Writerquake

Old Postcard Wednesday--California Winterland

lydiam@wavecable.com (Lydia) — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 09:02:00 +0000

Lost
- by David Wagoner

Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you,
If you leave it you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.

photo via tinypic

a natural beauty should be preserved like a monument to nature

lydiam@wavecable.com (Lydia) — Tue, 08 Dec 2009 08:52:00 +0000

fos do iguaçù by Emilio Navarino

Iguazu Falls was created in the area where the Rio Iguacu (Iguazu River, in Portuguese) in Brazil flows over a basalt rock plateau that ends at the Parana River. Basalt is formed from a lava flow. There are actually 275 waterfalls in the full Iguazu series.

"Amazon, you had so much and now so much is gone. . ."
From one of my favorite Neil Young songs, that line always brings me close to tears. (You can access a pop-up of Neil Young's original 2004 recording of Natural Beauty at: CLICK.) I found this cover of the song and was really moved by the sweet intensity of the performance by these two women. Theirs is a pure and soulful offering of song to the Earth. It touches me. Deeply.

Tara MacLean is joined by Melanie Doane for a gorgeous version of Neil Young's "Natural Beauty" during Tara's CD Release Party for her CD Wake, ----- 29 Oct 2009 at Hugh's Room in Toronto, ONT.
http://www.taramaclean.com
[from Tara MacLean's website: She lives what she speaks; as a result, Wake is a zero footprint CD www.zerofootprint.net. "We used minimal packaging: 100% recycled paper and no hard plastic cases. I was arrested and jailed in 1993 for protesting the clear-cut logging of a temperate rainforest in B.C. Singing protest songs on the blockades showed me a new way to use my voice, and gave me a new reason. Since then, I have been trying to incorporate my love of nature into my love of music. When I'm singing ‘I'm turning on to different information' on this record, it means I am trying to learn and make choices that are not going to hurt the planet any more. The way I eat, the way I dress, the way I travel, the way I raise my children. Not preaching, just trying to be an inspiring person. I grew up singing gospel music, so music has always been about looking for light."]

Natural Beauty - Lyrics

On the roller coaster ride
That my emotions have to take me on
I heard a newborn baby cry
Through the night.

I heard a perfect echo die
Into an anonymous wall of digital sound
Somewhere deep inside
Of my soul.

A natural beauty should be preserved like a monument to nature
Don't judge yourself too harsh, my love
Or someday you might find your soul endangered
A natural beauty should be preserved like a monument to nature.

Amazon
You had so much and now so much is gone
What are you gonna do
With your life?

What a lucky man.
To see the earth before it touched his hand
What an angry fool
To condemn.

One more night to go
One more sleep upon your burning banks
A greedy man never knows
What he's done.

A natural beauty should be preserved like a monument to nature
Don't start yourself too short, my love
Or someday you might find your soul endangered
A natural beauty should be preserved like a monument to nature.

Went to the rodeo today
I saw the cowgirls lined up on the fence
A brand new Chevrolet
A brand new pair of seamless pants.

We watched the moment of defeat
Played back over on the video screen
Somewhere deep inside
Of my soul.

A natural beauty should be preserved like a monument to nature.

.

A Hundred Years From Today

lydiam@wavecable.com (Lydia) — Sun, 06 Dec 2009 10:57:00 +0000

PICT0024 by Joel Duggan

With less than 24 hours before the beginning of the Convention on Climate Change in Copenhagen, listen to the words of Rabindranath Tagore reaching forward beyond a century with utter faith and "gladsome greetings" that we of course would know the buzzing of the bees and the rustling of the leaves.

But a hundred years from today?

We must become worker bees now to save this heaven on Earth for those who will call it their home in a hundred years and beyond.

(Recitation by Samuel George)

A Hundred Years from Today

-by Rabindranath Tagore

A hundred years from today
who are you, sitting, reading a poem of mine,
under curiosity’s sway -
a hundred years from today?

Not the least portion
of this young spring’s morning bliss,
neither blossom nor birdsong,
nor any of its scarlet splashes
can I drench in passion
and despatch to your hands
a hundred years hence!

Yet do this, please: unlatch your south-faced door,
just sit at your window for once;
basking in fantasy, eyes on the far horizon,
figure out if you can:
how one day a hundred years back
roving delights in a free fall from a heavenly region
had touched all that there was -
the infant Phalgun day, utterly free,
was frenzied, all agog,
while borne on brisk wings, the south wind
pollen-scent-brushed
had suddenly arrived and in a flash dyed the earth
with all youth’s hues
a hundred years before your day.

There lived then a poet, ebullient of spirit,
his heart steeped in song,
who wanted to open his words like so many flowers
with so much passion
one day a hundred years back.

A hundred years from today
who is the new poet
whose songs flow through your homes?
To him I convey
this springtime’s gladsome greetings.
May my vernal song find its echo for a moment
in your spring day
in the throbbing of your hearts, in the buzzing of your bees,
in the rustling of your leaves
a hundred years from today.

This poem written in 1896 by Rabindranath Tagore(1861-1941) Indian poet, playwright and essayist;won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1913.

