Early November, Kraft paper, and Hobby Lobby

I had to purchase some brown Kraft Paper and Elmer’s glue, so what better place for a one-stop shop for these than Hobby Lobby; grandiose oasis for crafty ladies- a siren call for females akin to Cabela’s Bass Pro Shops allure for the male segment of the species.

To no surprise, withstanding the sheer volume, I report that Hobby Lobby is in full Christmas mode, with the WalMart/ Target warehouse size space given over to the greatest moneymaker of the enrire year. Entering and seeing the ostentatious splendor on display, I was tempted to take one of the electric scooters and wheel around. pretending I was on a Disneyland ride. There is a grandeur of toilet brush wreaths and trees that would denude Norway completely if they were real evergreens. You want prelit or plain snow dusted ? bubble lit, changing color LED, or pedestrian Silvestri style lights ?. Table top, 4 feet or cathedral height ?. Aisles to negotiate as though in a forest glen. Heady with all the choices, I segue into Ornament Wonderland. Here, there, are more balls than you would find on Fire Island during July 4th high tea. It even strikes me that given the number of Hobby Lobbies in the US (800), it is astounding how even the entire population of China in those plastic factories are able to get all this done in only a year. You just know eventually they will just overrun us and take over the planet. Amongst the hanging orbs, elves, crystal snowflakes and Santas, there are glitzy garlands, holly garlands, poinsettia garlands, Edelweiss garlands, tinsel garlands and even one wayward pumpkins squash garland that seemingly got left behind. Between the low hangers and the bedecked strands, I feel as though I should start jiving in this 80's disco land.

Trying an exit, I find I am in “software,” an entire block of pillows , table runners, placemats, tree skirts, swags, dish cloths and framed petit-point “Bless the House” hangings. How many pillows embroidered “Noel” or “On Dasher,” and even “I saw Daddy kissing Santa Klaus” can one possible casually place in any room?

I’m on my way to the rear of the store to find my glue, but first I must brave candles, room spray odorizers, and diffusing sticks. Gratefully “Pumpkin Spice” has made a stealthy exit but now we are clouded and inundated by “Christmas Tree, “Grandma’s Kitchen”, Holly Berry, cranberry and blue berry, and “Winter Wonderland” (which even in my long time on this earth, I could not begin to tell you what comprises this smell.)  Los Angeles in its haziest smog isn't as intimidatingly oppressive as this.

One thing that stood glaringly out in my tour is that “Baby Jesus” has left the building, or is away at boarding school or something. Maybe all those Austrian wood carvers went on to college and become Investment bankers now. I dunno. But there is nary a creche to be found. Nor a plastic camel to complete the manger scene. Blessed Mary has risen and gone to Miami for a respite from all the hoopla. The only Angels I saw are couture dressed in ermine and velvet as tree toppers with celestially lit halos (that can be remotely controlled to change colors upon demand or automatically) 

It is sad to see that Christmas has left Christmas. The pageant is all about money now. That simple, meaningful religious tradition has become a spectacle of spending. You never had to be Christian to enjoy the spirit of the Holiday, but now a grandiose gluttony of symbols that have no real meaning have obfuscated any relevance. I remember the beauty of candle light at midnight Christmas eve service in church, congregation raised in vocal celebration of the birth of Jesus. Or, bundled up in the car driving around the neighborhood looking as much as at  starry winter skies as the lit trees in front windows . I fondly recall the old skate shack with a string of Noma lights someone put up, and hot chocolate brought by a generous family. Bundling up and going out to sing carols and being invited in often to enjoy a Christmas cookie and some egg nog.

Sadly, I head into the mundane “crafts” section . No bustle of shoppers back here. The Kraft paper is relegated to a corner under the plethora of bins of gaudy gift wrap. I grab a plain brown roll. On sale. Legs tired and distraught in my realizations, I ask a harried employee where the glue is located. She directs me to an entire aisle. Even “Elmer’s” has become an industry. School glue, “repositioning paste,” glue stick, and even a adhesive that goes on purple and turns clear, I guess so you know where your glue is going? More choices I don't need.

