Vladimir Kagan's Blog

Halloween in Nantucket

Halloween

It aint what it used to be

Copyright Vladimir Kagan, November 1^st  2015

 Welcome to my Halloween party!

 

Halloween used to be a gentle holiday for children. Dress-up funny; wear a mask, a jester’s hat. ‘Trick or Treat’ was a sweet opportunity for the little ones to collect candy. No one ever put you to the test of “trick”.

It had its origin in Celtic folklore and morphed into the Christian world as a festival of fall. It was a celebration.

 

Not anymore.

 

It has become a vehicle for protest, free speech, and political correctness. The Gay community has embraced it, as it’s own holiday to express their affection for each other. Fine. But their parades, originally colorful and creative have deteriorated into tasteless nudity.

 

The New York Times did a front-page article entitled:

 

Halloween Costume Correctness on Campus:

Feel Free to Be You, but Not Me

 

"SEATTLE — Pocahontas, Caitlyn Jenner and Pancho Villa are no-nos. Also off-limits are geisha girls and samurai warriors — even, some say, if the wearer is Japanese. Among acceptable options, innocuous ones lead the pack: a Crayola crayon, a cup of Starbucks coffee or the striped-cap-wearing protagonist of the “Where’s Waldo?” books.

As colleges debate the lines between cultural sensitivity and free speech, they are issuing recommendations for Halloween costumes on campus, aimed at fending off even a hint of offense in students’ choice of attire. Using the fairly new yardstick of cultural appropriation — which means pretending for fun or profit to be a member of an ethnic, racial or gender group to which you do not belong — schools, student groups and fraternity associations are sending a message that can be summed up in five words: It is dangerous to pretend.”

 

 

With all this turmoil, the debates about cultural appropriation – where is there to escape to? - My safe-haven away from all the mayhem is Nantucket! 

 

 

A sweet costume parade meanders up the cobbled Main Street, children and parents dressed in every fantasy costume imaginable. A dog dressed as a lion, another as a tramp, tiny toddlers barely able to walk rejoice in the handout of the candy: all are happy, cheerful. It is over within the hour. Daylight savings still was hanging around (today it would already be dark).

 

My youngest granddaughter, Ondine the "angel"

     

 
   

Ondine with her mother, Wendy and me

        

I go home with my friend Betsey, to put the final touches on our costume party: “Funny Hats or Masks” Our friends trickle in and we enjoy a congenial evening in front of the fireplace, a pre-curser of winter holidays still to come.

My Halloween Party

   

The mystery guest: Is this a man or a woman? Hint: It is carrying a pocket-book

 

My friends Chris, Tessa, Suzy (she fooled us all), Greta

   

The most creative masks: Audrey Sterk and Floyd Kellogg

 

  

The witches gather in my living room

   

In 2013, I had written an earlier lament about Halloween.

 If you’ve missed it, below a reprint.

 

HALLOWEEN BLOG 2013           

 

I am not a Scrooge, but I have never liked Halloween... In many ways its has always had a cruel twist... trick or treat in New York meant more trick than treat... razor blades in apples, beating up with chalk bags; intimidation... the treat on the street often meant money. I have always shunned the event until one year I spent Halloween in Nantucket. There it was truly an event for the children with an adorable parade up Main Street, parents and kids dressed in fun costumes, shopkeepers providing candies and cider... Trick or Treat became a treat. It softened my heart and I have ever since wanted to celebrate this Holiday on the island... and last week I did!

 

In my bombastic way, I decided to throw a party for my adult friends and their progenies... (Grandfathering had never been my favorite sport, though when the "bratlings" reached adulthood, they became quite compatible human beings.)  With the encouragement of my young friends, I brazenly set out to do a party. This had always been my wife, Erica's, domain. In those early days these parties were restricted to six to ten year olds... to my horror, the kids cut loose with no holds barred. I tried to shrink from these affairs, disappearing into furthest corners of my apartment.

 

Now, I was about to follow in her footsteps, treading where I had never dared go. A costume party! Marissa, my delightful right hand assistant baked ham, turkey, pigs in a blanket, hot dogs and lots of candy; my friend Tessa created spider's webs all over the house, Betsey put the finishing touches on the food decorations and kind Angelica stood by in the kitchen to make sure there were no food fights. I cut out paper shopping bags for spooky lantern and remembered the black lighting from Erica's days. To accommodate kids, I set the party for 6:30 (I am never ready by 6:30 and this was no exception) 'cept guests didn't care... they arrived with kids in tow straight from the Main Street Parade. Musicians dutifully brought their instruments including Lucy with her bass fiddle, everyone took my invitation seriously and came in costumes... The rest is a picture story. It was a party for the books.  Encouraged by its success, it was only a dress rehearsal for next year's jamboree! 

 

 

 

 

 

The Caleb & Vladi's Cooking Show

Patty Cake, Patty Cake, Baker’s Man

Bake me a cake as quick as you can!

Copyright Vladimir Kagan, September 27, 2015

 

"Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's man", "Pat-a-cake", "patty-cake" or "pattyc", "Pat-a-cake", "patty-cake" or "pattycake" is one of the oldest and most widely known surviving English nursery rhymes."

   

What are the two of the most important gifts that the Jewish people have bestowed upon their Christian neighbors (other than the Bible and the Ten Commandments???)

 

Answer: Bagels and Chopped liver

  

This is an ecumenical Blog with my friend Caleb Cressman (not Jewish) teaching Vladimir Kagan (Jewish) how to make New York Style Bagels and in the same  show, Vladimir reciprocates with a lesson in making chopped liver into a sexy cognac laced paté.

 

 

Some of you will recognize Caleb as the accordion player in the Coq Au Vin Band.

 

 

Caleb’s Bagel recipe

Ingredients:

1 kg flour. I use King Arthur all purpose.

50 grams of sugar

25 grams of salt

11 grams of yeast

Mix these together

Add a little less than three cups of water.

 

Preparation:

Mix

knead for five or ten minutes

Let rise for an hour

Separate into 110 gram balls.

Now shape the dough balls into bagels by getting a hole in them and flattening slightly. Be creative.

Let sit for ten minutes.

Now throw a few at a time into the big pot of boiling water you put on at the beginning of this process. But first add a few table spoons of sugar to the water. This give the bagels a nice sparkly sheen. Flip the bagels after about 45 seconds to boil the other side. Scoop out of the water and let dry a bit on a counter. Paint side with an egg wash made from one egg white mixed with a teaspoon of water. Sprinkle on your toppings of choice and bake in a 400 degree oven for 20 minutes.

 

    

 Kneading the dough and shaping the bagel's hole. This looks easy, but it "aint" (See my results below)

My friend Betsey's and my attempt at making bagels on our own. We labelled them "Really Ugly Bagels by Vladi) and hope to market them. P.S. they really tasted delicious!