This is Number Seven in a randomly-posted, continuing series of quotes by Tagore. Everything he wrote is golden.
Number One
Number Two
Number Three
Number Four
Number Five

Number Six

Feline proxy delegate shares a word prior to Copenhagen climate talks

lydiam@wavecable.com (Lydia) — Fri, 04 Dec 2009 22:51:00 +0000

Our beautiful cat, Willow, was finally spayed yesterday and I picked her up at the vet clinic this morning. I say "finally" because I normally have our cats altered/spayed at around eight-months of age. We waited until Willow passed her first birthday in hopes that her heart murmur had healed itself as the vet said they sometimes do in the first year of life.

Her heart rate was zooming at 240 yesterday morning when we arrived at the vet clinic, and she also seemed to still have a heart murmur. We determined that she should stay there for a few hours for her vet to check her again after she calmed down some, because at that point we couldn't tell if she was extremely stressed from the car ride or if she had acute tachycardia. They phoned me after noon to let me know that after some hours her heart rate dropped to a lovely 150, no heart murmur was detected with the normal heart rate, and that surgery had progressed successfully.

It was a long night for Michael and me without Willow in the house. After I brought her home this morning she played some in the living room with her toys. The powerful shot she'd been given for pain had kicked in and she was feeling spunky. But she's now sleeping by the gas stove listening to our cats' favorite CD. All is well.....

But none of us should be wooed into complacency while snug in our houses. With the Convention on Climate Change about to convene in Copenhagen I'll take a few days here at Writerquake to show my love and concern for this planet, our home, this heaven on Earth.

The animals need us to be mindful. It's their home too.......

Comments by person who uploaded this at youtube: Cat speaks out against climate change. Submitted as part of the 1 Minute to Save the World climate change short film competition http:www.1minutetosavetheworld .com

December Rose: a poem

lydiam@wavecable.com (Lydia) — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 08:09:00 +0000

December Rose

Raised by late sun,
awakened from chilled slumber,

it kept to the mother stalk
out in the hard moldy garden

'til plucked

and placed in the crystal vase
that held hot July roses the
parent let go to tender summer hands
that snipped carefully and
cupped the colors as if
a precious rainbow had been caught.

A pale amber hue
and dusty powder scent
were betrayed by the winter
the rose held inside.

Partly opened, exposing a center
of brown musty death --
fully bowed --
needing support from the beveled glass edge,
it mourned being a December rose.

But it was to me
valiant and rare --
its solitude a gift of spirit,
its delicacy a reminder that we --

no matter how valiant,
no matter how rare --

will face our own Decembers.

-by MLM Lydia ©

Old Postcard Wednesday--Kauhava, Finland

lydiam@wavecable.com (Lydia) — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 08:55:00 +0000

I think Kauhava, Finland, may be my paternal grandmother Lydia's girlhood home, possibly her birthplace. This old postcard is among the few from her collection that are in my possession. She probably bought this when she and my grandfather returned to the old country for a visit sometime in the 1950s-60s. The only Finnish relative living in Finland that I have met is Esko, her nephew. When his father died a few years ago I think that was the end of the sibling group that included my grandmother, Lydia. Esko lives in Lapua, which is not far from Kauhava. He is a retired teacher, having taught Finnish and Swedish in the school system in Lapua.

Using the map below you can see how close Lapua is to Kauhava, and how this district in the west is quite close to Sweden. I just discovered this Tagzania.com mapmaker, so this is its trial launch at Writerquake. The map of Kauhava opens up to a street view that seems meaningless without knowledge of the language. Kauhava is located by the red icon. The directional and sizing tools are at top left. If you click the bottom one (the negative sign) TEN TIMES you'll get to a regional view that gives the lay of the land in map view. I enjoy clicking on "Hybrid" to see what the landscape is truly like.

<p>&amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;tagzaniapaste&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;a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3lydias map

Kauhava is famous for the knives, or puukko, made by skilled artesans, Iisakki Järvenpää being the oldest (founded in 1879) and most famous knife makers in the country. The knives shown at the website (click on "The collections" tab) are so beautiful to me! Looking at them I recalled a part of my girlhood long forgotten. When in middle school (called junior high school then) I went to camp for the first time, and among the items listed for each camper to bring was a folding-style knife. I don't remember shopping for mine so perhaps my folks bought it for me, but I do remember being captivated by its utilitarian beauty. We split out into small groups to explore and scout around the woods at camp, a big deal because the groups included boys and girls. A couple of the guys taught me how to throw my knife so that it would land blade-into-ground. They were impressed how quickly I could do it (for a girl, you know.....girls have it better these days in sports), and they were really impressed with how much I loved handling my knife, pitching it out into the pine-needle- covered forest floor with a tough enough flick of my wrist to ensure the desired strong verticle plunge into the earth. Now I'm thinking it must have been the Finn in me .......

....... which only seems fitting that this post should end with the Finnish National Anthem. I found an unusual -- but strangely appealing -- rendition. A Vocaloid rendition, no less! (Wikipedia: Vocaloid is a singing synthesizer application software developed by the Yamaha Corporation that enables users to synthesize singing by typing in lyrics and melody.)

E5rael, the extremely talented ~~Japanese~~ Finnish YouTuber who created this video, wrote in comments:

NOTE 30.8.2009: Quite a few people have commented that they can actually understand the Vocaloids' Finnish here without reading the subtitles. That's very nice to hear because generating understandable Finnish has been one of my main goals as a Vocaloid producer. Thank you so much for your positive feedback!

[Note: Once the video begins to play you can access English translation by moving your curser over the arrow at bottom right.....it will bring a pop-up with a "CC" that opens up translations.]