I'm on overload. It isn’t just Christmas . It’s everything. I remember when there was the “General Store,” a place that had a little of everything. My  childhood 50's version was called “The five and dime.” Then the trend went to specialty stores- a toy store, a drug store, a fabric store. Everything was "boutique." And then we came back- only with a vengeance. The general store returned- only now it’s a “mega store,” a “super store.”  All are gigantic  sprawling edifices that these tired old legs have a hard time finding something in , and, no longer anyone around to ask where it might reside.
 

Times have changed . To me, I don’t think for the good. Getting my glue and Kraft paper came at with hefty price- a jolt of reality about consumption hitting smack into old traditions. 

I feel empty.- I have completely lost my thoughts on Thanksgiving. It's only just early November for Christ's sake.

"For Christ's sake,"          Exactly. 

-Jerry Wendt 

Josephine

Before the ultrasound
we cleared the junk room
and made it a nursery, Jed and I.
White beadboard wainscoting,
soft seafoam green walls
festooned with framed Mary Cassat baby painting prints.
Two double hung windows with blackout shades
draped over with green, dotted Swiss pullbacks.

The white spindle crib was fitted with a green skirt
matching the flannel sheets, a yellow teddy sentry
next to a white country style changing station,
and a seagreen velvet swivel rocker/glider
with a crochet coverlet I made
dawdling away time, trying to make it go faster
thinking about all I would do
spending time with my expected blessing.

At 20 weeks ultrasound defined welcome joy
to my upcoming  daughter
who was yet “baby Holcomb,”
because lasting traditions feared  bad luck
naming a baby before birth:
but in deepest secretly, she was “Josephine,”
after a sister in my beloved “Little Women,”
a reckless wild Tomboy, and smart as Hell.

At 28 weeks my pediatrician crushed me,
finding a congenital heart defect in my Love,
calling it hypoplastic left heart syndrome,
but all I heard was “serious defect,”
and taking a scribbled note
containing the phone number of Dr Bill Scott,
a neonatologist that would be needed
immediately upon birth.

I tranced my way through 2 baby showers:
one from family, one from gal pals.
Without the comfort of wine,
I cried over every baby blanket
bunting, mobile, stuffed fuzzy, or diaper bag. 
The cake tasted of acrid cardboard
and indulgent smiles and hugsjust made me more despondent.

Dear Jed held me whimpering at night,
uncharacteristically indulgent,
soothing me with his strong but gentle hands,
confidently telling me
“It’s going to be all right,”
making sure I was hydrating,
getting healthy food,
and dragging me out in the sunshine.

Then came the day -
Contractions feeding fear,
surrounded by mint green masked apparitions imploring,
“Push, Push, Push,-breathe, breathe, breathe.”
Jed was there. But ashen.
I was not at all a “prayer”
but that day I was fervent in my plea,
“Please, Please, Please.” 

Josephine became.  She was real.  She was mine.
With profound Joy I cried copiously in relief.
It didn’t last long.
Dr. Scott said “urgency.”
“Jo” stayed in Natal intensive care.
Jed was constant companion, taking me home,
but I never felt more alone
and desperately disconsolate.

Two surgeries.
I can’t remember how fast things went by
until today... tears exhausted,
I kneel amongst flowers with no smell,
and people with no faces.
‘That’ nursery only nurturing spiders now.
My dearest daughter Josephine,
held by a cold cradle of mahogany and brass.

-Jerry Wendt 2019

Three Spinsters in the Old House Atop the Hill

We live in a old house on a hill with one tree,     
just Gerda, Hortensia, and Me.
Our ancient  helper helps us sorta clean and scrub,
but Otto is a dim slow kind of schlub,
so out of our windows it’s very hard to see

The old gals in that big house on the hill above the village
have been there longer than anyone remembers.
They keep to themselves and never get any mail.
Children, of course, call it “haunted,” but there never have been any reports of irregularity , so  interest in them has long been forgotten.

We can view the whole town standing behind that tree.
We share looks in the glasses, Gerda, Hortensia and Me.
The many juicy things in our view,
if you only knew,
fills us with immeasurable glee.

Few have seen the three ladies, but those have reported the women are there when they think dusk is occluding seeing them behind their tree, spying down on the town.  Goodness knows why , as they could just as easily come down in that old automobile.  Gus at the Texaco garage says that car is a Hispano Suiza , a brand that was last made in 1930 .  It likely can no longer run, sitting outside forever in all sorts of weather, but there it sits; derelict and unused all the years we can remember.