Vladi’s chopped liver recipe Chicken Liver Paté (borrowed from Jacques Pepin's cookbook. "Everyday cooking with Jacques Pepin)   Ingredients: 1 Pound of chicken livers 2/3 Cup thinly sliced onions 1 Clove of garlic, peeled and crushed 2 bay leaves crushed 1/4 Teaspoon thyme leaves 1 Cup chicken broth 2 Teaspoons of salt 1-1/2 Cups (3 sticks) butter, softened Freshly ground pepper 2 Teaspoons Cognac or more! 1 envelope unflavored gelatin for aspic   Preparation: Place the livers, onion, garlic, bay leaves, thyme, broth and 1 teaspoon salt in a saucepan. Bring to a boil, cover and cook at a bare simmer for 7 or 8 minutes. Remove from the heat and let the mixture sit for about 5 minutes. Take out the solids with a slotted spoon and place them in the bowl of a food processor with metal blade. Be certain to fish out the bay leaves as they do not chop up smoothly  (Reserve and strain the liquid to make the aspic) Start processing the liver, adding the butter piece by piece. Finally, add the second teaspoon salt, the pepper, and a generous splash of Cognac process for 2 minutes so that the mixture is very creamy and completely smooth. Pour into a mold and refrigerate to set and serve.  To preserve freshness and give a professional look to my paté,  I make an aspic. (this is the fun part of the process as it makes me look so professional.) Aspic: Boil up the remaining broth and residue from the liver. Add the bag of unflavored gelatin and stir frequently to dissolve the gelatin. Next, beat a raw egg into a froth and stir it into the boiling liquid to clarify it. Once the broth is clear, strain it through a sieve lined with a layer of paper towels. Allow to cool but not harden, then pour it slowly over the cooled paté. Make certain not to melt the underlying paté with the liquid aspic.   There's nothing like a little handwork mushing the ingredients into the pot   Stirring the ingredients over a simmering stove Testing livers to be certain that they are still pink inside adding just a dash of salt into the Cuisinart pouring the smooth pate into ceramic bowls   If the Pope  had visited NANTUCKET, he would surely have enjoyed our joint effort!   ****   This memorable event was recorded for posterity on video by my friend, Joanna Hay, who some of you will recognize as the nibbled-fingered violinist in the Coq Au Vin Band. These photos are out-take from her documentary film. I know it will make Caleb and me stars on the cooking network!    Joanna Hay is a documentary filmmaker and a superb violinist             Epilog: Kneading Bagel Dough is infinitely more work than chopping liver in the Cuisinart!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Day dreams vs reality

Perceptions

Copyright Vladimir Kagan, August 5, 2015

 

The Rorschach test (/ˈrɔrʃɑːk/ or /ˈrɔərʃɑːk/,‪[3]‬ German pronunciation: [ˈʀoːɐ̯ʃax]; also known as the Rorschach inkblot test, the Rorschach technique, or simply the inkblot test) is a psychological test in which subjects' perceptions of inkblots are recorded and then analyzed using psychological interpretation. The test is named after its creator, Swiss psychologist Hermann Rorschach. Some psychologists use this test to examine a person's personality characteristics and emotional functioning. In the 1960s, the Rorschach was the most widely used projective test.‪[5]‬ and was ranked eighth among psychological tests used in outpatient mental health facilities.‪[6]‬ Currently it is the second most widely used test by members of the Society for Personality Assessment.

 

 

Life is nothing but a Rorschach Test. It is all about perception and miss-percetions. It is how we interprete things.

Perhaps the earliest miss-Perception was seeing “The Man in the Moon”

Of course, religion is a longtime player in the field; mono-theism vs. polytheism. How do the concepts really differ? Both teach respect and fear – both bring rewards (sometimes) and totally ignore you at others times.

Staring at clouds on a lazy day at the beach triggers many interpretations. The fun part of this activity are the ever changing images, a custom-built Rorschach every minute.

Driving along on any of our Nantucket roads, I see beautiful women from the back, sometimes pony tails swaying like a pendulum as they jog along. I see slender trim girls and ladies riding their bikes. The imagination carries you to the front to complete the vision, but often driving won’t permit that second glance. Not infrequently, what I envisioned as a prety girl turns out to be a man. Imagination is deceptive.

The other night I went to a beautful ballet performance. One of the highlights was Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake almost entirely danced on toes, to the delight of the audience. Realistically, dancing on toes is a grotesque and unnatural movement only facilited by specially designed “toe shoes”. (choreographers of modern dance have virtually eliminated this practice.) Dancing on toes is akin to Chinese bound feet. The elegantly embroidered tiny silk slippers were considered beautiful and walking on them an act of daintiness and upper-class idolitry. Both skills are precieved pinacles of grace. I adore toe dancing but shudder at the sight of the ocasional older Chinese lady mincing along the street, the result of her years of bound feet. Is one more beautiful than the other? Preception!

“To tell the truth” as a preamble to a sentence implies what’s to follow is a lie. Of course, that is not the case, but there is one more Rorschach.

“Whatever” as a closing phrase. Is it a discussion ender, or is it a lazy incomplete thought? A Rorschach of two minds.

I often preface every question with “so” - “So what are we going to do?” - ”So where are we going?” - “So what does that mean?” Another Freudian question for a Rorschach analysis.

Abstract art is another great deceptor - your interpretation is as good as the next person’s, but neither of you probably sees what the artist had in his mind.

When Chinese super hero artist Ai Weiwei takes a priceless Ming vase and shatters it into a thousand pieces in front of a camera it is called “Art”. When a disgruntled Florida artist takes one of Ai Weiwei’s crudely decorated “priceless” Ming vases and shattered it at last year’s Weiwei’s exhibit at the Perez Art Museum in Miami, the poor slob is arrested. Figure that out, Dr. Rorschach!

I sometimes gape off into space, not focused on anything. The perception of what I am visualizing is not what is actually out there. It isn’t what it ought to be! Just ruminating!

So why am I writing this Blog? Because these thoughts come into my head at night when I can’t sleep. Some people read a book; I entertain myself with random thoughts. What you see is not always what is out there. What you think may not match-up with reality. There is no absolute truth. Truth and lies fall into a grey area. It is one person’s perception over another’s.

Food for thought!

An Easter Message

Spring is Sprung

Copyright Vladimir Kagan, April 5, 2015

 

It is Easter weekend and it looks as though spring has finally sprung.

 

I am a snow worshipper… but if I say this to my family, who have endured the severest winter in many years, I had better duck…. shoes, pots, snowballs and glowers will fly at me.