Crumbs from the Rich Man's Table

lydiam@wavecable.com (Lydia) — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 08:11:00 +0000

by Phil Hilfiker

Crumbs from the Rich Man's Table

-by Ida Bailey Allen

They have a place--
Crumbs.
Singly--they mean little,
Part of the whole--they have the same attributes.

O crumbs from the Rich Man's Table, what are you that we
have not?
You are not air, full and free.
You are not water, clean and pure.
You are not sunshine.
Often you represent foolish desire--
Waste, envy, or jealousy.

Why live or think in terms of crumbs?
The penny is a dollar crumb.
The crust a part of the loaf.
The scraps part of the roast.
The wasted gas, part of the bill.

"Crumbs"
They are worth thought for what they can be.

Not the Rich Man's Crumbs.
Let me gather up my fragments
And make them whole.

-from the recipes, poems, and wisdom found in Ida Bailey Allen's Modern Cookbook 2500 Recipes, (pub. 1924, 1935)

.

17 seconds of pure bliss

lydiam@wavecable.com (Lydia) — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 08:08:00 +0000

Over the weekend Kristen at The Goat posted this video and it would be impossible for me not to share it here because it has quickly become my favorite youtube video ever. Kristen improved upon the video's title by giving a perfect scene this perfect title: JAZZ HANDS!

. . . and red dresses bloomed like roses

lydiam@wavecable.com (Lydia) — Sat, 28 Nov 2009 09:37:00 +0000

In my post yesterday about a long-forgotten print-and-radio cooking guru I promised to share the FOREWORD of the 1935 cookbook Ida Bailey Allen's Modern Cookbook 2500 recipes. Her book foreword is a tender glimpse into that era, as reported by a woman who was an impressive trailblazer speaking with authority to a large, loyal fan base. Her cookbook is a kaleidescope of the views and tastes of another time, and I will share more of Ida Bailey Allen's recipes and poems in the future.

F O R E W O R D

IT IS more than twenty years since my first article on food and cookery was published in the "Ladies' Home Journal," and more than fifteen years since I was cookery editor of "Good Housekeeping Magazine." It seems but a flash of time since I talked to half a million home-makers during the war, and the day of my first radio talk is as close as though it were last week.

A very trying day it was, too, for radio was an unknown, to me, almost a fearsome thing. Up to 1923 I had not paid any attention to it, and the little I had heard about it sounded preposterous. Although it seemed wonderful, the results were generally so poor that I felt it was nothing more or less than a fad.

Finally, in 1923, while I was lecturing in St. Louis, one of the editors of the "St. Louis Post Dispatch" asked me if I would give a talk over their radio station. The speaker who preceded me was one well known indeed to these United States--Mr. Davies--the tree man. He went to the ordeal --I felt, almost, to the slaughter--after I got there; and he emerged fifteen minutes later with his once stiffly starched collar wilted to a string. He confessed he had never been so scared since he walked up the aisle to be married--all of which did not bolster up my courage.

When I went into the tiny, heavily swathed broadcasting room with absolutely no ventilation, I understood how Mr. Davies' collar had got that way. But I stayed there and talked before a horn-like thing that they called a microphone, apparently speaking into nothingness.

I haven't an idea what I said, except that I remember speaking about some very beautiful violets sold on the street-corners of St. Louis, the most fragrant I have ever seen--or should I say smelled?

Soon the event was over, all except the aftermath, some fifteen hundred letters coming from the area bounded by St. Louis and the Gulf of Mexico. Even then broadcasting didn't seem real to me, and those letters appeared to me like parasites on the air.

The next week I went to Kansas City to give a series of lectures, and a broadcasting station there asked permission to put a microphone on the stage. This microphone was a sort of swinging horn and worked admirably when I remembered to stay under it. But, as I had a very bad habit of walking around the stage, the listening audience got my talks literally in installments. Broadcasting at that stage seemed to me to be something that conspired to hold me in one place when I wanted to stroll around.

Then I came back to New York with no broadcasting ambitions. Some two or three years later, I was asked to speak again--on a Christmas program; and I remember suggesting that, in the holiday season, children would adore to have their mothers dressed in gay frocks, and I declared that every woman who could, should have a red Christmas dress. The letters poured in from everywhere, and red dresses bloomed like roses.

But still the microphone seemed stiff and unfamiliar and I couldn't get any connection between it, myself, and the listeners. One by one, the large radio stations around New York City invited me as a guest-speaker. Every time I possibly could I slid out of the engagement. The very thought of a microphone seemed almost to freeze my soul.

Finally I was asked to broadcast regularly. I decided to try to use this new medium for finding out what women really wanted. I would give to them over the air the things that, on lecture tours, I had heard them declare they wanted to hear. I would alk them to write me their frank opinions; in other words, I would test radio and the women themselves.

Within four weeks after I started, the response had become so great I decided to form a radio club--the National Radio Home-Makers Club, to be exact. On the hottest day in July, I asked as many of the listeners as could to come to the ballroom of the Hotel McAlpin to meet me.

Then and there we organized the National Radio Home-Makers Club, soon afterwards incorporated with as broad a charter as ever granted to any organization within my knowledge.

A little later, requests for the broadcasts began to come from nearly every state in the Union and I decided to produce the programs with a coast to coast range.