They wonder why they never see
us shop for nary a pea,
nor venture out very far
for a drive in our ancient old car.
We’re just secretive as secret can be

The Ladies handyman Otto is seen in town very rarely, but when he does come down the hill to make purchases like canning jars , candles, and stuff, he is pleasant enough and returns greetings, but isn’t at all conversational and pretty much keeps to his task .


With no worry our door is left open; There is no key.
Because curious take one gander inside and flee-
There’s a library covered with spiders ; it’s very dusty-
Three chairs and a candle , all smelling quite musty.
But we’re happy here in our home; all agree.

Here and again some of the more rambunctious kids venture up the hill to  gander at the house despite  warnings against disturbing the old women.  Years ago Chandler McInerany and Scooter Landover went up and brazenly found the ladies’ front door unlocked.  Peeking in, they found it looked like no one lived there.  Big open room with a lot of old books stacked to the ceiling on shelves covered in dust.   Three overstuffed chairs sat before a fireplace.  I should interject that no one has ever seen smoke coming from the chimney.  Anyway, Scooter stepped on a stoop board that creaked , scaring the Hell out of the boys, who ran lickety split back down the hill, curiosity quenched forever.

We ladies admit we’re not the best at cleaning our rugs,
besides dust, we think they are infested with bugs.
We always amble about scratching at our unders,
that while walking can lead to bumping blunders,
but we never bleed from our tugs.

There is concern for their health.  No doctor ,dentist nor even the clinic has ever had a visit from any of the three.  At their advanced age, things must go wrong, but they seem to endure.  Curiously,  our town has long history of anemia.  County health worker Madeleine says  anemia can be hereditary, but that doesn’t account such a large portion being afflicted.  The state had their people in taking tests.  We all wrote down what we ate and drank along with lifelong medical histories .  They only found anemia has been around for generations and seems to center exclusively around our village. We worry the old gals could be afflicted.

We must relate that the sun never rises on us three
During daylight we are snug in our basement you see
for your blood is our life,
and constant supply keeps us from strife
‘cause, we’re vampires: Gerda, Hortensia and Me

-Jerry Wendt 2019

Fani's Word

Fani skipped, no, almost bounded from school after her 4th grade class at Franklin School .  That day Miss Kaplan had assigned each student a unique word that they were to write on construction paper to  embellish &  glitterize into a work of art.  Stephanie took special care and pride at how carefully she had made her special word into a splendor all her own.  And now, just in departing class, her teacher instructed all to bring that art back to school the next day along with their own story that would put life into their word in front of the whole class.  WOW!  She could not wait to find something really, like different, something that all her classmates would find interesting enough to smile at and give Fani praise.

What to choose?  So many things, but this thing had to ring like the fire alarm.  Jar them out of their seats in awe.  She just knew she had to come up with something that would make her stand proud.  

Steppin up the crumbling stairs of their tenement, Fani buzzed herself into the vestibule and looked down.  Oh yes, she tickled herself thinking-  Mr Pappadopoulas, (their Super), and  “his” floor.  For months starting in summer, ‘Mr P’ was on his knees in that entryway matching up individual tiles to create the mosiac floor the original building had when it was constructed in the 20's.  It was a very intricate and colorful installation originally, but years of footfall, mud, rain and snow , not to overlook occasional spillage, garbage, and even dog pee had worn away, and dislodged the small ceramic tiles until  a rubber weather mat over it had to be lain so people wouldn’t trip.  That mat was so nasty grimy, she thought.   Fani would from time to time flip the mat up to see Mr P’s progress in setting each tile into the original pattern. Soon, she hoped, it would be unveiled .  This would make for a fitting story to use “her” word on.  But, no, That telling belonged to Mr Pappadopoulos as it was his story.  She couldn’t  appropriate her word on somebody else’s idea.  She wanted the story to be her own,

Later as Mom served the family greasy fried chicken and collard greens (which Fani didn’t particulary care for, but her Mom, being of Southern heritage, was want to savor, so it was on the table often and endured) Fani picked at her food.  She was deeply into her thoughts about tomorrow.  ‘What, pray tell’ was my story to be?’  She caught her Mother remarking on Fani’s cousin ‘Swannie” ( Her real name was Samantha but for some reason everybody had nicknamed her Swannie and it stuck) , birthing her new baby April Dawn.  Swannie had been in labor for over 26 hours and they finally had to induce, and out popped a large 9  ounce baby girl .  Everybody said she was so big cause her mama was ‘diaperbetic,’ whatever that was, but the fact remained that April Dawn came out looking like a two year old.  Again, this incidence was good basis for story that Fani could use , but  fireworks didn’t go off in Fani’s mind.  It just wasn’t grand enough to waste her precious word on.