 

 I am visiting my daughter Jessica in Connecticut and she had promised me snow was still on the ground… and sure enough, when I arrived on Thursday night, clusters of snow were still obstructing the driveway.

   

There is something special about the lingering winter with its barren trees. Light penetrates unobstructed through the forest.  A spring wind makes their tender stems dance like a synchronized ballet. And in spite of the severe winter winds and snows, there are still some trees with leaves clinging to their branches. Why?

 

Friday was a cheerless day with intermittent downpours; the pond was still covered with a layer of ice and rimmed with snow. A winter chill was in the air. Cold was everywhere, inside and outside of the house. There were rude noises about the fu-----ing snow. I bundled up in a blanket. In spite of the glum weather, I went to work trying to concentrate on a design project.  Nothing creative flowed onto the paper.

 

But, oh what a difference a day makes! Saturday I woke to a brilliant orange sun trying to penetrate through the shades of my bedroom, a promise of a break in the weather. By the time I got up, the ice on the pond had started to melt and at the end of the day, it was gone. A walk through the garden revealed clumps of snowbells, crocuses and daffodils pushing through the melting snow. Spring was definitely on its way. Finally, sitting on the deck after dinner, nothing says spring more than the ear-splitting cacophony of lovesick tree frogs in search of a mate!

    

In a few days, even before a single leaf appears, the forest will take on a pale, fuzzy, green hue. It is the start of nature’s metamorphoses from its winter sleep into a brilliant new awakening. It may last only a few days before all hell will break loose. The trees and the earth will explode with all their might. Trees will burst with new leaves; the earth will part for ferns and flowers to emerge. The energy is almost palatable. Buds will burst open; pussy willows will morph into delicate flowers, forsythia bushes will paint a bright yellow everywhere, magnolia trees will bloom even before they send forth a single leaf. Spring at last!

 

What a joy to be a witness to this marvel.

  

P.S. Alas, while we had no Easter egg hunt in Connecticut, Jessica provided a plethora of candies that needed no hunting.

 

 

 

Memories

 

 

Three Years Ago Today

Copyright Vladimir Kagan, December 13, 2014

 

Erica Wilson as we've all got to know her with her cowboy hat and feather! 

 

This is my daily reminder of  Erica. Her hat and the Erica Chaise in my bedroom

 

Three yeas is a lifetime – Three years is within living memory – Three years is a life changer –  It was three years ago that my darling wife Erica left me.

 

Life has its cruel ways: here today and gone tomorrow, not planned, just plucked out of my life. Even as I was holding her hand, still warm and blood coursing through her veins she was gone. I held on for twelve hours not believing the enormity – the life changing moment. Three years to this day, my life changed forever. I was cast adrift as her spirit soared into the heavens and I was left holding a cold hand. This was not the script I had written for myself. It is traditional that the wife outlives the husband.

It was not to be. Life is a gamble and God deals a wicked card. You are expected to accept and carry on. You are not alone – that is of little comfort.  But God also doles out an opiate that lets you survive. It is buried in memories, in flashbacks, good times dominate –others diminish. I was not perfect but she was. What lingers in the mind is the harmony we enjoyed for fifty-five years. Me, the scrooge who loved to kill Christmas and she, who lovingly bought presents for one and all, the more was better. Our bedroom became the warehouse for piles of accumulated gifts. Wrapping never happened until the night before Christmas. Scrooge was sucked-up into the process and like Ebenezer, his heart melted and willingly, happily joined into the festivities. This, of all times, is when she left me. The unwrapped presents accumulating in the room and dinner parties to accept and decline. Christmas cards to be written and addressed and now tell the world that I was now alone.

 

She is gone. She left the dining room table filled with ancient family photographs that we were meticulously pasting into photo-albums. Her father, Colonel Wilson in Mesopotamia, little Erica driving a goat car in Bermuda, Major Spragge her stepfather, looking dashing in his uniform as the A.D.C. to the governor of Bermuda – Mummy England, Erica’s elegant mother, looking smashing dressed for a queen’s tea party. And there were photos of little Vladi and his sister Tanya, looking shy and demure as tiny tots in traumatized Nazi Germany. There were photos of my family braving it out in very difficult times. Those albums remained on the table for weeks until we realized the task was more than we could face and so once again they were swept into storage boxes, awaiting a second spurt of nostalgic energy and there was more; two thousand pieces of Erica’s needlework to be sorted, cataloged, appraised and donated to select museums. This is still a work in progress, three years after her death. Erica was amazingly prolific. A quiet plodder who got things done. Sixteen hard cover books, thirty-six television shows shown over the entire English-speaking world by WGBH and the BBC. She wrote a newspaper column called: “Ask Erica” distributed by the Chicago Tribune Syndicate. She designed hundreds of custom needlework projects for her students and clients. She designed the kneelers and vestments for some of the most important churches in America. And she had time to cater to her very demanding husband, we both probably ignored our children, who had to fend for themselves a lot of the time, but at least no weekend went by without a family ski trip or sailing outing.

   

Colonel George Wilson in the first World War and Drorothy "Mummy England" to all

Erica's parents

  

 Erica with her Dad

 

The dashing Major Basel Spraqqe, ADC to the Govenor of Bermuda - Erica's Stepfather

 
And on the other side of the pond, my little sister Tanya and me being very pensive



Annecy and Ondine Kagan the two clones of Erica

Her’s were the days of writing letters in legible monastic handwriting. She never learned to type, the computer was complete anathema. We had stored all her family’s letters in ancient wooden boxes and on visiting storage bins in Europe, we found an equal number of Erica’s letters written to her mother. A perfect subject for the book “Conversations with Mummy”. Erica had always wanted to write a cookbook, of course, heavily laced with needlework illustrations, the title: “Really Dull English Cooking for When you are Pregnant or have the Flu”. These books still await a willing historian to take on the task.

 

Erica's long-hand notes in her inimitable handwriting

 

Drawings from Erica's hundreds of sketch books

It is difficult to carry on in her spirit. She wore big shoes; I’ve found no one to fill them. My children each carry a good slice her genes. Our son Illya inherited her amazing artistic strain. She painted beautifully, so does he. Erica would draw incessantly, as does Illya. They both have an overwhelming love of nature.  Of all of my progenies, Illya’s daughters, blond and slender, most resemble their grandmother. Jessica, the oldest of our children, has inherited Erica’s endless energy and in her career as a jewelry designer and maker, uses so many of the needle work skills that her Mother taught her. She is a devoted embroiderer and often lays aside her blowtorch to pick up a needle and thread. Vanessa worked closely with her mother in her shops and now lovingly runs Erica Wilson Nantucket, one of the Island’s most iconic retail locations. Vanessa carries on her mother’s tradition and teaches needlework classes to small children, guaranteeing a continuation of Erica’s legacy. Vanessa has been blessed with Erica’s caring and compassion. She is the mother hen of the family.