Since then the programs of the National Radio Home-Makers Club have grown from one to as many as thirty-four per week. We have expanded from a staff of four people to a group of sixty-eight. Visitors number thousands a year, and a half million letters have poured in.

But the principle on which the National Radio Home-Makers Club was founded remains the same. The Club exists by the requests and the desires of the listeners-in. Today the thousands of letters receive just as careful attention as the hundreds got in the days when the club began.

And there is many an evening when I stay here all by myself, read the letters and dream of the home-makers who listen in. They still determine our policy. To them I really dedicate this book, which presents up-to-the-minute advice on the problems they've mentioned.

She preceded Julia Child and Martha Stewart ..... recipes for leftovers from Ida Bailey Allen

lydiam@wavecable.com (Lydia) — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 10:21:00 +0000

We continued our tradition of enjoying Thanksgiving buffet dinner at Silver Falls Conference Center, so I don't have leftovers to deal with until I actually do make our home-cooked turkey dinner one day this weekend. In advance, I thought I'd consult another of my grandmother's weird and interesting vintage cookbooks for some recipes for leftovers. The recipes below are from Ida Bailey Allen's Modern Cookbook 2500 recipes (Formerly Published as Mrs. Allen on Cooking, Menus Service), copyright 1935. If you had turkey, duck, or chicken for your Thanksgiving feast here are some ghastly-sounding recipes to laugh at, or, for the brave at heart, to try. There's also one you can use for leftover sweet potatoes and leftover rolls from your family feast.

This woman seems to have slipped from the pages of culinary history. She must have been a fascinating woman, and I say this based on the FOREWARD of her cookbook. The FOREWARD is too long to add to this post, but I think it is worth sharing at my blog. I will post it tomorrow, Saturday, so return if you are curious!

From TIME Magazine Milestones, July 30, 1973:

Died. Ida Bailey Allen, 88, who provided American homemakers with down-to-earth recipes in more than 50 cookbooks (Ida Bailey Allen's Modern Cookbook, Cook Book for Two); in Norwalk, Conn. Twice a widow, Mrs. Allen believed that good home cooking was an antidote to the rising divorce rate.

~~~

~~~

today

lydiam@wavecable.com (Lydia) — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 09:49:00 +0000

SNOW TURKEYS by Jean Moore

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone in the U.S.

and a good good day to others all around the world

Old Postcard Wednesday--Old Indian Trail near Rock Island, Illinois

lydiam@wavecable.com (Lydia) — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 09:59:00 +0000

From Love Isn't Enough, an excellent blog about parenting and race, I found this post titled, Ask ARP (Anti-Racist Parent): Why Can't Non-Native Children Dress Up Like Indians? Wow. It's well worth reading and I'd have written the author asking permission to reprint it here if I had time, but I found it early Wednesday morning after Googling "white people dressed like indians/native americans." That bit of research, obviously, was provoked by this week's postcard photo of children - non-Native in appearance - posing along an old Indian trail.

One of the comments at the above-linked post referred readers to videos titled, Desperate Crossing: the Untold Story of the Mayflower at History.com. Here are links to two of them ......... for reflection. The videos are narrated by Jim Loewen, author of Lies My Teacher Told Me.

Natives and Settlers: Wampanoag living recreated

Natives and Settlers: Plymouth plantation's authenticity examined

the tinkling piano our guide

lydiam@wavecable.com (Lydia) — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 09:03:00 +0000

{Play the piano by clicking on the keys}

Piano
~by D. H. Lawrence

SOFTLY, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings.

In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song
Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong
To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside
And hymns in the cozy parlor, the tinkling piano our guide.

So now it is in vain for the singer to burst into clamor
With the great black piano appassionato. The glamor
Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast
Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.

.

Concert Party

(EGYPTIAN BASE CAMP)
~by Siegfried Sassoon

THEY are gathering round....
Out of the twilight; over the grey-blue sand,
Shoals of low-jargoning men drift inward to the sound—
The jangle and throb of a piano ... tum-ti-tum...
Drawn by a lamp, they come
Out of the glimmering lines of their tents, over the shuffling sand.

O sing us the songs, the songs of our own land,
You warbling ladies in white.
Dimness conceals the hunger in our faces,
This wall of faces risen out of the night,
These eyes that keep their memories of the places
So long beyond their sight.

Jaded and gay, the ladies sing; and the chap in brown
Tilts his grey hat; jaunty and lean and pale,
He rattles the keys ... some actor-bloke from town...
God send you home; and then A long, long trail;
I hear you calling me; and Dixieland....
Sing slowly ... now the chorus ... one by one
We hear them, drink them; till the concert’s done.
Silent, I watch the shadowy mass of soldiers stand.
Silent, they drift away, over the glimmering sand.

Abe's two alternatives

lydiam@wavecable.com (Lydia) — Fri, 20 Nov 2009 11:56:00 +0000

a cool autumn breeze by Janine Dupree

We shall meanly lose or nobly save the last hope of earth. ~Abraham Lincoln

I've listed below some charities awarded four stars (highest rating) by Charity Navigator- "Your Guide to Intelligent Giving":

Click the Charity Navigator link above for detailed rating information on these and many more charities. It's really eye-opening to see the ratings for these organizations. And yes, there are some with zero stars; the NAACP is one of them.

