if to show off his agility. “I can climb, clumsy human, and you are stuck on the ground!” He seemed to say.
Your Daddy David told me that you and your classmates got to go camping last week. I spent almost every weekend of my childhood camping, so I know how fun it is!
Two year old me, on top of the world!
Your great Grandpa Lowell, my dad, was a great camper. He loved and respected the forest and desert and made sure we were responsible with our trash and our campfires. He always found just the right balance between “just like home” and “roughing it”.
Ten year old me, hydraulic engineer, and Grandma Billie
My favorite thing was playing in whatever water was around. I would make bath tubs for my troll doll, Tina, or soaking tubs for me.
Dinner, caught by Grandpa Lowell and Uncle Tim
When I graduated from High School, my mom’s gift to me was a really good typewriter. My dad’s gift was a ten-day backpacking trip in Sequoia National Park with him, Uncle Tim, and Grandpa Nelson.
Me, Grandpa Nelson, and Uncle Tim, 1974
What an adventure! Grandpa did all the planning, mapping us out a route that was easy hiking with good scenery, near Jerky Meadow. He made sure we all carried enough supplies but not too much weight. We took off two days after my graduation.
We started very early one morning and by that afternoon we had been passed by several badly organized groups of loud, littering hikers. They rambled through the forest with their radios blasting music, yelling and dropping gum wrappers.
“Are we gonna be stuck with them for the whole trip?” Grandpa Lowell wondered out loud.
Just chillin’…
That evening, while we were relaxing, Uncle Tim took off for a walk. He came back in about an hour. “I found our spot,” he said. We put our packs back on and followed him, cross country, for about two miles.
“This is more like it!” Dad said. We were off the trail far enough that we didn’t hear anyone else. We had a whole bend in the river to ourselves, with a sandy bank to spread out on and tall rocks to climb. It was the perfect gift for me, a ready to move out high school graduate who needed one more chunk of childhood before launching into the real world.
And while finding these pictures, I found another: Your Daddy David and Grandpa Nelson, on a hike to celebrate David’s Bar Mitzvah.
Our Christmas tree is a look back at our lives. When your Daddy David was little, Grandpa Nelson and I attended synagogue and celebrated Hanukah. There weren’t any Christmas ornaments in the house!
But we had both been raised with Christmas, and Great Grandma Billie had lots of ornaments. When Auntie Bridgett came to live with us, she brought lots of them… breakables and stuffies, religious and silly, you name it.
Kitty’s duckies
She loves Christmas so much that we started celebrating it again! And I am glad we did. Some ornaments remind us of dear friends who aren’t nearby. Kitty Petruccelli ‘visits’ us every year with her silly rubber duckies.
When Great Grandma Billie got older and came to be closer to us in Salinas, she got to see our tree with some of her ornaments and Bridgett’s, as well. It helped her feel at home.
Momma’s pine cone
When she passed away, her decorations let me celebrate a little of her joy and history.
Ornaments let me celebrate other people, as well. A former student, known as Ex, made this for me about 20 years ago. He was a sweet soul with a hard life. I have no way of knowing where he is now, but I wish his happy heart well.
Ex Wells’ sweet face
When we travel, Auntie Bridgett makes sure we get a souvenir that we can see every year. Here is a tiny gnome form Strausburg, France.
From France…
This delicate wooden scene came from the Christmas market in Cologne, Germany.
…and Germany
Every year we pick up a few ones, so we keep making new memories.
Dear Liza 