 

Erica, teaching little Jessica to do Crewel embroidery - a lesson that she has never forgotten

Erica teaching boys and girls on the beach in Nantucket
 
Vanessa, following in her Mother's foot steps, teaching a children's needlework class in Nantucket

Kids, horsing around in Vanessa's needlework class at the 1800 House in Nantucket

 

Erica was a marvel, she touches our lives daily. She had a saying for everything and she was stubborn: “You can agree with me or you can be wrong!” She strived to be tidy and admonished us all with ”A place for everything and everything in its place” – she inspired me daily with creative ideas “don’t sit on a table – its bad luck”, so I dutifully designed sofas with wide backs for sitting. She was a pesky; when a bug hit her there was no escape. She was a mosquito buzzing around my head relentlessly until I would finally acquiesce. My Fettuccini chair took ten years to put into production. It was only her persistence that made it happen. She was a frustrated furniture designer and sketched her ideas on paper table clothes, napkins or envelopes and then persisted until I adopted them into my designs. She was the inspiration for so much of what I did.

 

Erica may now be teaching needlework to the angels, but she has left her imprimatur here on Earth!

 

Yes, my darling Erica – I miss you – but you have never gone away.

 

 

Erica and I traveling the world in her ubiquitous straw hat

   

Our happiest moments were those spent together in the Swiss Alps. Why not Nantucket, you might ask... because Nantucket is where we worked while Switzerland is where we vacationed.

 

 

A summer's oddesy continued

Just an Ordinary Summer on Nantucket

part 2

Copyright Vladimir Kagan, September 27, 2014

 

CRUISING THE BEACH

 

Nantucket is a small town with a huge moat around it! The nearest land is 30 miles to the North – and 3,000 miles to the East…too far for a drawbridge! Being surrounded by water translates into heavenly beaches. Depending how the wind blows, you can always find one that is sheltered or full of waves. Go to the South shore and it is inundated with robust boys and girls – men and women… dedicated to surfing the waves… plus the “camp followers” who just sit and enjoy the sight.

 I go to Coatue, a scraggy peninsula made up of five isolated sandy coves inhabited by gulls and the occasional family of sunbathers… it is pristine and only accessible by boat (or a grueling hour-long drive on the beach)….

 

On the Nantucket Sound side of Coatue, things are a little different. Five miles along a gracious curve of land stands Great Point Light House, warning mariners of the deadly shoal to the north and east…and the greatest fishing grounds of our island… It is also home to hundreds of unwanted harbor seals.

 

The beach offers great views of sailboats, regattas, ferries, fishing boats and luxury yachts gliding in and out of the harbor. Not long ago, we spotted a behemoth of a yacht serenely swinging on its anchor in the outer bay, too big to enter the inner harbor through the shallow, narrow channel.. This had to be a big one!… It was one that had to be investigated. In Nantucket we are used to millionaire’s boats and 150 feet doesn’t even deserve a turn of the head. This one was a 332-foot long ocean cruising yacht. On a gentle day, we ventured out of the harbor in our little 13’ Whaler to explore this marvel. The boat’s statistics were dazzling: She was originally built by a Taiwanese shipping magnet, who named her “Evergreen”. When Dennis Washington, a Montana billionaire bought her, he gutted the ship and rebuilt it from the hull up in a Vancouver shipyard.  Several feet were added to her width, she now has an owner’s master suite of more than five thousand square feet, two guest staterooms, and twin cabins for the grandchildren. The interior belies her sleek modern exterior… Furnished with plush furniture, chandeliers, and over-the-top decorations befitting a grandiose Riviera hotel. For your comfort, she has twenty-five in crew! – Should you want to charter her, look her up on the Internet: Her new name is: Attessa IV

The super yacht,  Attessa IV, too large to enter Nantucket Harbor, rides majestically at anchor a mile off shore

 

ON THE WATER

 

That's me racing my indian in fairly challenging seas

 

Sailing with my friend Ian MacKenzie on his Indian

I still manage to pour myself onto my sailboat… albeit with some difficulty… it’s a ginger-balancing act… On decent days I race with my son Illya, We are no longer among the fleet’s hotshots… but we are never DFL (Dead F---g Last).  The weather has not always been cooperative with heavy winds and thunderstorms that have forced us to abort some races. However, It is on these blustery days that I finally find a little time to write this Blog!

 

 A few weeks ago, after returning from our race, ruminating about the day’s tactics and mistakes, sipping dark & stormies on the yacht club’s porch, there appeared a black cloud of acrid smoke over the harbor. My friend Chuck and I took one look and guessed a fire at sea. We jumped into my Whaler to investigate. A 32-foot powerboat was engulfed in flames and the burning Fiberglas was spewing toxic plumes into the air. We were virtually the first spectators on the scene and stayed until the Coast Guard finally extinguished the fire…no one was hurt… just a typical day on the water.

   

No one hurt, but a messy, stinking fire

Returning from the fire, we passed my friend, Michael's 150 foot glamorous yacht - the largest boat in the harbor... no one even stopped to admire it... it was only half the size of Attessa IV

 

BIRDS AND HELICOPTERS

My house is in the flight-path of the Medi-vac helicopter to our local hospital.  (We are fortunate that our hospital is affiliated with Boston’s Mass General Hospital, one of the finest facilities of its kind in the world.)

There are often three or more of these flights daily…

As you may remember from a previous Blog how much I admire birds… I also love airplanes. So I thought it would be exciting to watch one of these giant birds landing… Little did I foresee that my granddaughter Olivia would become a “passenger” on one of these flights, several weeks later! 

 

These "birds" fly noisily over my house day and night

Nantucket is the epicenter for Lyme disease, a devastating infection transmitted by the tiny deer tick. Deer ticks are smaller than a pinhead and very difficult to detect on your body. If you live on Nantucket, sooner or later, you will find one imbedded on your skin. Several days later, there usually appears a telltale ring of red around the bite, but there is no guarantee that this ring will ever appear. Obviously for Olivia there was no sign. Olivia was diagnosed with one of its deadliest symptoms. Lyme Carditis, which attacks the heart and causes extreme arrhythmia. When not properly diagnosed, it can be fatal. Fortunately Dr. Timothy Lepore*, one of the country’s leading authorities on Lyme, was supervising the hospital’s emergency room that night and called the shots right. Within forty-five minutes of leaving Nantucket that night, Olivia was hooked up to Mass General’s electronics… Six days later she was back on Island, happy as a clam…(thought she required an Intravenous stint direct to her heart in order to administer daily medication for a month.) Today, she is fully recovered and enjoying her semester abroad in Edinburg Scotland.