Links below take you to individual charity websites. For your holiday giving, please consider making charitable donations in the names of friends and family members in addition to or in lieu of gifts. I certainly found some new ones for my 2009 holiday gift-giving.

Amazon Conservation Team
The Adirondack Council
American Forests
Beyond Pesticides
Center for Biological Diversity
Council on the Environment of New York City
Earth Day Network
Earth Justice
EDF: Environmental Defense Fund
Grand Canyon Trust
Greenpeace Fund
Heal the Bay (Santa Monica CA)
Institute for Transportation and Development Policy
National Religious Partnership for the Environment
NRDC: Natural Resources Defense Council
The Nature Conservancy
Oceana
Oregon Environmental Council
Rainforest Alliance
Southeast Alaska Conservation Council
Union of Concerned Scientists
World Resources Institute

Alliance for Global Justice
Jane Addams Peace Association
United States Fund for UNICEF

American Bird Conservancy
Bat Conservation International
Big Cat Rescue
Jane Goodall Institute
Pollinator Partnership
Sea Shepherd Conservation Society
Snow Leopard Trust
Ducks Unlimited
The Elephant Sanctuary
Center for Great Apes
Sea Turtle Restoration Project
Wild Salmon Center
Wildlife Conservation Network
World Wildlife Fund

Dogs for the Deaf
Guide Dogs of the Desert
Humane Farming Association
The Humane Society of the United States

The Archaeological Conservancy
The New York Public Library
The Thomas Jefferson Foundation

Fisher Center for Alzheimer's Research Foundation
National Foundation for Infectious Diseases
The V Foundation for Cancer Research

Cultural Survival
Family Violence Prevention Fund

The BELL Foundation (Building Educated Leaders for Life)
Chez Panisse Foundation
The Horatio Alger Association of Distinguished Americans
The Juilliard School
Portland Schools Foundation
Teach for America
Thurgood Marshall College Fund

Big Brothers Big Sisters of America
Boys Town
Patrick Henry Boys and Girls Plantation

Armed Services YMCA
Volunteers of America
Army Emergency Relief
Delancey Street Foundation
Farm Aid
Navy-Marine Corp Relief Society
Operation Homefront
St. Vincent de Paul Society of Portland OR

.

Will you ever look at beards in the same way again?

lydiam@wavecable.com (Lydia) — Thu, 19 Nov 2009 13:04:00 +0000

"Sheyit, I see something that looks exactly like that every night when I take a bath."
-- my former mother-in-law, who shall remain nameless here, when addressing a beard-wearing friend of her son's back in their Texas youth

Once was a time when I loved beards, especially on rangy-thin brunette guys. In fact, the one now worn by Johnny Depp looks most excellent because he's rangy-thin and dark......and because his beard consists of a well-shaped mustache, a trim lining of a beard around his amazing jawline, and a sexy soul patch. Combined, they make a dashing presentation.

Remembering the 60s fondly as I do, I still think that a medium-long beard with long hair looks much more balanced than medium beards with short hair. In fact, this look that I found at Playoff Beard is appealing because it hearkens back to a free-flowing time.

My ex-husband wore a mustache only, which is no doubt why the quote above was vented on a friend and not on him. After we divorced I dated one guy with a full, long beard that I found fetching because it completed his intellectual flair. But I'd hate the thing today. Later still, when I met my husband Michael, he was clean-shaven although he had worn a mustache in his past. After we married he grew back the mustache and I liked it (still do), and for about a bit less than a year he also had a full beard. I liked it at first but was anxious for it to be gone by the time he was ready to shave it off. Michael had last week off from work and he didn't shave those days. The stubble of growth is nice on him and it's exciting to see it for one or two weeks a year while he's on vacation. He worked for some years with a man who wore no mustache but had a silver beard covering only his chin, a la Abe Lincoln-style, so when he talked he looked like a billy goat. The beard-without-mustache is about the ugliest look I have seen, quite frankly.

But there is a style of beard that, while not quite as ugly as the beard-without-mustache, is infuriating me with its ubiquitous presence on so many men these days, and worn most prevalently by evangelical men it seems. Whenever I see one of these beards I think immediately of my former mother-in-law's unrestrained retort, not that I could ever forget the quote!

I couldn't stand it anymore and delved into the world of beards online for information about this particular beard style, and I found that it is called a Circle-Beard. The following explanations are from ShavingStuff.com:

circle-beards: a chin-whiskers-mustache combination; if chin-whiskers and a mustache meet, the resultant style falls in this category; if they do not meet, they do not form a circle and fall instead into the next category

chin-whiskers-mustache Combination: if a mustache and chin-whiskers together are considered a single style, but the two components do not meet, they fall into this category {I guess this would describe Johnny Depp's handsome beard}

The cartoon at the top of this post sports "one of the most popular beard styles" as described by beards.org:

The goatee and mustache combination is one of the most popular beard styles. It is a good choice for those with good growth in the mustache and chin areas but with weak growth on the cheeks. Also known as:

Van Dyke

candado (in Spanish) or padlock

circle beard

The Los Angeles Times, in a report dated February 22, 2009, about the red carpet looks at the 81st Academy Awards, went into more detail about the variables under this beard style:

One of the more interesting trends among the men on the red carpet at tonight's 81st Academy Awards was the mix of upper lip/chin hair commonly described -- often incorrectly -- as a "goatee." Nominees Mickey Rourke, Josh Brolin, Brad Pitt and Peter Gabriel were all showcasing variations of facial hair that fell short of a full beard but were more than a simple mustache. And, just now, Will Smith took to the stage as a presenter sporting similar whiskers.

