Vladimir Kagan's Blog

A Model T tour through the back-woods of Connecticut - part 2

Survival in a Model T

The annual Ocean to Ocean Reunion - part 2

Copyright Vladimir Kagan, July 17, 2014

 

“The Mashantucket Pequot is a federally recognized Native American nation in the state of Connecticut. They are descended from the Pequot people. Within their Reservation in Ledyard, Connecticut, the Mashantucket Pequot operate Foxwoods Resort Casino. It is the world's largest resort casino in terms of gambling space and number of slot machines, and one of the most economically successful.”… Wikipedia

…To achieve certification as a Native American, ancestral lineage can consists of as little as 1/16 Indian blood... I could not tell if there were any Indians around...VK

 

Now let me tell you about Foxwoods....When driving westward on Ct Route 2 into a forested wilderness, there suddenly loom three huge towers, soaring above miles of rolling hills and treetops: colossal structures, reminiscent of the biblical Tower of Babel. Their groteske architecture is pure Las Vegas. The garish interiors of the Casino are pompous; they are Sodom and Gomorrah on steroids. Old ladies, wizened gents, oversized men and women perched on raised swivel chairs, engrossed in the act of feeding hundreds of slot-machines with millions of dollars, 24 hours a day, seven days a week…Once, many, many years ago, slots swallowed pennies, quarters and for the big spenders: silver dollars. The occasional winner was rewarded with the satisfactory sound of coins dropping out of the hopper and overflowing into the laps of the lucky winner. There was the satisfaction of pulling a lever that gave a sense of skill; you controlled the speed and somehow held Lady Luck in your hand. That’s gone; today you must buy slugs from the cashier, insert a five-dollar bill to activate the machine and push a button to watch the three cylinders spin. On rare occasion three picture images will align and you have won… An electronic noise will simulate the sound of falling coins. Instead of a pocket full of cash, a slip of paper pops out that is the record of your winning… That is the pleasure of the modern slot machine!

I arrived with a pocket full of silver dollars that a friend gave me…. and returned home with the same amount…. Gambling was not on my agenda.

 

 

unspoiled forrest's as far as the eye can see until you come upon two "Towers of Babel" piercing through the landscape

 

the electronic key to my room on the 21st floor

 

Las Vegas in the Connecticut Woods

Willard Revaz and Bob Osborn, our congenial Connecticut hosts chose Foxwoods as a convenient location to fan out from. The rooms were luxurious, the group rates reasonable and the food plentiful. We were provided with designated safe parking for our gaggle of antique cars… What more could we ask for!

 

 
Our "toys" safely tucked away in the garage

 

++++++

GILLETTE'S PALACE

 

The second day’s excursion was a mere fifty miles roundtrip to the Gillette Palace; a pile of stones built into a twenty eight-room mansion by an eccentric actor. Back at the turn of the century, William Gillette’s major claim to fame was interpreting Sherlock Holmes in thousands of performances around the USA… It also made him a multi-millionaire. The palace was interesting for its bizarre interior features and the magnificent view of the Connecticut River.

 

Lunchtime: with our stomachs grourling for food, we found a Subway sandwich shop to fill the empty cavities in our tummies. I must confess that a fully loaded baget is my favorite sin-food. But you never know who you will meet where! A model T is a crowd magnet. A delightful man sauntered up to our cars and proceeds to tell us of his collection just a few miles away... and off we scoot in search of a zany model T collectors in the backwoods of Connecticut.

our new friend, Richard Beckwith, showing us his collection of antique cars

Richard's calling card reads "Cluttered Barn" and that is what T collectors look like

 

++++++++++++++

 

MYSTIC SEAPORT

Mystic Seaport

the training vessel Joseph Conrad moored alongside the restoration shipyard

No visit to this part of Connecticut is complete without a day at Mystic Seaport: the destination for our third day of touring. Seaport is a beautifully preserved fishing village and home to the only fully restored, commercial Whaling ship still afloat, the Charles W. Morgan. Unfortunately, it had set sail up the coast of New England the day before we arrived.

 

The only existing operative steamboat with its original engines ticking away down below

 

 

The salvaged keel of a sunken whaling ship

The working lumberyard used for the Museum's ship restoration program

and finally a horse and buggy ride through the streets of the little fishing village of Mystic

+++++++++++++

 

SUBMARINE MUSEUM

Entrance to the Submarine Museum at Groton Connecticut... the two rings represent the smallest and largest submarine every built

On our final day was another “boy’s adventures” visit to the Submarine Museum at Groton. The showpiece of the Museum was The Nautilus, the first atomic submarine built over sixty years ago. In spite of my limitations, I climbed down its narrow steep steps into the bowls of the ship. A claustrophobic chamber of gages tubes, pipes, and crew quarters that are not everyone’s vision of comfort.

 
me, an unlikely submariner on the Nautilus - Bushnells one man sub from the revolutionary war designed to attach explosives to enemy ships... it did not work


++++++++++

 

CHAOS 

Retuning home from this pleasant visit, the “fun” began. Chuckling up the steep three floors to the hotel’s parking garage, my car sputtered, spat fumes, and finally DIED ten feet from the top! …. At first it stood still…. My heart jumped into my throat… moments later we began the perilous roll backwards… NO BRAKES! (It is a notorious fact that Henry Ford’s clever Rocky Mountain brakes work extremely well rolling forward but NOT backwards!