 Olivia (center) enjoying October Fest in Munich

*An endearing book was written about Dr. Lepore: ISLAND PRACTICE by Pam Belluck of the New York Times

 

 

PARADISE FOUND ON NANTUCKET 

The path to the hidden pond in my back-yard garden

My garden is my secret haven. It is a jungle; not your typical flower garden. Though I live in town, my “back yard” is serenely private. Sitting by my pond the Koi fish lazily swim around an island, ducking under water lily pads. They anticipate my arrival by the sound of my footsteps and are most eager to be fed. A willow tree protects them from the ever-prowling eyes of osprey and herons. There is a little waterfall flowing down a hillside, it looks so authentic that many of my guests were surprised that there is a running streams on Nantucket (of course there isn’t)…

 

I should meditate here daily… I don’t

My Buddha prayer house, brought back from Thailand many years ago

I am visited by hundreds of twittering birds to keep me entertained… birdbaths and feeders keep them happily in my garden. On rare occasions, they sadly also become a picnic ground for preying hawks… the gruesome telltale of their visit is a cluster of small feathers in the grass. I am saddened by this sight, but nature takes its own, sometimes-cruel course.

 

Visiting friends from Switzerland, Professor Charles Jefford and his charming wife Susan



The final Instalment with follow soon... Parties on Nantucket - Vladi as Chef d'cuisine - Illya Kagan's annual art show and finally me at work in Nantucket! Believe it or not, I also work there! 

 

Final installment Flight of the Snowbird

Onward and Upward

 Gstaad here we come

Copyright Vladimir `Kagan June 2, 2014

 

Having celebrated my sister’s birthday in Forte dei Marmi, fulfilled my family obligations in Geneva, attended the wedding in Torino, there was nothing left to do but head for the hills: The Bernese Oberland, in the Swiss Alps.

I wanted to visit my beloved cows, the fields of wildflowers, the snow capped mountains and the vistas that bring thoughts of ethereal wanderings – the joy and brevity of life, the urgency of creativity.

The week was forecast for rain, more rain and thunderstorms; that did not deter us; rain or shine I was heading for the mountains. As it turned out, the weather was lovely: sunshine mixed with clouds and an occasional drizzle thrown in for variety. (If you’re looking for a cushy job, try Meteorology it’s the only profession where you get paid for being wrong and won't get fired.)

 

 

Our chalet is tucked into the midst of a farmer's field surrounded by odiferous pastureland

 

Arriving in the late afternoon, we were greeted by a low-lying mist, moist on our face and the pungent perfume of spread manure. (If only I could bottle the mountain air mixed with the scent of new cut grass, the cow manure and the aging cheese... You probably wouldn’t like it, so I won’t try.)

 

 We stayed in my niece's chalet located in the little hamlet of Les Moulins. If your not careful, you've passed right though it and are in Château D’Oex. Château D’Oex is famous for its winter ballooning, where eighteen years ago Bertrand Piccard and Brian Jones took off in the Breiting Orbiter for the first none-stop balloon flight around the world.

The tiny capsule where the two balloonists lived for a month circling the earth

  

Our little restaurant in Les Moulins is the unlikely luncheon stop for weekend warriors on their bikes

 

Our neighborhood has narrow, steep one-lane roads cut between waist-high fields of wild flowers. Scattered cows are grazing on steep hills leaving rutted paths with their hoofs. Weathered ancient chalets, with deep overhanging roofs shielding the tiny windows are hung with neat white lace curtains and framed by green shutters. Our chalet is a peaceful haven, conducive to creativity.

Chris, my “wing Man” and I actually manage to get work done between playing.

 

Every spring there is a happening at this time of the year; the cows are driven through the elegant streets of Gstaad on their way up to their mountain pasturelands, there to graze and make milk all summer long. Chris and I were there at the propitious moment to photograph this scene. 

 

The churches are beautful enough to make me want to brcome a parish priest!

  

Lauenen See - and the beautiful waterfall, high up in the mountains, is an idyllic setting that is our family's annual pilgrimage

the symbol of Swiss orderliness - neatly stacked woodpiles along every mountain road. Above: a  pyramided haystack

There are only a few friends left in the mountains at this time of year. It’s the mud season – the shoulder season before the summer crowds take over. We visited with old friends who live in a 1500 chalet – we drop in on the neighboring farmer and disturb him while milking his cows. We have a traditional breakfast of a croissant and hot chocolate in the neighborhood bakery – a traditional Fondue in a mountain cafe is a must, so are Rösti and Geschnetzeltes (slivers of veal in a cream sauce)

A visit with an old family friend, Huldi Bach, turning 89 and  going strong

 

 

How can we leave this idyllic place?  Not all good things should come to an end.

One final fling: we do a touristy visit to Gruyere on our way back to Geneva

 

 

“New York, New York, it’s a Hell of a Town”

 

 

A Brief Visit to New York

Copyright Vladimir Kagan, March 25, 2014

 

When I go to New York, I hit the ground running; compressing weeks of meetings into four hectic days… and on the way accumulate enough material to keep you entertained with Blogs.

 

A capsule:

First Day: –Popping off the plane in Newark New Hersey, I high-tailed it to my “Archive Museum” in Clifton to meet visiting clients to discuss future projects… An interesting and productive meeting – upshot: I made new friends and discovered that we have “Russian Standard” vodka Martinis in common.

  

Chaira, chairs everywhere in my warehouse in Clifton, N.J.

Second Day: - A visit to New York is not complete without sticking my head into the D&D building, the mecca for New York decorators in search of everything grand and expensive. My friend Luigi Gentile opened his Bespoke showroom of comfort furniture, (no competition to mine…. otherwise I wouldn’t be writing about it… ha ha.) Luigi is a talented designer and competent on all things electronic and mechanical… I had always wanted to see 3-D printing first hand… Naturally, Luigi had the latest gadget hooked up in his small showroom and prints out miniature models to show to his clients… (Must have one myself!)

By now it’s lunch time, and I take my  “wing man”, Chris, to P. J. Clark, a hip bar on 3^rd Avenue, where I took my wife Erica on our first date some sixty years ago! The hamburgers are still the best and the place hasn’t changed a bit since it became a designated N.Y. Landmark.

 

 

P. J. Clark as it is today and as it has always been

Our day’s goal was to see the Architectural Digest Home Show at the Piers. This is a showcase that has evolved over the years into a fine three-ring circus of everything for the home; from toilets to skinks, kitchens, sleep products, a special section to showcase Dining by Design… and what caught my attention – an inspiring wing devoted to young craftsmen and women showing their own creativity.

 

Architectural Digest Home Design Show

Dining by Design

      

of course I don't remember the designer's names... I am a visual kinda guy - and these were the exhibits that struck me.