Rourke's style -- a mustache paired with a separate chin beard (think Col. Sanders) -- is known generally as a "Van Dyck" (or "Van Dyke"), after 17th-century Flemish painter Anthony van Dyck, though some might argue that the thin, narrow nature of Rourke's mustache and diamond-shape beard actually qualifies it as a sub-style of the Van Dyke called a "musketeer."

Such a chin beard -- sans 'stache -- would be a goatee, said to be named for its resemblance to the tuft of hair on a goat's chin.

The style worn by Brolin, Pitt, Gabriel (as well as presenter Will Smith and Sir Ben Kingsley) -- where the mustache frames the mouth and connects to the beard in a rough approximation of a circle -- is more accurately known as a "circle beard," and referred to in various corners of the beard-growing universe as a "door-knocker," "moutee," and, in Spanish, the "barba candado" (padlock beard). . .

All that, yes, but were others noticing the crop of these beards on the faces of evangelical preachers on TV while flipping through the channels, and in pictures of praise band musicians and congregation members of these churches? As a matter of fact, absolutely. There are numerous articles on the web addressing and analyzing this trend. The best one I read is Icons of the New Evangelicalism: Why All the Little Beards? Here's a portion of the discussion in the article:

The inauguration of Barack Obama brought another icon into the spotlight—the face of Rick Warren. A rising juggernaut in the evangelical scene in recent years, Warren exemplifies the new generation taking over from the old patriarchs of evangelicalism. Slowly but noticeably, it is displacing leaders from the old guard such as James Dobson (Focus on the Family), Chuck Colson (Prison Fellowship Ministries), Pat Robertson (The 700 Club), and the late Jerry Falwell (Moral Majority). What can we learn from these surface-level changes? How is the emerging evangelicalism likely to differ from the old?

One difference stands out at first glance. Picture Warren alongside several other emerging leaders, such as Brian McLaren (bestselling theologian), Mark Driscoll (Seattle-based megachurch pastor), Doug Pagitt (author and pastor), Jay Bakker (star of One Punk Under God), or Shane Claiborne (author of The Irresistible Revolution: Living as an Ordinary Radical). They share a clear mark of distinction from the old guard: a patch of facial hair around their chin. As French literary critic Roland Barthes once remarked, “Among priests, it is not due to chance whether one is bearded or not.” Warren’s choice not to shave, then, suggests a pointed attempt to remake the evangelical iconography.

But what is the intended significance of this makeover? Why change the visual representation of America’s most influential religious tradition in this subtle, stubbly way? . . .

Might as well end this post with another quote, applicable ....... and maybe funnier than the first one:

"If the beard were all, goats could preach."

- Danish Proverb

,

Old Postcard Wednesday--San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge, San Francisco, California

lydiam@wavecable.com (Lydia) — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 08:53:00 +0000

In this old postcard the San Francisco (San Francisco-Oakland) Bay Bridge is noted as the longest bridge in the world. It is not that any longer (pun intended). At a website titled Ten Longest Bridges of the World (includes great photos of the ten in its list), #1 is listed as Lake Pontchartrain Causeway, aka The Causeway. However, at another site (with a fantastic name, I might add!) --
THE LONGEST LIST OF THE LONGEST STUFF AT THE LONGEST DOMAIN NAME AT LONG LAST --
Lake Pontchartrain Causeway Bridge comes in at #2, with the Akashi Kaykio Bridge in Kobe, Japan, given the #1 slot because the "general rule for judging the longest bridge is the length of the span" and The Causeway is supported by 9500 pilings. Even so, The Causeway is listed in the Guinness Book of World Records as the longest bridge. The Lake Pontchartrain Causeway Bridge has its own website here, complete with traffic advisory.

See marvelous photos of the construction of the Bay Bridge at the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge website (go to the Bay Bridge main page for extensive information, including about current closures and repair). The following is beginning text at the history section of the website:

In 1936, the East and West communities of the Bay Area came together like never before. While ferries had long carried people across the Bay's often choppy waters, automobiles were the future of transportation. This meant local residents wanted a quick way to drive between the rapidly growing cities of San Francisco and Oakland. As expected, as soon as the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge was built in 1936, it immediately became the favorite way to travel between San Francisco and the East Bay.

Cynics believed that the bridge would be impossible to build due to the potential impact of turbulent waters and gusty winds. Engineers had assumed that the area's high winds posed a greater threat than earthquakes, despite the bridge's proximity to two major fault lines. The varying soils and water depths, the inaccessibility to bedrock, and the unique design challenges inherent in developing a bridge to span eight miles across the Bay led some to believe that building such a bridge was unthinkable.

The largest and most expensive bridge of its time, the Bay Bridge faced not just natural obstacles, but political hurdles as well. There had been discussion of building a bridge between San Francisco and Oakland since the 1870s, but construction did not move forward until the Reconstruction Finance Corporation, with support from President Herbert Hoover, agreed to purchase bonds to be repaid later with bridge tolls.

As troublesome as recent circumstances have been for the Bay Bridge, back in 1936 its grand opening was cause for immense pride and celebration. My grandmother Nellie, living in Oakland at the time, saved (in her cedar chest now in my possession) the special section published by the Oakland-Tribune to remember the excitement of the day.