It was a moment of pure terror… Memories flashed back to four years ago when Erica and I started to slide backwards on a hairpin turn on Smuggler’s Notch, the steepest mountain pass in Vermont….

 Just before we were about to start a roller-coaster ride down the three floors of the garage and almost certain disaster, my daughter Jessica, who was the designated map-reader for the day, had the instantaneous reflex to grab my airplane chuck, jump out of the car and plant it under the back wheel, stopping the car’s free-fall roll… Saved one more time!

Again, Doug came to the rescue and crawled under the car to determine that I had worn out the driving band, a mysterious strap of Teflon that propels the car forward in low gear. This was serious. He managed to tighten it enough to drive the last ten feet up to our designated parking area… that was it. The “Lizzie” could go no further.

 

Almost at the top --- Doug's car is waiting

Doug to the rescue once again - note the chuck behind the back wheel... it stopped our roller-coaster ride down the garage ramp

Doug adjusting his tools - note the roller-coaster ramp to the bottom

 

 

"Gray's Anatomy" of my Model T

When things get desperate, there is always a guardian angel! This time he came in the form of Adam Hubacz… a dedicated Model T mechanic, who lived some eighty miles north near the New Hampshire border. Adam had worked on my car before and I persuaded him to drive down to Foxwoods and replace the worn-out band. He arrived at 10 PM and started to take the engine apart. Chris stood by and took gory photos of the process reminiscent of Gray’s Anatomy. Hours past midnight the final blow fell: I had burned out the internal drive-drum… No repair could be affected without the complete removal of the engine. The only solution was to tow the car to Adam’s farm in North Brookfield, Massachusetts, where it now rests and awaits his patient skill on “T” time.

Unloading the car at Adam's Farm in Massachusetts

 

POST SCRIPT

 

Doug's dog could care less - She just enjoyed the ride!

A Model T Tour through the back-woods of Connecticut

 

 

 

 

Survival in a Model T

The annual Ocean to Ocean Reunion - part 1

Copyright Vladimir Kagan, July 6, 2014

 

This article is a memorial tribute to my departed friend, Dolph Cramer. who introduced me to Model T Fords back in the seventies. He wanted so desperately to participate in this rally, but sadly, Dolph passed away this January... Last weekend, we finally said goodbye to Dolph at a memorial service in his enchanting garden in South Hampton.

 
Dolph'd flower filled garden and the arbor where he and his adoring wife Beatty would sit, enjoying an afternoon tea or cocktail

"The Boys" Peter McAllister, Ian Evans, both here from England and David Steinman, who organized the Vermont reunion four years ago. All three drove with Dolph across the country in the Ocean to Ocean Rally in 2009.

 

 

 

The annual Ocean to Ocean rally is a celebration of the 2009 Ocean to Ocean Centennial Road Race from New York to Seattle. As a native New Yorker, Dolph Cramer helped to organize the New York portion of this amazing month-long event.

 This year the tour took us through the back-woods of Connecticut. Our week was a roller coaster adventure. I drove over 300 miles in five days and traveled an equal distance in the cab of a tow truck, with my little “Tin Lizzie” riding on the back of flatbed trucks.

 

The bottom line: I survived… just barely!

 

Arriving by ferry from Nantucket, we waited over three hours for a tow truck to take us from Hyannis to Foxwoods.

Loading the car onto the Flatbed in Hyannis with the Nantucket ferry in the background

Halfway to Connecticut, we decided the car was self-destructing from the wind and decided to reload it facing backwards

 

Within minutes of arrival my car stalled as we drove into the parking garage of the Foxwoods Hotel. My heart jumped into my mouth when I found a huge puddle of gasoline under the car… obviously a broken fuel line. We are now three hours late for the tour briefing… all familiar faces had long retired to their rooms, only my faithful friend Ian Evans from England and Willard and Barbara Revaz, who were hosting this event, waited for us. A cheerful welcome was followed by “not to worry, tomorrow someone will come down to help,” and help did arrive at 7 am in the guise of Doug Hauge, a dyed-in-the-wool Model T buff, which means he owns at least a dozen other cars and lives and breathes ‘T’s. Doug is a retired firefighter who has seen his share of horrors in the 20 odd years he’s been on the firing line as a first-responder. He looks tough; a walrus mustache, a muscular six foot plus lank body - but Doug turned out to be a gentle lamb, patient and helpful. He’s a bachelor who lives alone with his rescue dog. Doug brought his 1914 touring car, which he built from scrap parts into a dazzling tomato-red gem. The car has all the bells and whistles commensurate with a tinkerer’s whims. He kept us entertained with anecdotal wisdom including one that I will pass on to you: he will not stay in a hotel or anywhere else above the 7th floor as that is the highest a fire truck’s ladders will reach! (How’s that for inside wisdom!)

 

Doug, his dog and the Model T

 

Doug Hauge to the rescue!