After dish wash (Fani dried) she continued pondering just what her narrative would be tomorrow.  Indeed, she went to bed berift at not having any ideas to her satisfaction.

Morning dawned no better.  Actually worse, because now the pressure was on, and Stephanie was starting to panic.  She had too much at stake in this assignment.  She could not let Miss Kaplan down.  She could not endure a middling “Oh that was nice, Fani” as her acknowledgment.  And most, important, she simply would not allow herself to fall short in her own eyes.  Simply unacceptable.  Period.
Fani set off for school dejected as no story had formulated.  Dejected as she stepped down the front steps, her gaze landed in front and below her .  She focused.  “OH GEEZ,” positively exploded from her. 

 “This is IT” I’ve got it.  Perfect.”  

She finally, FINALLY, had her story!

Now, having so much trouble holding herself in  she was so ready to spew, Fani finally found it was her time in front of the class.  She held up her bright and elaborate glittered, stickered, and glitzed word picture and began,

“This morning  I walked out of my house and looked down, and there ,at the bottom of the stairs just barely sticking forth from the grimy snow and crumbling stone, sprouting up from between cracks in the concrete was a single brave  little flower that had two tiny green leaves and a purple bloom.  I had to stop and admire this  little thing for the way it had beat all odds, forcing itself upward in this unlikely location.” 

( Fani beamed at all the smiles she saw looking back at her) She continued,
“I just have to tell you all, it was really ...”

The Wintergarden

Stalk shadows stretch thin.
Too may uncounted days sink dark
upon legions of fallen leaves,
brief notice of one or two
acclaimed in happenstance
leaving strewn ground for the rest,
waded through as inconvenience,
raked or burned or blown away,
they leave no marker or memory
as  sentinal Mothers grieve to no avail .  

This fallow ground
once brought nourishment
for both body and soul;
red juicy tomatoes, gay sunflowers
even stalwart watermelons
who withstood much adversity
but finally yielded to rape,
brandishment of sticks
to satisify the caprice
of an evil unthinking mind.

This Wintergarden sees no season.
Land is not replenished.
There is no nature,
so death is not natural,
death is not given , it is taken by force;
These are fallen leaves of Sandy Hook,
daisies ripped up from Pulse,
insane smashing of innocent growth,
leaving countless devestated gardens in Miami, Los Angeles, and Las Vegas;
even whole fields in Rwanda.

Wasted, all wasted so many days, so many ways, so many times.
Here left as scant memory and  honor in only  two days of media attention,
blase “thoughts and prayers,”
and the final numbing disowning affront-
“I’m glad it wasn’t me” 

 When did shame die in the Wintergarden?

-Jerry Wendt 2018

2019 Grammy's

The Grammy’s are one of only two “awards” shows that are worth watching ( The other is the Tony’s) because they both are entertaining; with the Grammy’s edging out as winner with their spectrum of new innovative musical numbers .

Alica Keyes does "Killing me softy" and "Unforgettabl" on two pianos

This year was particularly enticing , first with an apparent wane in Rap as dominant genre. (or maybe just that Kanye West was absent) I  could understand the music again, and it was lyrical.  The show addressed many different musical styles giving a bit of something to everyone.  I admit the rap that was present was engaging and had musicality to it this year.  just not my preferred style.

Ricky Martin and Camila Gambino open with "Havana"

The Opening Cuban number “Havana” featuring Camila Gambino with full compliment of stars including “man candy” Ricky Martin, was bright, catchy, and well staged.  It set a good tone. 

Then came capable host Alicia Keys and a clever and apt salute to empowered women.  I think having Michelle Obama amongst these other keynote ladies, Jada Pickett Smith, Gaga, J Lo, and Keyes was inspired thinking.  Michelle got the most thunderous standing ovation of the night.  It did get a bit tiring to hear Ms Keyes constant use of “my sistas” throughout the performance. Like a child that starts young as a cute amusing precocious center of attention,and as an adult becomes just annoying and repetitive.  Granted, recognition has been a long time coming, but why taint the new empowerment by diluting it with a trite affectation. 