 

Just a few immages from the general show

A wacky excercise bike - right - My old client, Roche Bobois' forty year old mattress sofas

In the same exhibit with the wacky bike were these two gorgeous chairs by Italy's Giorgetti company

 

The Art & Craft wing of the exhibit

I found these delightful people and their works


Who said that a cabinet makers has to be tough and burly, Virginia Blanchard is the craftsperson who made all of these exqusite Art Nouveau and Art Deco pieces in her workshop in Maine

 

 

Greg Klassen from Seattle made these outstanding tables as part of his  River Collection

 

I love Aaron Scott's sculptured furniture -  is a very versatile craftman who work in in Brooklyn NY

 

Aaron Scott sitting with one of his sculptured tables - (right) John Dodd's geometric designs combine wood and concrete in a sophisticated way 

Amy Eisenfeld Genser created interesting wall art out of rolled paper - She hails from West Hartford CT

I really liked her work as well as any I have seen in museum art shows.

Patrick Weder, works in Williamsburg, Brooklyn... he is immensely versatile and worth watching. These light sculptures are made with twisted wire fencing and wrapped with paper machete

 

 

 

This might have been the right time for most people to go home, put their feet up and watch the evening news…. but not for me. My exuberant daughter Jessica whisked me off to a friend’s fabulous art-filled loft in Soho for a superb dinner and, surprise, surprise, a room-full of my furniture.

 

Day three: Back to my factory in Clifton to work with my staff on developing and critiquing new products in work… I’d really like to show them to you but must keep them under wraps until their introduction later this year.

 

Day four: My book, THE COMPLETE KAGAN, is finally out of print - I am told that copies are selling for up to $400, and a signed version has sold for $1,000 (If you own one… you’re rich!) The morning was devoted to a meeting with my charismatic publisher, Suzy Slesin of Pointed Leaf Press to plan a revised edition…(look for it in early 2015) it will be larger, heavier and more expensive… and yes, with about fifty NEW pages devoted to Kagan NOW… (I could have told you that the 2004 version was not complete!) We worked out the time schedule for the revised edition and all the work that I must do now to make it happen!

 

Next, we went gallery hoping in Soho… First, meeting up with my friend, Sebastian Errazuriz, the most talented young designer to hit the art-scene in recent years. He had a show in a hidden little gallery called Storefront for Art and Architecture at 97 Kenmare Street. His show, “Tough Love” is art that would be hard to show in an uptown environment. Sebastian took a few friends and me on a personal tour. His message is mind-boggling and wrenching: “50% of all construction workers are undocumented” – “Homeless population in NYC rises 13 percent” – “Every 40 seconds in the United States, a child becomes missing or abducted” – 800.000 children are reported missing every year – “Every 2 minutes another American is sexually assaulted” - “97% of rapists never spend a day in jail” etc. etc.

   

you know the little guy - The smiling big fellow is my friend Sebastian Errazuriz

 

Sebastian explaining the gruesome Newspaper headline - a photographer caught the gruesome last seconds of a doomed man's life - Sebastian's comment: Could he have saved the the man instead of taking the photo - we will never know

 

 

 

 

 

Last year's Boston Marathone's surviving terrorist - in this painting Sebastian is commenting on the innosence of this teenager dragged into this tragedy by his older brother. He painted this direct from a news paper photogrpah in the style Coragio, giving it a somber museum look

 

my friend Constance listening attentively to Sebastian's description of his works

 

The Athlete's "Letter Jackets" are symbolic of the student rapes on colledge campuses

Overwhelmed by the depressing message, we decided the only cure was a bourgeois lunch at Balthazar, (one of New York’s more trendy Bistros - at 2:30 it was still standing room only… we had reservations!)

 

Satiated, we visited Atelier Courbet, on Baxter Street, the sophisticated new gallery owned by Melanie Courbet and her partner Ashlee Harrison… A few weeks earlier I had been invited to an elegant Champagne opening where the ladies introduced a collection of luxurious silk rugs by Paris based Sabine De Gunzburg designed by a cadre of salubrious designer: Francis Picabia, Serge Poliakoff, Matthias Bitzer, Frank Gehry and Vladimir Kagan… Surprise, surprise! Frank Gehry’s and my rug had not arrived… ostensibly stuck in customs.…I was confident that by today they’d surely be hanging …. I was wrong!…To the girl’s utter embarrassment, they are still in limbo somewhere between Paris and New York…. Never mind, it was fun just visiting with the two beautiful young owners.

 

Bemused by my friends loss of my rug, I played a little joke on them with a 'fake' spilled coffee-cup on one of their imported French stools

Finally, on a personal note: My adorable grand-daughter Gigi, who is staying with her parents in my apartment in Palm Beach, developed appendicitis and had to have an operation while I was in New York, (by the time I arrived back in Palm Beach she had happily recovered). But here’s my little tale: For the past three years we have had a lonely canary occupying a huge aviary cage in my New York apartment; (he travels regularly to Nantucket for his summer vacation). “Conrad” always sings for his supper in search of a mate – to make Gigi and “Conrad” happy, I purchased a beautiful “blonde” to keep him company… We will be waiting with baited breath for the two to produce a bevy of offspring.

 

A bachelor's happy ending - with a beautiful blonde bride

Finally - Sunday: It’s time to return to Palm Beach. My dear friend and neighbor made a special farewell brunch - my favorite NY Deli food: “everything” bagels lathered with a cream-cheese “schmear”, herring, white anchovies, chopped liver and much more… Stuffed and happy, I am writing this little epistle at 32,000 feet on Jet Blue’s flight #1161 back to Palm Beach…

 

Stay tuned! 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Reminiscences of a fun-filled fall weekend

Fall in Nantucket

Copyright Vladimir Kagan November 25, 2013

 

It is only four days to Thanksgiving and here I am reminiscing about a weekend over a month ago. Why? Because it was lots of fun and full of interesting activity… and most of you weren’t there!

 

Remember Columbus Day? It’s always a great Holiday for store sales – or - A weekend in the country with the kids - or - Soccer and Lacrosse matches to keep parents from going for that weekend in the country. For me it was Nantucket.

 

 

My weekend started in New York on Thursday with an invitation to the final performance of the original Coc au Vin band, with Ingrid Feeney, the band’s indispensable vocalist, playing hooky from her Master’s studies in Anthropology at the University of Chicago. Joanna Hay, my favorite violinist, took time-off from recording the oral history of Kentucky Bourbon. The four other members: Caleb Cressman, Andy Harris, Pete Arsenault and Lucy VanArsdale arrived complete with her bass fiddle in a three-car caravan from Nantucket. Ethan Philbrick, the concert cellist, now studying in New York at NYU, joined the band, as did Joanna’s nephew, Ben Thornewill, who is a promising rock star and leader of a band called “Jukebox The Ghost”. Thornewill improvised the gypsy tunes with a distinct Jazz flavor on the Grand piano… Fans came from everywhere … Asa Jean had just flown in from Italy in time for the concert… he got the place rocking by encouraging everyone to dance … It was a fun start of a lively weekend.   