He jumped to the rescue and slithered under the car. Within minutes he determined that it was not serious; only a stuck float-ball in the carburetor which was dislocated while bouncing along on the trip from Hyannis. A magical hit with a small mallet dislodged it and we were happily on our way. With Doug’s assurance that all was O.K., I gingery embarked on the longest drive of the weeklong rally; 150 miles round trip to Bradley International Airport and the nearby Aviation museum. Obviously a must for any red-blooded airplane fan.

 

Turns out that Doug needed a map-reader and Chris Eitel, my wingman, was volunteered for the job. I inherited my friend Ian as my navigator … and so we set out on our first day’s adventure. For me, transitioning from a five mile a day driver to doing 150 miles took a bit of going, but as we got going, the going got easier and I fell into the rhythm of acrobatic driving - using both hands and feet to manipulate the car. (No use in telling you how these cars function… unless you are a “T” driver, you wouldn't understand.)

  

Chris at the controls of a WW-2 fighter

 

The aviation museum was a huge success and I survived the first day with flying colors!

++++++++++ 

 

To navigate the back roads of Connecticut, you need a route-finder to read the intricate turn-by-turn driving instructions prepared for us by our hosts Bob Osborn and Will Revas. When your navigator is not calling out directions and obstacles, he becomes the cheerful tour guide drawing your attention to the dazzling sights on the left and right as we merrily bounce along. There are little hamlets scattered down the road with unrecognizable names, which were settled back in the 18th century and now are home to fewer than a dozen families. There are railroad crossings without gates or warning lights and you wonder when the last train crossed there. There are brooks and streams that feed into the Connecticut River… each with its Indian name… there is the occasional “whroom” of a motorcycle barreling down the road or overtaking from behind. The road is mostly empty but when you look into the rearview mirror you see that you are leading a gaggle of a dozen cars patiently flowing in your track, eager to pass you… you search for a place to pull over to allow them to drive through.

    

Driving through Connecticut’s North Country on back roads is a tonic for the passengers and a joyride for the driver. Hairpin turns – steep hills to climb – sharp descending turns over narrow bridges – unexpected oncoming traffic – four way stop signs – three way stop signs – single stop signs looming up without warning. Traffic lights that turns yellow to red with little warning, menacing crossings forcing screeching stops - lest you shoot ahead into the oncoming traffic, (which I did one harrowing moment). Model T brakes are notorious for their sluggish response and are virtually non-existence. Narrow rural roads are laced with potholes. Driving them is a challenge. Dense forests turn day into night until suddenly you emerge into blinding sunshine.

 
 

Connecticut is a small State, but cruising through its Northern territory is a far cry from the polished estates and gracious lanes of Greenwich and New Canaan. This area of Connecticut is a beautiful wilderness largely covered with forests and small farms. The Connecticut River valley is bucolic with ancient iron bridges crossing its wide span and a toy ferry that miraculously carries eight cars at a time crossing a wide stretch of the river, which is navigateable for miles up stream. The river served as an important industrial waterway with barges and tug boats carrying freight back and forth. Today its primary use is by pleasure boats. The towns along its shore bear witness to a once thriving water based economy. Massive abandoned mill buildings stand vacant along its shores waiting to be renovated into condos or torn down by the wrecking ball… which ever comes first. Victorian Mansions bear witness to the bygone wealth of these towns.

 

 

Our rally consisted of 11 Model T's ranging from 1914 to 1927, (mine is from 1922). All the cars are lovingly maintained. Their owners come in all shapes and ages; they’re a different lot from say - Bugatti owners.

 

Owners come from all over including Larry the Limey, who keeps his car here permanently for these rallies

These folks function on “T” time… that means flexible and totally unpredictable. Some guys are up at 5 am tinkering with their engines, brakes, and lubrication and then there is me. I don’t fit the mold. I love my car - I've owned it for over forty years, but unlike my cohorts, I know virtually nothing about the mechanics. As a result I have been coasting on a wing and a prayer.... My luck finally ran out. 

 

Look for the next instalment... coming soon!

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

 

 

A Farewell to Winter in Florida

 

 

Goodbye Summer – Hello Spring

Copyright Vladimir Kagan, April 10, 2014

 

There are only a few things in Palm Beach (y-a-w-n) that can turn me on…

    One: is going to Miami where life is vibrant, the Cuban girls exquisite, friends are dynamic, the food exotic, and I have the best showroom in town with my furniture at Ralph Pucci’s gallery.

 

my limited edition Fibreglas Chair in the Pucci Miami showroom

My social life blossoms when I am in Miami

 

The Farmer's Market

me - buzzing about in the farmer's Market on my Scooter

    In West Palm Beach there is a weekly event I seldom miss: The Farmer’s Market!  Five minutes from my apartment in Palm Beach, this is where the hoy-poloy blend seamlessly with the tourists, oldies, odd-ies, students, and dozens of well behaved dogs winding their way between their owner’s and stroller legs. What is really “cool” are the vendors: some graduates of the “snake-oil school of salesmanship”… characters in their own right…. There are hucksters, gardeners, fast-food magicians, botanists, apiarists, Jamaican short order cooks… talk about the smell of Pizza’s wafting in the air… wait till you smell marinated spareribs sizzling on charcoal embers!!!

My first “port of call” is always Jamal, my friend from Anguilla, who, with a few well placed strokes of his machete, cuts open a juicy young coconut, which we eagerly sip through a tiny hole at the top. Finally, when empty, we eat the gelatinous fresh “meat” with a “spoon” deftly crafted by Jamal.