More stats and information about bridges at The Bridge Site.
.

Everything he wrote is golden

lydiam@wavecable.com (Lydia) — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 10:39:00 +0000

Ganga Dream by Skip Hunt

Obstinate are the trammels, but my heart aches when I try to break them.

Freedom is all I want, but to hope for it I feel ashamed.

I am certain that priceless wealth is in thee, and that thou art my best friend, but I have not the heart to sweep away the tinsel that fills my room.

The shroud that covers me is a shroud of dust and death; I hate it, yet hug it in love.

My debts are large, my failures great, my shame secret and heavy; yet when I come to ask for my good, I quake in fear lest my prayer be granted.

- Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941) Indian poet, playwright and essayist;
won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1913

This is Number Six in a randomly-posted, continuing series of quotes by Tagore.
Number One
Number Two
Number Three
Number Four
Number Five

blogging friends are like music in my life

lydiam@wavecable.com (Lydia) — Sat, 14 Nov 2009 23:09:00 +0000

Phivos at the Travelling blog treated me to this video in my email inbox this morning. He's such a good and fun blogging friend! His blog lifts my spirits and gives me positive wanderlust on a daily basis. He shares not only his own gorgeous photos and fascinating commentary of personal travels, but he also features the same from other travelers. I don't know the particulars of his selection process for travel photos from other bloggers. I'm looking forward to a big trip(s) someday that would be reason for me to ask him about that!

podcast for your consideration

lydiam@wavecable.com (Lydia) — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 08:54:00 +0000

Podcast by Les AuCoin: Bring Them Home

Clicking on the link above ~~(and the photo also)~~ will take you to a powerful and beautifully-produced video and short written commentary that left me with tears in my eyes.

Please note: the video has a bar on the bottom right that says "Start." It didn't always work for me, but clicking small arrow at bottom left plays the video every time for me.

Les is "a writer and author, a retired nine-term U.S. congressman from Oregon, and former university professor of government." His podcast doesn't automatically link you to his blog, which you can visit at The Les AuCoin Blog.

{At least one person has had difficulty accessing the full podcast. Perhaps this is because she may not have QuickTime. I've stripped this post down by removing the link at the photo, because Feedburner wasn't crazy about that idea. Beyond that, I've successfully accessed the podcast via Firefox and Internet Explorer and I apologize to any and all of you who cannot view the video.}

Old Postcard Wednesday--World War I Soldier

lydiam@wavecable.com (Lydia) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 08:24:00 +0000

The handwriting is my mother's notation describing the soldier pictured on this old photo postcard. He was her cousin, Hewitt Swearingen, who died in action in France during WWI. She was an infant when he was killed but she grew up loving stories of him told to her by his father, Ernest.

She always honored Hewitt's memory on Veteran's Day.

Now it's my turn..........

A music video of Motörhead: 1916 from the album 1916. This song is composed by Lemmy Kilmister.(uploaded by undeadwarrior69)

1916 - Lyrics

16 years old when I went to the war,
To fight for a land fit for heroes,
God on my side, and a gun in my hand,
Chasing my days down to zero,
And I marched and I fought and I bled and I died,
And I never did get any older,
But I knew at the time that a year in the line,
Is a long enough life for a soldier,
We all volunteered, and we wrote down our names,
And we added two years to our ages,
Eager for life and ahead of the game,
Ready for history's pages,
And we brawled and we fought and we whored 'til we stood,
Ten thousand shoulder to shoulder,
A thirst for the Hun, we were food for the gun,
And that's what you are when you're soldiers,

I heard my friend cry, and he sank to his knees,
Coughing blood as he screamed for his mother,
And I fell by his side, and that's how we died,
Clinging like kids to each other,
And I lay in the mud and the guts and the blood,
And I wept as his body grew colder,
And I called for my mother and she never came,
Though it wasn't my fault and I wasn't to blame,
The day not half over and ten thousand slain,
And now there's nobody remembers our names,
And that's how it is for a soldier.

.

There's a Muse in My Soup

lydiam@wavecable.com (Lydia) — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 09:16:00 +0000

The most potent muse of all is our own inner child.

-Stephen Nachmanovich

brings out the rebel in me

lydiam@wavecable.com (Lydia) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 06:02:00 +0000

Jarad Ratliff, artist, added this note to his video: There was an old TV show named "Johnny Yuma." & Johnny Cash sang this song, as the theme song.

He is right. I barely remember the TV show but it brings good memories to the front of my brain when I think of it. I liked the word rebel then, and I still do. The song appeals to me tonight, and Jarad Ratliff is a rock star in my estimation for uploading the song at youtube.

Here's the original, sung by Johnny Cash:

poem for today by a soldier of the past

lydiam@wavecable.com (Lydia) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 09:00:00 +0000

THE NEW TRANSLATION

-by Sergeant Thomas N. Wilkes, U.S.A.

The touch and go of the wilderness, the long land

That is my home is whet to my desire.

Massive my vista, and clear as the evening clearness

Resting on the distant grass. The pass, retreat

Of history is mine, as it swings out across

The open future. Stretched as the mind is stretched--

And red as the heart.

Who is there that cannot see the spreading synapse

The woolly mammoth with icebound paws

Is not so distant from the roaring hearts in Gary or in

Pittsburgh

Nor Nero from the flames of Bethlehem. The hammer

sounds

On steel are but an echo of two thousand years.

