Wednesday, August 26, 2009

North White Plains July 2009

My mother was trained as a registered nurse in the Kaiserswert Institute. Reportedly the place got it’s name from a remark made by Charlemagne (Karl der Grosse in a civilized tongue). He was so struck by the natural beauty of the place that he remarked, “Dies ist des Kaiser’s wert” (this is worthy of the Kaiser). She said that she had gotten a full scholarship to study there but her parents refused to sign the permission slip, so once again, my mother simply forged her father’s signature. This seems to have gotten to be a habit of hers, not that I can blame her.

My mother struggled to learn enough English and finally took and passed the exam to become accredited as a registered nurse while we lived in Cliffside Park, NJ. She then got a job as the staff nurse at an orphanage in Thornwood, NY, called the Millbank home. An apartment came with the job and we moved there. After a year, Millbank closed and we moved to an upstairs apartment on 7 Emmalon Ave in North White Plains. After a year we moved on to the first floor apartment at 1 Emmalon Ave. This was a roughly C shaped apartment. The only source of heat was a gas heater at one end of the C. My room was at the other end of the C and received no heat whatsoever. To remedy this deficiency, my father installed a wood stove. Fortunately there was an unused chimney there. Supplying fuel was my job entirely and I would scour the woods behind the house for anything I could burn. I learned my skills with an axe and sledgehammer and wedge from my father. I also learned certain practical skills from him that obviated the need to use an axe. He had a fast and dirty method of reducing firewood to manageable size without using an axe of saw. Using his method, you would whack a branch up to maybe 5 inches in diameter over the edge of a sharp rock and break off usable sized chunks of wood. Much less work than using an axe of saw. I taught these methods to my children also but they will probably never need to use them.

I noticed that two new houses were built at the end of Emmalon Ave, so that what was 1 Emmalon is now 3 and the former 7 Emmalon is now 9. The area though has hardly changed. There is a little shopping district in Valhalla but if you were driving by and you blinked, you would miss it. There is a large Indian restaurant. Back when we lived there, Indian food was something that they presumably ate in India. We never saw it. A nice cigar store (I bought one). The owner was proud that they imported the cigar leaves from the Dominican Republic and rolled their own cigars. I told him that we have a similar cigar store in my neighborhood in Manhattan but that they also keep fighting cocks in the back. He seemed a little taken aback and said that they do not do such things in Valhalla. “Pity” I said.

While living at 1 Emmalon Ave, my parents gave my brother, Michael, a Labrador Retriever, Susy, for a birthday present. The dog always hated him though, as did our cats. I wonder if this reflected wisdom and insight on the part of the animals? My brother was after all a selfish and self indulgent slacker all his life. Probably he did vicious and painful things to the animals when no one was looking.

From 1 Emmalon Ave, we moved across the Hudson to New Jersey again, when my parents bought their first house in the lakeside community of Cupsaw Lake in Ringwood, NJ. This would have been in 1963.

North White Plains July 2009


Monday, August 24, 2009

Chester NJ August 2009

The best Sunday Brunch in the known universe was to be had at the old Publick House. You specify the breakfast item made to order then you wander up to a table where they cut you a slice of extraordinary roast beef or you help yourself to a bowl of beef burgundy (or whatever they have made that day, freshly made pastries such as cherry turnovers and you sit at your table, eating and eating by the warmth of working fireplaces (in season). The Publick House had closed down a year or so ago and I decided to check it out to see what was going on with it. It appears that it had shut for major construction adding to the facility. Hopefully it will open up again soon. After you eat, you can amble down the street looking in at the many quaint shops. The last time I was here a young Polish woman had opened up a shop where she sold her homemade jewelry and other items made of amber. I didn't see it this time but maybe she moved to another location. Larison's Turkey Farm closed several years ago. It re-opened as Larison's Steak House but closed again two weeks ago. We never ate there because the Publick House always seemed by far the superior draw. When the children were young, the Phillipses used to join us in taking our children to pick your own apple orchards in the vicinity. It always seemed to degenerate into a brawl as the kids tried to bop apples off each others heads. Ah, memories.

Elderberries or Bust

I have found only one elderberry bush in Manhattan. That is not nearly enough. So I decided to rent a car and travel to Pennsylvania, where I used to pick them in dozens of spots. The day was not an auspicious one since it was supposed to rain but I had arranged to rent the car and for two vacation days a week in advance and I was willing to get wet if necessary. As it was, all the elderberry bushes had vanished, leaving not even dry stems. To salvage something from this disaster, I picked a humungous amount of wild rose hips. Rosa Rugosa, the best. As the rain got more severe, I was forced to stop taking pictures for fear of damaging my camera. I stopped off to see some old friends and acquaintances, like Old Order Mennonite farmers Mark and Maryanne Nolt, purveyors of unpasteurized unhomogenized milk, the most astounding eggs you will ever taste, farm made cheeses and butter. The great taste of their foods comes from the fact that the animals are largely grass fed. Give the Nolts a call at 717-776-3417 for the tastiest beef, chicken, eggs and dairy products. Tell them that Tom Byro sent you. They know me well.