 
Jamal handing Chris his coconut - Jamal giving a coup de gras to a coconut ready for eating

  

Next, there is Sigi, my German cheese vendor… I love schmoozing it up with him in German while he seduces me with morsels of “must buy” cheese! My fridge is full of them, which I intend to transport North regardless of the residual smell in my suitcase!

Don't be fooled by the sausage - that's Sigi my Cheese vendor with his droll wife smiling in the background

 

I love the lady who sells orchids. Hers is a little paradise of tropical splendor… I can never resist buying an orchid; after four months, my plants are still in full bloom sprouting new flowers daily…

 

Orchid, orchids everywhere but my gardening friend was not to be seen

 

On occasion there are gymnasts showing off their flexibility in aerial Yoga, a specially advanced form of the ancient Indian meditation exercise… they turn out to be “shills” for the yoga studio down the street.

 
Chris getting pointer from the "Yoga Chick" on how to hang upside down

 

The honey guy is fabulous; knowledgeable about the seriously endangered bee population and the fascinating sources of his various honeys… (Next to the cheese in my suitcase, will be jars of honey extracted from the endangered plant species pollinated by his bees).

The honey vendor giving a serious lecture on bees - The olive oil guys handing out tastes of their products

I manage to thread my way through the teaming crowds on my little electric tricycle - which also serves as transport for all our purchases as it is quickly inundated with shopping bags nestled between my legs and dangling on the handlebars.

    

One of my great loves in Florida are Banyan Trees… there is a beauty at the entrance to the little park which temporarily host’s the market… I stand and worship it every visit.

The majestic Banyan Tree at the entrance to the little park that is home to the Farmer's Market each Saturday
 

 

The Middle East and France in Palm Beach

Two blocks down a side street is my favorite Middle East Bakery & Grocery operated by a Lebanese father and son team. I am a regular and love, love their food: flat bread, humus, babaganush, taramasalata, baklavas, dolmathakia, halva… is your mouth watering?

   
I cannever resist the feta or the wide choice of 'home baked" flat bread

A little treasure, that I almost hate to reveal is Patrick Leze’s Patisserie hidden in the Landmark Palm Beach Hotel just a half block from my home… I scooter there regularly for a fresh croissant and coffee.

French spoken here: Elodie Leze, the wife of the baker, enjoying a cup of coffee with me

 

 

Where the West Meets East

… And finally, my latest discovery, (the one that may still redeem Palm Beach’s ho-hum reputation): Line Dancing at Renegades in West Palm Beach! This is done to Country Western Music, which, according to a recent article in the New York Times, is the hottest pop music going… We entered a bar that looked like a roller skating rink with tables around the perimeter for patrons…“Step – kick – turn” was blasting out of a sound system over the beat of the music. There were perhaps twenty to thirty bodies of all ages, sex, color, costumes - some exquisite, others chubby, lanky, some dressed as urban cowboys but most just in jeans, and the uniform for the girls: cut-off short-shorts with the mandatory cowboy boots. The caller was a middle-aged bespectacled lady that knew her stuff. She took the participants through their drill before setting them loose to the music. Everyone moved in unison… first right then left; at a signal, all spun around and faced us… everyone in serious concentration… there were calls for stomping, hopping, twisting … with endless variations… all in unison.  By now the dance floor filled with more people all in step with each other. Their performance could have been on the stage of Radio City Music Hall… As the evening progressed, the caller disappeared and the floor became filled with better and better dancers... young old, extremely good looking others became beautiful with their movements. There was a separate contingent that did couple dancing… they were oblivious to the Line dancers as the males were seriously engrossed with their lady partner’s pirouetting, in and out and under their arms and deftly twirling them behind their backs… all the while moving forward around the perimeter of the dance floor… Like serious Tango dancers, the oldsters could easily out-dance some of the younger couples…. all this movement to the throbbing rhythmic music. The chorus-line performers in the center were oblivious to the couples and vice-versa.

 

While the men in my small entourage were watching this performance from our ringside tables, munching comfort food, (my favorite variation of junk-food) nachos, Buffalo wings, ribs and bottles of beer, our two ladies became enthusiastic participants on the dance floor, though their steps were quite original…

 
The dim lighting made it difficult to take photos, but trust me - this is one experience not to be missed!

The evening was an amazing experience, which had been enthusiastically encouraged by my teen-aged granddaughters… Why did I wait till the end of the season to discover this gregarious entertainment???

 

Palm Beach may still be a fun destination next winter when the snow begins to fall…

 

video link to line dancing:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bdKBXn-GOJw

The Art Scene in Palm Beach

 

ArtPalmBeach 2014 at the Coliseum

&

Ferraris on the Lawn of the Breakers

Copyright Vladimir Kagan, January 29, 2014

 

 

 

Art Basel Miami it wasn’t - but on the plus side, it was cozier, more user friendly and devoid of offensive junk. It was a show full of derivatives and wannabes… But who cares! If you can’t afford the original, who said the copy isn’t good enough. It’s still oil on canvas, or what ever… and the artist who created it is still an artist doing his stuff… you like it… that’s great; derivative or not, you got it for a couple of thousand instead of millions. 