Alica and Michelle

GaGa Jada Pinkett Smith, Keyes, Mchelle Obama, and J Lo

I am newly enamoured withShaun Mandez.  Wooooo-ee HOT young thing.(Even his piano was smoking and burning !)   His duo with Miley Cyrus was a standout .  I loved his sound.  His voice is so rich.  At times I felt as though I was hearing Rufus Wainwright ( another fave of mine)

Shaun and Miley 

Smokin hot Shaun Mendes and his fiery smokin piano

See what I mean?

Dolly Parton’s tribute involved a lot more poeple but wasn’t as lush as “La Ross’s”
I do not understand how she can give wind to her singing, cinched up like she is.
Katy Perry caught flak for supposedly trying to upstage  Parton but I don’t think so.  If anyone had the dominant pipes it was Miley Cyrus.  A great tribute and while even not as elaborate as Diana Ross’s (who appeared in the quintessential      quinceañera dress - either that, a U of Nebraska homecoming parade float, or a hand me down Gypsy wedding dress) Parton can take comfort she has her very own theme park whereas Ross has only a kids gym in Central Park, NYC !

Dolly Parton and her tribute squad

Dolly and Miley

Ross was introduced by her endearing 9 year old grandchild, Raif Kendricks the son of Ross and Motown Pres Barry Gordy's love child Rhonda  Kendricks who was seated in the audience with Gordy

Raif Kendricks introduces "Grandmommie"

I'm telling you- all you have to do is look and compare

The Queen in Red

Raif (far right) next to granddad Barry Gordy and his  and Diana's daughter Rhonda

I do not not like performers who obscure their persona. I could never hear Sia’s music as I was obsessed looking at her silly black and white hair.  Ditto H.E.R, (real name Gabi Wilson) and her distracting sunglasses.  Take the glasses off , please.  Part of any performance is seeing expression in the eyes.  She does have a very lofty timbre that I think we will hear a lot of in the future.

H.E.R sings "Hard Place"

Without the glasses. 

H.E.R. real name Gabi Wilson

It was a nostalgic blast to see Red Hot Chili Peppers with Post Malone.  Two good things- lead Anthony Kiedis got down and shirtless showing he still has not given in to gravity in his 50's, and second, that Flea has plenty of bounce left to show us !

A Shirtlss Anthony and Post Malone rock it out

J Lo got slammed as a strange choice for a Motown tribute,  but Barry Gordy  (in the audience) was beaming as he sat next to He and Ross’s  love child Rhonda Kendrick and her son Raif who later would introduce his “grandmommie” Diana Ross in an endearing moment onstage.  Ms Lopez really excelled in a frenetic , costume changing number that was worthy of a 30's Hollywood musical movie extravaganza. I loved it, and so did hubby A Ro who had a face dominating smile .

Cardi B really wowed me with her lush Josephine/Betty Boop rendition of “Money”  

Carli B

Carli B's song "Money" was beautifully and lavishly staged

Though the show had a great number of notable performances, my climactic moment was GaGa singing “Shallow” with Mark Ronson.  It has always been a truth to me that GaGa has rely sincerity in her music , and, indeed, in life.  She is a “real” person not just a manfactured celebrity.   This song has a great deal of meaning packed into it, and Lady GaGa, wrenches ever bit ofangst and eomtion in delivery .  I was awed by this performance and I think she put all of herself into it. A stellar moment.

GaGa goes all in with "Shallow"

Does anyone also see the resemblance of GaGa to TV show "Below Deck's Kate?

One snarky comment  (but really good for her career)  was that Miley Cyrus was Everywhere with everyone. I keep thinking, "What is she the 'floater,' 'Fill- in" so when they need something or someone doesn't show it's "Get Miley- she'll do it"   I had to chuckle  but have to add her vocal presence was appreciated

I really enjoyed this year;s Grammy’s.  The production was tight and full of content.

-Jerry Wendt 2019 all rights reserved

The We, the I, and The Band Plays On.