Mark Nolt asked me if I was still with Robin Stahr. I said no, that we split up after she tried to steal my son’s kid by accusing him of molesting her. And then it turned out that the child was molested but by a former boyfriend of Robin’s (according to the child’s own testimony) whom Robin had allowed to babysit the kid. Mark said that Robin had acquired a bad reputation among the Mennonite community for not paying her bills.



I stopped off to see Lucy deFrance and Austin Hertzler who live in a location so remote that I would defy anyone to find it. They live on the way to some of my favorite elderberry stands.

In Harrisburg, I stopped off and bought some Challah from Rebbetzin Varda Gewirtz. She asked me “are you still with “THAT WOMAN”, referring to Robin? I said no and explained why. Robin would seem to have been unpopular with a great number of people. For the best Challah in the known universe, contact VardaChallah@aol.com.

I had tentatively decided to drive to the Catskills and pick blueberries since I had the car for another day. However, I encountered the most monstrous storm I have seen in many a day and decided to cut things short by taking pictures of the area around the old Camp Midvale and heading home




From Elderberries or Bust Aug 2009

Sunday, August 23, 2009

FISTFA March 14 2009

Made chili again. It was well received last month and equally well received this month. However, I get bored making the same thing and probably will not make it again for a while. I kind of let myself be guided by what is on sale. Truth to tell though, I love playing with gadgets. I had not given the meat grinder attachment to my Kitchen Aid mixer any thought until recently. This time I bought chuck steaks that were on sale, cut off all the garbage, and ground up some very lean chopped meat. Maybe I will try a meatloaf next. Does anyone have any good meatloaf recipes?

I baked loaves of raisin pumpernickel, rye bread made with molasses and a cheese cake, following my ex, Barb's recipe. The cheesecake did not turn out as well as I had hoped. I was afraid to open the oven door to check the internal temperature until late in the baking process and the temperature had reached 175 degrees, exceeding the limit of 160 degrees indicated by Barb. I had set the oven temperature to it's lowest setting, 200 degrees but it may be that the oven thermometer is not very accurate.

Bob Rodriguez greatly enjoyed listening to episodes of matinee serials The Crimson Ghost and Radar Men From the Moon, as well as episodes of Captain Video and his Video Rangers

FISTFA March 14 2009

FISTFA Feb 21 2009

FISTFA Feb 21 2009">Still trying to save text and pictures from bubbleshare. The text here is too long for Picasa Web

I decided that Winter was a time that called for hearty food and decided to make chili again. For myself, I would have bought the meat at the butchers but when trying to feed a cast of thousands, you want to economize. I looked at the hideous greasy chopped meat selling for $2.39 a pound in the supermarket and I shuddered. However London Broil was also selling for $2.39 a pound. The pasta maker attachment I had bought for my Kitchen Aid mixer also included a meat grinder, so I was able to make my own virtually fat-free chopped meat for the same price as the garbage meat. To make the sauce, I bought bags of over-ripe tomatoes at $1.00 a bag. They would have been too delicate for eating out of hand but they were just perfect for making a sauce. I also bought a bag of mystery hot peppers which I had thought were Jalapenos but turned out to be far more potent. The end product thus turned out to be a lot hotter than I had planned, so I made a large pot of Basmati rice to take some of the punch out of the chili. Let's see, I also baked a loaf of potato bread and took a loaf of sour dough bread out of the freezer that I had previously made using my own home-made starter culture. Finally, I made several key lime pies (and whipped cream, of course). To my astonishment, the food began disappearing like we were beset with locusts.

It is strange how people tend to crowd into the kitchen, the smallest available space. Maybe it is the sense of intimacy or maybe just the easier availability of food. Fred read some of his poetry in the kitchen and I must say that it was quite good. It really gave the feel of the heroic fantasies of Robert E Howard.

We played some of the Saxon folksongs I had posted to my blog. I explained to Abby that I used to just post other people's translations but that the quality was so crappy that the translations bore little resemblance to the originals. I told her that I was not trying to achieve grammatical perfection in my translations. I just wanted the songs to be understandable, even if it involved a small effort. When you insist of grammatical perfection, you start down the slippery slope of starting something new entirely that shares nothing but the title with the original. Minimal translation is what I would call my method.