P.S. This does not apply to my furniture! Do not buy the knock-off... it is truly inferior and will never have the value of my original nor does it cost anywhere near a million!

 

 

Greeting you at the entrance of the Coliseum - a pair of circus aerialist walking a tight-rope - a fitting welcome for an art extravaganza

ArtPalmBeach was a lively show telling us that modern is alive and thriving in Palm Beach. It was a multi-media extravaganza… in fact it felt like an adult craft show with artists experimenting in every material under the sun: neon, LED, copper, bronze, steel, rebar steel, wood, recycled objects, junk, concrete, glass, acrylic, photography, montages, newsprint and some artists even painted in oil on canvas. A large portion of the exhibit was devoted to sculpture and glass seemed to be the predominant material for serious experimentation. There were at least ten galleries exclusively devoted to glass. All the art, however, wasn’t inanimate; there was kinetic art in constant motion, trump l'oeil, and some of it walking on two feet!

 

A huge multi-media light installation using hundreds of found electronic components makes a impressive welcome to the fair 

 

Last month, I visited Art Basel Miami, showing you the ridiculous and the monstrous. Today, at ArtPalmBeach there was ample kitsch to bitch about, but there also was some pleasing art… I am now stepping into deep water, as it is easier to criticize than to commit to what you like. Here are some of the items I found interesting and amusing.

 

Murano glass artist --- created these delightful glass sculptures in the tradition of Venini and all the other artisans who had cut their teeth in the Murano workshops

No self-respecting art or craft show is complete without showing some Dale Chihuly, the grandfather of American glass blowers, who has helped to put American glass artisans on top of the list 

I am crazy about birds and loved these graceful birds-in-flight -- glass wings on bronze stalks

   

More than one gallery was enchanted by Alexi Torres' spaghetti portraits

Multi-colored stripes always catch my attention - note the drips at the bottom of the canvas!

Provocative kitsch is always a crowd-stopper - note the repeat of my favorite stripes

I liked these highly polished steel twisted sheet - The Park Ryu Sook Gallery from Seoul was full of them

 

Twisted pretzel shapes were very popular in the sculpture category

Now you see it - now you don't!

A hologram painting starting with an elegant Victorian lady sitting politely in a chair - next you get a voyeurs view of her naked and finally there is only the chair

I really liked this concrete and steel arm chair by Vivian Beer

You can't quite see the elegance of this coffee table because of the highly reflective surface

by Timothy Schreiber

 

Vivian Beer's slick chaise is a great piece of sculpture, even if it's not very comfortable

If you can;t afford an original Wendell Caste, Timothy Schreiber's rocking chaise is a nice variation

The Wexler Gallery from Philadelphia was a newcomer to the show and the only exhibit with furniture

There is always a new way to create a piece of sculpture - these are done with bundles of twigs and pigmented clothe, held together with copper wire

Experimentation was rife at the show - these paintings are constructed of finely twisted news paper and other material

 

Secret revealed: the painter's tool is a brush! - A miniature trompe-l'oeil sculpture (over a dozen of these in full-size, lined the center island of Park Avenue last year)

My favorite piece at the show - a  repousse and bent copper sheet forms the head of a horse by Italian sculptor, Rafael Barrios at Galerie Rauchfeld - Paris

 
and finally, I promised you that some of the art was walking on two feet!!!

 

 

 

 

The Other Art Show

The Coliseum wasn’t the only show in town! On the Breaker’s lawn, (the posh Palm Beach hotel on the ocean) there was an equally extravagant exhibit: The Cavallino Concours d’Elegance - The Art of Ferrari. There are few modern cars more beautiful than the racy red and yellow showstoppers of Ferrari… created for the man and woman who has everything and needs a toy to tootle around in. These cars are sculpture in motion - the prices don’t differ too much form the sculpture offered at the Coliseum… give a hundred thousand dollars either way… I say, a much more satisfactory investment than overpaying millions at Sotheby’s or Christies for some oil paint on canvas.

 

Note: the matching luggage!

....and this is the one I would have loved to drive home!

 

 

Part II - Art Basel in Miami 2013

 

Art Basel Miami - Part II

Copyright Vladimir Kagan, December 17, 2013

 

Our next not-to-miss destination was The Wynwood Art District.  It is Miami’s newest trendy scene… located in the seediest part of town! It’s where Graffiti is glorified; not the scrawled initials by a delinquent kid using a spray can, but by sponsored imported artists from as far away as San Francisco, L.A. and Paris. This is where Graffiti has found its calling. Teams of painters armed with truckloads of spray paint were working through the night to complete there block-long masterpieces… as diverse in subjects, messages, colors as anything you could see in the Convention Center… and this show was free!

This is what graffiti use to be like.... No more!!!

not an inch of space is left unpainted

The Wynwood Art District is where astute Ralph Pucci located his spectacular new Miami gallery. Once an old shoe warehouse, Ralph took a 6800 Square foot cavernous space; brightly lit it, painted the walls white with a huge red square wall to bombast you as you enter.… Inside he carefully displayed his collection of one of a kind or limited edition art furniture… and there, ethereally exhibited were examples of my classic furniture dating from the early 50’s through to the current… I could not have been happier.