   

My adorable traveling companions on my flight to Nantucket

 

I lucked out hitching a ride to Nantucket in a friend’s plane… It was a perfect afternoon to escape New York, bypassing all the stifling weekend traffic. The plane is a sexy twin engine Cessna normally, quiet and dignified with passenger’s noses buried in their newspaper or briefcase files. Not this time! It was a kiddies outing with more children than adults. 40-minutes later we arrived on our far-away Island to a glorious sunset.

 

The glorious sunset as seen from the airplane just before we slipped under the clouds

Scalloping is Nantucket’s favorite fall sport. The season starts October 1^st, but gets frenetic over the Columbus Day weekend. Saturday morning was blustery with winds gusting over 25 m.p.h. Only the foolhardiest of souls ventured out to muck about in frothy chilly waters, spending hours in their waterlogged waders as they became flooded by the onrushing waves. (Age had its advantage and I was spared going overboard)… my mission was to monitor the anchor and keep the boat from dragging over the seaweed bottom. For those that don’t rake for scallops it is mandatory to partake in opening them. The process is called shucking, a ritual, best done in the backyard as it is messy and slimy. It is also time consuming and best accompanied with a glass of beer, wine or better still, a slug of whiskey. (One of our fellow scallopers took a short cut and paid the local fishmonger to do the task for him. That is cheating!) If you scallop you must experience shucking. This year, I managed to escape the shucking, as I had to prepare dinner for 21 guests. My specialty is Ceviche and Cesar Salad. (Without boasting, I make the best of both… Another time I may share the recipes). It was a contest between my Ceviche and my daughter Vanessa’s outstanding pasta (made with the freshest scallops money can’t buy.)

 

heading out to the flats off Tuckernuck Island

 

The kids getting ready for a joy ride out to the scallpop fields

 

T

The boys suiting up in wetsuits to dive for the scallops



Getting ready for the big "dig" - These photos were taken in calmer waters from an earlier date  

...and this is what the "hunt" is all about! Nantucket Bay Scallops

 ...followed by the messy task of shucking

Finally the reward: tasting one of my ceviche delicacies

 

Scalloping is not Nantucket’s only Columbus Day “sport”. There were numerous other events to lure the tourists. High on the calendar was the Cranberry Festival, an afternoon concocted around the harvesting of these succulent berries.  When the weather is nice, it is fun for all the family; games, hayrides, sheep sheering, hot dogs, and a tent filled with tables offering everything and anything made with cranberries. Cranberries are an integral part of Nantucket’s agriculture. Nantucket boasts the largest contiguous Bogs in the USA. Cranberry harvesting is a treat to watch and seldom seen by the public. The ritual starts with bees pollinating the flowers in the spring, (hence the honey on sale in the tent). After weeding the bogs all summer, when the berries are ripe the bogs are flooded with water to harvest them with a thrasher. Millions of berries float to the top and then corralled and sucked up with giant vacuums into waiting trucks to be transported to the Cape for processing. The flooded “ponds” turn crimson red and are a spectacular sight to see… it is an irresistible subject for artists and photographers. I love doing this event every year.

   
The Cranberry Festival

Sunday turned out to be another fine fall day. The not-to-miss event of the day was the Demolition Derby. You can’t believe how many real and would be rednecks we have on the island. (I was surprised to see so many of my friends.) A thousand spectators watched the screeching and banging from behind the safety of a chain fence as the cars kicked up dust and dirt with their spinning tires. Participants take great pride in decorating their wrecks with funny epitaphs or the names of local sponsors; all glass is removed from windows and replaces with chicken wire… only an infinitesimal amount of gasoline is in each gas tank and fires are not a usual risk. To heighten the excitement, huge billows of steam pour out of the radiators, as they are smashed in this adult form of carnival “Bumper Cars”. Each round takes less than five minutes but much longer to clean up. This year there were 50 cars entered with 7 heats for the day. I loved to watch the dexterity of the Bulldozer operators as they clear the wrecks between each heat. There were food and chowder stands to keep us warm in the chilly afternoon.

A successful driver leaving his wreck behind - followed by an ever vigilant fire fighter - just in case!

 

At the end of the day the "grave yard" after the demolition

 

If watching car wrecking wasn’t on your agenda, there was a little publicized show called Capoeira, a Brazilian dance and marshal arts performance at the local high school auditorium. The origin of Capoeira came from African slaves, who, chained and shackled, invented this aggressive tactic, disguised as a dance to trick their Portuguese overseers into believing it to be a benign event. 

 

 

An air-borne dancer - the action is so swift that he is appearing only as a swish

n
The children parading hand in hand with their adult partners

A brave youngster challenging his grown-up partner

Nantucket has a sizable transplanted Brazilian colony, mostly working in gardening, housekeeping and construction. Under normal circumstances, you might occasionally meet one in the local Stop & Shop; otherwise they tend to be invisible. This performance was a surprising eye-opener. It gave a new dimension to these talented people and their acrobatic dance. The stage was filled with dozens of white costumed performers; stave carrying singers, string instruments and bongo drummers. Capoeira is a performance sometimes in slow motion, instantly becoming lightning quick with dancers doing gymnastic leaps tumble, flip, kick and pirouette while ducking under their opponents. It is a dance with rhythmic flow of motion; there is hardly ever a bodily contact. Most enchanting was the participation of little children, aged four, five, and upward, from the local elementary school, interacting with these giant high performance “warriors” in this gentle dance. As in Judo, performers are rated with colored belts that denote their lever of expertise. (See link below to what a video of this great dance)

 

Finally, it was the closing ceremony for our yacht club, with the lowering of the burgee as flag officers stood in silent observance while a bugler played taps.

 
Closing cerimony at the Nantucket Yacht Club

We could not have crammed more activities into this three-day Holiday, but it turns out that we missed the half-Marathon and numerous other sporting events…. By Tuesday morning, with the mass-exodus of visitors, Nantucket slipped back into its fall slumber….

 

Our beautiful Boat Basin after the crowds have left

 

Link to Capoeira Dance:

file://localhost/Users/vladimir/Desktop/BLOGS%20NEW%20MATERIAL/COLUMBUS%20DAY%20BLOG/Capoeira%20-%20Brazilian%20Dance,%20Music,%20&%20Martial%20Arts%20-%20YouTube.webarchive

America’s Love affair with Violence

 

Copyright Vladimir Kagan January 20, 2011

 

What has happened in Tucson has been repeated many times before; I went on Wikepedia and counted 104 shootings in schools since the University of Texas massacre in 1966. Columbine High School 1999, Virginia Tech 2007, Northern Illinois University 2008, are just a few of the more gory ones.