The men who fall beneath the Production Line

Die simply; death does not change, nor tears.

Time is a plowing of seasons.

The men who charged the China sea

Beneath great canvas are the men

Who came in this afternoon

On the brown barbaric barges from Duluth,

From the iron land of Minnesota. Men

Who float the rich fragmented earth for a handful of

nickels a day.

"Something is wrong with the world."

Something is wrong indeed.

We are too quick with the knife,

Too sudden with the itching palm.

We roll on wheels without bearings.

We need a new grease job!

We are our own glittering foe.

All this is but a tracing of the past.

Is it not so?

Did not St. Francis tread upon the adder

As he planted his little flowers?

And Moses slip upon the serpent in the sand?

The metal monotone of marching men has droned

A dismal cadence through the generations of our

heritage.

My hand is ever in your pocket, yours in mine.

We need no second Christ, no modern Marx,

No new philosophy . . . no quick injection

Of some stimulus.

There is no need

For several hundred head of martyrs here!

We have our one religion. A certain thing,

The Epic Earth, which balks explosion,

Cannot be destroyed--endless, simple, rich, magnificent,

and holy.

Men, we need no visitation, no miracle to awe the children,

No armored camps, no barren fields!

Hey you! We need a new translation!

-from REVEILLE, War Poems by Members of Our Armed Forces

selected by Daniel Henderson, John Kieran, and Grantlan Rice

photo via: freedigitalphotos

in silence sealed

lydiam@wavecable.com (Lydia) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 08:43:00 +0000

The human heart has hidden treasures,

In secret kept, in silence sealed.

--CHARLOTTE BRONTE'

Lydia by Lydia, Lincoln City, Oregon, October 2009
.

Old Postcard Wednesday--The Breakers Hotel, Long Beach, California

lydiam@wavecable.com (Lydia) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 12:32:00 +0000

Postcards
- by Margaret Atwood

I'm thinking about you. What else can I say?
The palm trees on the reverse
are a delusion; so is the pink sand.
What we have are the usual
fractured coke bottles and the smell
of backed-up drains, too sweet,
like a mango on the verge
of rot, which we have also.
The air clear sweat, mosquitoes
& their tracks; birds & elusive.

Time comes in waves here, a sickness, one
day after the other rolling on;
I move up, it's called
awake, then down into the uneasy
nights but never
forward. The roosters crow
for hours before dawn, and a prodded
child howls & howls
on the pocked road to school.
In the hold with the baggage
there are two prisoners,
their heads shaved by bayonets, & ten crates
of queasy chicks. Each spring
there's race of cripples, from the store
to the church. This is the sort of junk
I carry with me; and a clipping
about democracy from the local paper.

Outside the window
they're building the damn hotel,
nail by nail, someone's
crumbling dream. A universe that includes you
can't be all bad, but
does it? At this distance
you're a mirage, a glossy image
fixed in the posture
of the last time I saw you.
Turn you over, there's the place
for the address. Wish you were
here. Love comes
in waves like the ocean, a sickness which goes on
& on, a hollow cave
in the head, filling & pounding, a kicked ear.

16.52.360 The Breakers Hotel.

Pursuant to the provisions of Chapter 2.63 of the Long Beach Municipal Code and with the recommendation of the planning commission, the city council designates the following building as an historical landmark in the city: The Breakers Hotel.

A. Location, description and reasons for designation. Located at 200 East Ocean Boulevard in the city of Long Beach, the Breakers Hotel was built in 1925. It contains one hundred seventy-two thousand square feet and rises thirteen stories with two or more floors below the bluff including a recessed parking lot. The design is Spanish Renaissance Revival with a sky room and tower. The plain, stucco walls with octagonal tile roof at the summit are set off by immense, elaborate concrete ornamentation over the main recessed entrance. The ornamentation is classically derived and includes bas-relief mermaid busts and the heads of Neptune. There are twelfth-floor balconies and vaulted arches onto a wrought iron fire escape landing. The building has double-hung windows with large arched windows at the ground floor. It also features a circular drive with olive trees. The building is a major visual landmark in the area on a palm-lined boulevard. There is a glass view room at the ninth floor rear.

Construction was begun on the Breakers Hotel in 1925. Its developer, Fred B. Dunn, planned a fifteen-story, three hundred twenty-room hotel at a cost of one hundred thousand dollars. With W. Jay Burgin as contractor, the hotel opened within a year. Later it was purchased by Conrad Hilton who made the necessary repairs, added the Sky Room, and reopened the hotel. After Hilton sold the hotel, it became the Wilton Hotel until the 1970s when it was converted into a senior citizens' residence. In 1982 it was reconverted into a hotel and in 1988 is being changed back again into a senior citizens' residence.

As noted, the Breakers Hotel is significant in its unique Spanish Renaissance design. It is one of the largest structures constructed in Long Beach built during the Twenties. In short, it is a fine example of 1920's resort era architecture. The decoration that surrounds the entrance is lavish, symbolizing the era and its structures. The remainder of the building is simple, and its three-dimensional massing distinguishes it on the Long Beach skyline. The interior of the building, especially the elegant lobby and lounge which reflect its 1920's resort era heritage, was refurbished in 1982. On the top of the building is the Sky Room restaurant decorated in contemporary Art Deco.

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