 

 

 

I could not have been happier with my exhibit

it wasn't all work!

 

photo-ops! Chris and me - Jasmin Zetlmeisl, a designer from Paris giving me a big hug

My friend Robert Verdi and his partner were the best dressed men at the party

 

The Design District, once the darling of Miami’s design community, used to be the hippest place in town. Sadly Louis Vuitton and its acolytes have transformed it into a fashion Mall. Luxury is the new buzzword and my Italian licensee is the King of the genre! His Luxury Living Showroom featured Fendi Casa and new this year: Bentley (like in the automobile). Crystal chandeliers, chrome trimmed fur and buttery-soft leathers were the hallmark of this luxurious collection… Opening night was glitz and glitterati… champagne flowed like water; exotic hors d’euf were passed by attractive wait-staff. Every glamorous young woman that could be corralled off Miami’s beaches was there delicately sipping champagne as they balanced effortlessly on their 6” or higher heels, their bare legs extended to their tummy’s with delicate little skirts covering their vitals… Their blasé escorts came straight out of central casting for Miami Vice. Disco music boomed – conversation was unnecessary… dozens of guards fought to keep the hordes of uninvited guest at bay… Alberto Vignatelli, the charismatic owner of Luxury Living, sure knows how to throw a party!!!

A cast of thousands came for the  openinf of the Fendi Casa and Bentley reception 

Every exquisite glamor-girl in Miami made her appearance at the party

The men were as beautiful as the women

My friend, Barbara Missett an Art Consultant from Palm Beach and South Hampton

Alberto Vignatelli, the very charismatic president of Luxury Living and Fendi Casa,  was the gracious host of this gala party 

 

If you were very well connected, you might have been invited to the crème-de-la-crème dinner party hosted by Craig Robbins, in his beautiful waterfront estate on Sunset Island. Craig was the developer of the Design District and creator of the Design Miami event. It was a see-and-be-seen event. My elegant friend, Joyce Gato-Scharfer was my meal ticket for this al fresco banquet and my dinner partner was Martha Stewart.

Martha with our host, Craig Robins   -  my friend Joyce Gato-Scharfer and my NY client, Julie Hillman 

 

You might think that we had done it all, but Sunday was the best, with a visit to the Fairchild Tropical Botanical Gardens in Coral Gables to see the sculptures of Brazilian artist, Hugo Franca, whose wooden creations were integrated into the landscape of the gardens. This jewel of a park is located on 70 bucolic acres of greenery and secluded lakes. We discovered new plants, flowers, trees, and butterflies. We learned that a palm tree is not a tree – it is a palm. We saw beautiful flowers that looked like lilies but could kill you in a flash. Think of belladonna! Trees, who’s external root systems become larger than their stems: the majestic spreading Banyan. A rainbow Eucalyptus from Papua New Guinea, whose bark is constantly pealing in profuse colors… It was the right antidote for a crazy few days. What a way to unwind!

    .

..and if you want to murder your partner surreptitiously , pick this pretty belladonna flower and feed it to him or her slowly .... only kidding!!!... ha ha!

 

 

...…and Puff: we left Miami and headed home to balmy, boring Palm Beach.

 

 

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

A visit to Peanut island

How To Cure the Doldrums In Palm Beach

Copyright Vladimir Kagan, March 29, 2013

 

Ten days of sitting by the poolside, baking in the sun, or alternately dodging the wind, can become tedious.  

 

sittin' by the pool and getting bored

 When the small kids got restless, we headed for Disney World. Now my adult family is afflicted with the same syndrome: boredom. We all need diversion.

What’s a better thing to do than to see how the world beyond ours lives? Our world is Palm Beach Island – separated from the mainland by three bridges, an active water channel from Lake Worth to the ocean, and shielded from the real world with serene seclusion behind high-hedged mansions, Condos and expensive boutiques… A two-minute drive over any of the bridges transports you into the real world. West Palm Beach is a beehive of diversity. The downtown area is awash with half empty high-rises, Condos built during the Real Estate Frenzy. There is a weekly Farmer’s Market, a plethora of cool and noisy restaurants and some quite hidden and secret “finds”. There is a huge, impressive new County Court House to deal with lawsuits, land deals and criminals that inhabit the neighborhood. This week there is the West Palm Beach Boat Show. For culture there is the Kravis Center, The Norton Museum, the Armory Art Center, the Science Museum and a delightful Zoo.

There are man-made lakes, the byproduct of swamp drainage – Disney wasn’t the only smart cookie finding Florida’s hidden treasure: land development! There are new strip malls and abandoned malls.  The Palm Beach Lakes mall is today a ghost with only J. C. Penny remaining its sole occupant all else is flattened. There are new malls; City Place, is a highly successful complex of restaurants, movie Theater, shops, residences, plazas, fountains and parking for thousands of cars. A few miles further north you have the Palm Beach Garden Mall and the famous golf courses with their gated communities.