We

When E.L.E. pays visit
whether from disease, famine, meteor, or thermonuclear fire
we look to God and Heaven.

We think about Extinction Level Events
when annoyingly distracted
from our own fragile mortality.

We rise to modern speculations
from “Gods” Elon Musk and Jeff Bezos
and a future for humankind.

We envision great migrations to new worlds
Terraforming Mars and beyond
to a sustaining engineered future.

Civilization morphs
to a utopian  nirvana,
our own created earths, winds, and fires.


I

I  revel in this collective prospect,
all together striving as one,
a continuium without strife.

Will there be trees
under which I can dally
watching dragonflies skip the pond water ?

Will there be thieves (or worse)
to disrupt my outworld tranquility,
or will I not have anything of “my own?”

Can I be sure a microbe won’t
hitchhike an escape
with it’s own vision of Heaven ?

Will there be a Mrs McConnell
whose baked pie smells escape
into my open windows hanging on sweet spring breeze?

Thoughts of a stainless steel and plastic life hereafter
dull my anxious anticipation
to leave these planetary bonds.

I must say for now
thoughts turn to the night of “Titanic”
where for so many the band played on.

So, Messrs. Musk and Bezos
your godly visions are very bright and visionary
but, no thank you...

My Heaven is right here.    
I’ll  just stay and watch the show
until icy waters envelop.

Jerry's Mango Cheesecake

Jerry’s Mango Cheesecake Recipe 

Posted per request for Caribbean recipes. Prep time includes standing time and cooling time (5 hours) .Recipe source: Turtle Bay Cookbook with modifications by Jerry
6¾ hours | 5½ hours prep 

1 10inch cake  ingredients

Crust

· 1 1/4  cup graham cracker crumbs (see  below)
· 1/4 cup chopped walnuts (see notes below)

· 1/4 cup brown sugar 

· 3 tablespoons butter 

Cake

· 2 (8 ounce) packages cream cheese, room temperature
· 1 cup sugar
· 1 1/2 cups sour cream
· 3 eggs
· 1 1/2 cups mango puree (made from ripe mangoes or use thawed frozen mangoes)
· 1/2 teaspoon vanilla
· 1 teaspoonlemon juice
· 1 1/2 cups sour cream

· 1/2 cup sugar 

Glaze

· 2 tablespoons apricot jam
· 2 tablespoons corn syrup
· 1 teaspoon lime juice

· 1 teaspoon cider vinegar 

PREP
1. Preheat oven to 300°F.
2. Butter a 10-inch springform pan and set aside.
3. Combine first 3 ingredients (graham cracker crumbs- sugar) in a small bowl.
4. Stir in melted butter.

5. Press mixture into prepared pan.

6. Combine cream cheese and sugar in a food processor or blender; process until combined.
7. Add sour cream, eggs, mango puree, vanilla and lemon juice; process using on/off turns until combined.
8. Pour mixture into prepared crust.

9. Bake for 1 hour or until set.

10. Let cheesecake cool for 1 hour.
11. While cheesecake is cooling prepare topping by combining sour cream and sugar in a food processor until combined.

12. Preheat oven to 350°F.

13. After cheesecake is at room temperature (1 hour cooling at room temperature), top cheesecake with topping.
14. Bake 4 minutes.
15. Remove from oven.

16. Chill for at least 4 hours.

17. Prepare garnish- Process glaze ingredients (apricot jam- vinegar) in a food processor.
18.  Spread glaze over chilled cheesecake before serving.

Jerry’s Note: I made the following modifications:
1 . I reduced the graham crackers to 1 cup chocolate wafters -crumbled  and substituted  macadamia nuts for the walnuts , increasing them to ½ cup.
2.  I baked the crust in the springform pan at 300 degrees for 8 minutes and let cool before adding cake batter.  The nuts can burn quickly so watch this bake carefully.
3.  I increased the eggs to 4.
4.   I added ¼ cup Rumona or  Rum Jumbie Liqueur to the batter.
5.  I increased  the first bake for 1 hour 13 minutes as one hour was not adequate. I       increased the cooling time to 1 ½ hours
6.  I increased the second bake to 8 minutes at 350
6. The four hour chill is MINIMUM to have the cheesecake set properly. Don’t rush it.
7. I eliminated the apricot glaze and served cake slices in Liquor/mango puree