 

This will not go away with wishful thinking. It is a malignancy less curable than cancer. The love of violence in our daily culture is deeply embedded. The press is finding scapegoats in political rhetoric: but they are not alone! I blame our entertainment industries, which revels in mayhem, blood and gore.

 

You cannot go to a movie (this week we went to see The King’s Speech…a benign deeply intellectual film but were first bombarded with trailers (Approved for all audiences!) one new violent film after the other: exploding cars, imploding buildings, pyromaniac-effects, blood, gore and guns, guns, guns. (Any wonder that a few deranged people in our society will follow suit?)

 

Visit Netflix and their inventory of violence is endless. Go to Prime Time TV and each network is vying for more violent entertainment than the other (ratings drop if they don’t.)… Scan the hundreds of Cable stations and select more mayhem. Kid's Video Games are awash in violence. Pick up your local newspaper and see the carnage reported as news…but it also sells papers. TV news broadcasts wallow in the stuff, books feed this craze for violence. Add explicit sex into this mix and you are seeing modern America.

 

…So I say, why blame political rhetoric? Sarah Palin is just doing what comes naturally in Moose country…. and so are all the other rabble-rousers who screech on both sides of the political spectrum.

 

We need to reverse this epidemic. It will be tougher than reducing the national debt. Congress has no appetite for attacking the core problem: The proliferation of guns. They hide behind the constitution: The Right To Bear Arms…. It is not a gospel, though Congress treats it as such.

 

The right to bear arms was fine in 18^th Century America as the fledgling country was fighting a revolution: all the citizenry possessed then were muskets and single-shot pistols. However, it is totally out of sync in today’s world of AK-47 attack rifles, semi-automatic pistols and high-speed bullet clips…. Parenthetically, It is more difficult to drive a car legally, (you first must pass a state driving test)… than to acquire guns and bullets. For that, all you need do is go to the nearest gun shop and load up.

 

 

Let me give you a few guns statistics I just read:

• There are about 85 guns per 100 people in the United States

The only country that is more armed than America is Yemen!

• About 80 people die from guns every day, and several times as many are injured.
• Handgun sales in Arizona soared by 60 percent the Monday, after the Tucson shooting spree.

An article in the forthcoming American Journal of Lifestyle Medicine by Harvard professor, David Hemenway, quotes a book written a few years ago reframing the gun debate as a public health challenge. It makes clear that:

•  A gun in the home makes you more likely to be shot — by accident, by suicide or by homicide.
• The chances that a gun will be used to deter a home invasion are unbelievably remote. Dialing 911 is more effective in reducing injury than brandishing a weapon.
• American children are 11 times more likely to die in a gun accident than in other developed countries, because of the prevalence of guns.
• Suicide rates are higher in states with more guns, simply because there are more guns.
• Most homicides in the home are by family members or acquaintances — not by an intruder — the presence of a gun in the home increases the risk of a gun murder in that home.

Enough?... I think these are reasonable arguments for gun control legislation. But here is our Congressmen’s response to the issue:

 

• Gun rights advocates and lawmakers on both sides of the aisle said Thursday that there was little chance the attack would produce significant new legislation or a change in a national culture that has long been accepting of guns. If anything, they said, lawmakers are less receptive than ever to new gun restrictions.
• As an institution, Congress seems to celebrate gun ownership as much as many communities in Arizona.
• Many members of Congress own firearms, which they carry while riding around in farm trucks in their district or concealed behind a jacket in the streets, among constituents. “I carry a gun because it is a personal preference and for my own personal safety,” said Representative Jason Chaffetz, Republican of Utah, one of several lawmakers who carry a concealed weapon in their districts.
• Democrats who favor more restrictive gun laws say they do not expect new legislation to be passed, especially now that Republicans control of the House and Democrats have lost seats in the Senate. However, Democrats are hardly uniform in supporting tough gun laws as a matter of policy; as a matter of politics, Democrats in Congress have increasingly shied away from the issue.
• Asked about prospects for new gun restrictions, Representative Mike Pence, Republican of Indiana, asserted, “I maintain that firearms in the hands of law-abiding citizens makes communities safer, not less safe.”

 

• Erich Pratt, the director of communications for Gun Owners of America, says “These politicians need to remember that these rights aren’t given to us by them. They come from God. They are God-given rights.

 

 

• “The Pledge to America is our plan,” said Kevin Smith, a spokesman for the House speaker, John A. Boehner, “and our immediate focus is on addressing the top priorities of the American people, creating jobs, cutting spending and reforming the way Congress works.”…(A nice cop-out for responsible legislation!)

This week its business as usual in the gun industry: The Crossroads of the West gun show went on as planned at the Pima County Fairgrounds, 13 miles from the shooting site, another gun show is scheduled for the following weekend. “We had no hesitation about going ahead with the show so soon after the incident,” said Lois Chedsey, secretary to the Arizona Arms Association, a show sponsor. “Gun sales have been up since last Saturday”

An even bigger event in Las Vegas, the Shot Show — which bills itself as the country’s largest exhibition of guns and ammunition — is proceeding next week with a four-day run that fills two floors of convention space.

•••••

Here is my formula for a reasonable approach to the problem:

• Tone down the destructive rhetoric in our political discourse.
• Try a more constructive approach to Entertainment.
• Our military seeks intelligence about the enemies we are fighting to better protect the troops: Why can’t our civilian governments pool their knowledge of potential threats by deranged individuals wandering in our streets and schools and put them safely away before they do their damage? In the 60’s we closed thousands of our mental institutions and foisted the inmates into our streets…(they thought drug treatment would take the place of incarceration…it hasn’t). Preemptive action is cheaper than long-term prisons.
• Guns are too deeply entrenched in our social fiber…we can’t eliminate them, but it is our obligation to regulate who owns one. Educate and license an owner before they are qualified to own one: This can help ferret out the unstable.
• If the stated purpose of gun ownership is self-protection or hunting, there are many guns suitable for this purpose: Assault weapons are not the answer. (We have a dear friend, who is a gun advocate. She owns a hand-gun and a rifle. She has taken shooting lessons; she is licensed and she poses no menace to anyone…Neither she, nor Sarah Palin nor the thousands of other law abiding citizens have anything to worry about…. However, anyone possessing a gun should be licensed just like anyone driving a car…. SIMPLE!….(So why are they and the NRA so opposed?)

•••••

My friends, we are in for along siege…just duck, when you hear gunshots!