US-1 is the major north – south road known in these parts as the Dixie highway. Heading south on Dixie you’ll find “antique heaven” with tempting boutiques block after block. Going north and the atmosphere changes. You begin to experience West Palm’s underclass. There are mysterious one-story buildings, cheerfully painted bright yellow, pale blue, and orange, mostly windowless, except for the few that are clad with iron bars. These buildings conceal huge liquor stores, small manufacturing and a brightly painted pink house hiding Bush Bros. the finest butcher and purveyor of prime meats to every pricy restaurant in Palm Beach Country. Drive one block east and you find enclaves of Old Palm Beach’s well preserved mid-century villas, pleasing low-profile architecture with palm trees, gardens and streets carefully paved with brick speed bumps.

Continue North and these little communities give way to another world: Cheap motels cheek to jowl, fifty bucks a night and probably negotiable for shorter stays. You have entered a no-man’s land. Loitering is the chief occupation of some of its residents.  Drive on and within minutes you are in the Port of Palm Beach, a bustling container ship port serving the Bahamas, which lies 90 miles across the “pond”. Tied up to one of the piers is an massive converted ferry that served as a gambling ship, but now lies bankrupted and seeking new suckers to invest to the tune of 20 million! There is a colossal power station under construction to replace the old coal guzzling one. One hopes it will be eco friendly, but that may be wishful thinking., knowing Florida’s disregard for it’s own survival in favor of fast-bucks. For years the cooling basins for the generators was a tourist attraction to see hundreds of Manatees enjoying the warm waters. These aquatic mammals are now on the endangered species list; harmless creatures that are being decimated by careless speedboats, whose propellers cut deep ridged into their back and they eventually die.

Less than a half-mile North of this industrial complex is Riviera Beach, a salty enclave of fishing boats, entertaining waterfront bars and the ferry to Peanut Island. Riviera Beach comes right out of central casting with all the salty seafront characters to add color and interesting conversation. Sport fishing boats return at the end of the day, their captains’ gut the day’s catch right at the wharf, slinging the entrails to the hungry waiting pelicans poised in the water with open beaks. These awkward, rather unusual looking birds are the same glorious flying creatures idealized by my wife Erica in one of her poems:

 

 Passage Of The Pelicans

Erica Wilson Kagan

April 15, 2009

The sea is glistening silver blue

The sky is washed, the clouds are new

The pelicans, a measured band

Unwavering, fly where sea meets sand

They’re motionless, yet moving fast

On unseen air they’re sailing past.

 

hungry pelicans wait patiently for fish guts to be tossed to them

 
For the kiddies there is a great pirate ship complete with water cannons

  

For the grownups there is a salvage ship that goes regularly off-shore on treasure hunts for sunken galleons and sailing ships that sank three hundred years ago off the Florida coast

 
We were fortunate enough to meet one of the crew, who explained the awkward contraption on the boat's stern: they are huge underwater blowers that dislodge the sand around the sunken ship, clearing it enough for divers to go down and inspect it.

 

If your taste is for antique yachts, there was a beauty tied up to a nearby pier, most likely available for charter.

AN ARIAL VIEW OF PEANUT ISLAND 

Peanut Island (I don't know how it got its name - perhaps because it is so small) is a ten minute boat ride from Riviera Beach. It is nestled in a lagoon between Singer Island, Palm Beach and the Lakeworth inlet.

Peanut is a tropical Island in the middle of a bustling harbor

We embarked for Peanut Island with our blond, handsome and suntanned captain, who regaled us with local lore. 

Coming in from the ocean was this enormous freighter, transporting luxury yachts for the Boat Show.

The closer it got the bigger it loomed. this was a Dutch registry boat

Peanut Island is a man-made 80 acres of dredged sand and stone, tossed there by the Army Core of Engineers as thy created the Lake Worth Inlet. The island’s initial mission was to serve as a safe-haven bunker for President John F. Kennedy. (Coincidentally so was the Naval Station on Nantucket Island) Today, Peanut Island is a delightful recreational oasis covered with lush vegetation, Palm trees, Palmetto trees, sea grass for nesting birds, incubating fish and camping grounds with man-made lagoons for snorkeling. There is a small museum dedicated to JFK memorabilia. No motorizes vehicles are allowed, so I left my electric scooter at home and manipulated with my walker.

This time around, I am not toot-tootling on my scooter but hiking on my walker (I'm really not that fat, only layered with sweaters against the cold!)

Matt, my son-in-law and one of his daughters about to dive into the cold water for some snorkeling 

While the brave were out snorkeling, Vanessa and I explored these peaceful man-made lagoons

the Kennedy Museum, which was unfortunately closed for the day.

Snorkeling is a gentle family pastime; we were all poised to dive into the water, until the children, one by one cooed “it is COLD!” that was enough to deter Vanessa and me. We spent a delightful 2 hours exploring a little bit of the island until our chilled snorkelers returned to dry land.

 

Our return drive down Dixie provided one additional revelation. We have for years passed a little one-story building with a discrete sign painted on its walls, “Middle Eastern Bakery”. This time we did not pass it. Entering its inconspicuous driveway we came across a little Mom and Pop grocery store laden with exotic Middle Eastern goodies. The friendly proprietors were as hospitable as we were happy to discover them, except we were not the first to discover this hidden treasure. Anyone in the know knew about this little oasis. For us it was a revelation. We stocked up on hummus, French feta cheese, babaghannuj, mint yogurt, baklavas and just two of their twelve differed selections of halva. Thus fortified, it was no hardship to return to the pool and an unexpected feast in the Cabana.