Finally, we listened to a song I had posted in memory of my grandfather, Die Internationale. This was sung by Hannes Wader and ends in the enthusiastic chanting by thousands of Hoch, die Internationale, Solidaritaet.

Lyrics to folksongs, along with my translations and a few links to youtube so that you can hear them can be found on my blog at http://dispatchfromnewyork.blogspot.com/

Saturday, August 15, 2009

Sams point and Vicinity

I am trying to laboriously save my pictures and text from bubbleshare. Unfortunately, Picasa Web limits me to 1000 charcters of text. I will therefore store text here until I find a better solution'

Met with Matt and Grace Rubenstein and saw their new home. Unfortunately, it still needs lots of renovations. We then set off on a combined trip to hike and pick blueberries in Sams Point, just outside of Ellenville in the Catskills, and to scout out sources of home improvement supplies. I will say this, if I ever decide to become a bank robber, I want Matt to drive my getaway car. Matt had called an attorney associated with the town government of Ellenville, who assured him that the blueberries would be at their peak this weekend. Nothing could be further from the truth. They will not hit their peak for at least another two weeks. Remind me to never use the services of an attorney from Ellenville. I suspect that they are all idiots. However, the trip was far from a waste of time. We did get to eat a few blueberries and Sams Point is a spot with great natural beauty. There was hardly anyone there and when on two occasions hikers walked by, I felt annoyed that someone would intrude into my delicious solitude.

I was first introduced to Sams Point shortly after we came to the United States from Germany. I had a hard time adjusting to city life. I missed the green meadows of my Saxon homeland. I was stunned at the way people threw garbage about. The streets and sidewalks of The Bronx fairly glistened with broken glass bottles. Hated the food, especially the crummy bread , like Wonderbread. And so, one of my father’s colleagues, a native of Ellenville, decided to take us to Sams Point in his old Studebaker to pick blueberries. This was in Late July, 1956.

It was raining heavily and the windshield wipers were vacuum operated. This meant that when you slowed down due to poor visibility, the engine vacuum dropped and windshield wipers slowed or even stopped. A scary way to drive in the rain. The car was so underpowered that it almost did not make it to the top of Sams Point in first gear. Plan B was to back up the mountain because reverse gear is always the most powerful gear. What a wonderful time we had when we got there though. We were away from the city and out in Nature with a whole mountain just covered with blueberries. On the way we passed shacks in which migrant berry pickers lived I took pictures of these shacks but they are just crumbling away. You are also no longer allowed to drive to were the berries are but have to hike there from the parking lot

Sams Point and Vicinity


Honk If You Love Cheeses

W'ith bubbleshare going defunct, I am going to experiment migrating some of the pictures here, along with the accompanying text.

The title of this photo spread is apropos of nothing. I just like it. Yesterday I passed by some amazing graffiti while traveling to Flushing on the #7 train. I decided to approach the area on foot and investigate. My first thought was that there had been a recent Hippy invasion, “Quick, get out the Flit Gun,” was my thought. A couple taking pictures there though told me that this was the site of a graffiti museum. Is there anything that we don’t have a museum for in the city? We have a museum of sex, the Maidenform Museum of Brassieres, etc. So let us travel back in the Wayback Machine, to the recent past of graffiti. “No, no,” you idiot. “You went back too far. You took us all the way back to the notorious “Jesus of the Garlic Breath.” Take us back to the more recent past, to the apartment of Bob Whalen on Sullivan Street in The Village in the mid 1960’s. Bob Whalen always had the strangest visitors. I don’t know if Bob just attracted them or if The Village is just so full of strange people that a Rotary Club type would seem like a freak here. This time it was a rock musician who had had a string of bad luck. His cash was low. He was even running out of pot (horrors). In his depression, he went up to the Cloisters Museum. He was so enthralled by the unicorn tapestries that he began scribbling “Unicorn Tapestries”, over every available surface in the city. This came to the attention of the media who began speculating what this unicorn tapestry business was all about? He then decided to cash in on his notoriety by forming a rock band called Unicorn Tapestry. I don’t know how he made out. He was just starting on this venture. Anyway, the UnicornTapestry guy started this modern avalanche of graffiti because before this time there was very little to be seen anywhere in the city. Now you know how it all began. Aren’t you glad you asked?

As long as I was at it, I decided to take some pictures of Long Island City. It has not all been yuppyfied. Much of it still conforms to its gritty industrial past.


Honk if You Love Cheeses Aug 2009