Our "discovery", the Middle Eastern Bakery and its unprepossessing market

The amazing refrigirated display case with all the exotic goodies

the check-out ounter with our delicious pic-nic

 

Not bad for a day of prowling through new territory just to escape the doldrums!

GOD & me

 

 

Copyright Vladimir Kagan February 13, 2011

 

 

….....I finally figured it out!!!

 

God exists because I am too scared to face IT all by myself.

 

…. sure I’m smart on my own…. cocky with my own wisdom….. but when the going gets tough, I hear myself saying “God Help Me”…. not that it always works, but I have a buddy out there that no one can see that makes things easier….. And I am always grateful because I hear myself saying “Thank God” for this or that. When I can’t face the music alone, my inner-self talks to Him, “God is Kind – He is forgiving” and then I can proceed on my reckless way.

 

Atheists are truly brave people because they face the music on their own…no one to talk too, no one to ask for help.

 

Now that I understand my childish need for help, I can understand religion. God wasn’t always just one guy…people were more comfortable having many deities: one for everything that disturbed them. They worshiped thunder and lightning and guys that lived under the sea and guys that raped mortal women and begot demi-gods…. and to make it a level playing field, they even created Goddesses. … and thus the desert tribes created Allah, a cousin of the Jews, who had his own sheikdoms and called themselves Muslims. Indians looked to other spiritual forms, a single guy sitting on a throne was not enough…so they gave Him animal faces, trunks, many hands, snakes and all the other paraphernalia that scared ordinary mortals, these Gods sat on high pedestals and lorded over the hordes. And so they begot Hinduism. Other tribes wanted a more benign spiritual leader…one that was wise but didn’t lord over them…they made him fat and benign with a kind smile and called him Buddha. 

 

Creation of Adam - Michelangelo’s fresco on the Sistine Chapel ceiling painted circa 1511 
 

For the nomadic tribes, this was too much paraphernalia to carry around, so the Jews decided to have only one God…that was revolutionary and disturbed many of the other Gods. The Jewish God was an invisible being; no one could see him, so in due time, many people wanted to give him a face…. Naturally, the wise men created him in our own image…. Sitting on a cloud and dispensing his will through the tip of his finger…. (Michelangelo’s fresco on the Sistine Chapel ceiling painted circa 1511 depicted it very well.) But this God was too ethereal; people needed a man of flesh and blood that could guide them, so a splinter group gave us the Son of God and they called him Jesus Christ and named themselves Christians. Now we had a good person leading us out of trouble. The job grew too big and so he got a bunch of apprentices who were called disciples, to help spread the word. But unfortunately, these kind people were mortals and sooner or later died. But God is forgiving and allowed man to deify these wise men and we were given our saints, who are a little more human than God and we could turn to them for help. God was gender-free (something the church people have forgotten over the years) and created female saints along with the men!

 

Temples were built in their honor… Christians called their houses of worship Churches, Basilica, Cathedrals and for identity, named them after the saints. … Hindus called them Temples, Mandir, Pathi, and Muslims named theirs Mosques. They all had one thing in common, they were exquisite testaments to man’s faith.

 

 

Edifices built in the glory of God 

      

   Jewish Temple Jerusalem •Buddhist Temple Thailand • Monastery Tibet • Chinese Pagoda

          

Russian Orthodox St. Basil's Cathedral in Moscow

 

Basilica in Rome                                Cologne Cathedral            Chartres Cathedral

 
    Hindu Temples in India                                        Elephant God detail        more temple details


 

                      

                   Interior of Mosque           Taj Mahal, a Muslim tomb             Mosque

 Very smart people codified man’s fears and gave them substance…. The Jews gave us the Ten Commandments, which were the rules to live by. These Wise Men wrote books of wisdom and called them the Torah, the Bible,the  New and old Testaments and the Koran. But that wasn’t enough for the populace; (Less smart scribes have been laboring for centuries to interpret these elegant words…but in doing so have caused much confusion and havoc.)

 

Man was now on a good track and things seemed to be moving along according to plan.

 

But we forgot about tribal instincts. As man begot more man and spread over the planet, the world started to shrink and each enclave wanted its own identity. They existed because the world was large and people few, (now-a-days it has shrunk exponentially). For mutual security these disparate folks banded together into clans that in turn created mistrust and chasms of differences amongst each sect… But within each of these tribes there were the Alpha vs. Beta types that weren’t satisfied being a homogeneous family…they wanted to dominate…. and they became stronger and stronger until they begat Kings and their Kingdoms, Phyfe’s and their Fiefdoms. Sheiks and their Sheikdoms. To perpetuate their own authority, each leader latched on to his own deity in order to bolster their supremacy. They jostled for power amongst themselves and their neighbors and in their self-righteousness, shielded their evil doings behind their powerful religious potentates to launch cruel wars and crusades. Anybody who didn’t believe in their morality became an infidel worthy of destruction.

....But now I am getting over my head…. Theology and chronological history is not really my forte.

 

BUT now I do understand how all these wonderful people were invented…. They came about by weaklings like me, who couldn’t face the music alone.

 

Thank GOD that there is a GOD.