?`s and ANNEswers

Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

CMA Awards

Posted on November 15, 2005

Tonight the CMA Awards take center stage; for the uninitiated, it is the Country Music Association’s big night, equal to the Oscars in film, the Emmys in television, and the Tonys in live theatre.

I’m an awards show junkie, so I’ll be watching and taking notes. In the meantime, here is my list of top awards shows and what they have to offer.

In last place are the Emmys, which seem to have spun off into two distinct awards shows: the daytimes and the night times. Given that I hardly watch television, except for ice skating and awards shows, I’m not much interested in who wins for the best soap opera.

In third place are the Oscars, that once-a-year homage to movies and actors and actresses. Since I rarely take in a movie in a movie theatre, the hoopla goes over my head.

In second place are the CMA Awards, the ones that I’ll stay up for tonight, even if I have to stick toothpicks under my eyelids. I love the performers who actually perform and make the evening a night of entertainment on the way to first place or lack of. I love the country twang and the honest-to-goodness unrehearsed acceptance speeches. Country music can write a song about anything, and that’s what’s showcased on the CMA Awards.

In first place, are the Tonys; but they are so special that I should probably devote an entire ten minutes to them. After all, the other awards are for achievements where the entertainer gets a second or third take. Live on Broadway is about getting it right the first time.

Yet, tonight isn’t the time to split hairs. Instead, I’m signing off, heading for the family room, and a great night of country music. Hee Haw!

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Judith Pearson

Posted on November 14, 2005

Yesterday afternoon Earl all but dragged me to a book signing at The Box Factory, a local artists’ hangout. He wanted to hear author Judith Pearson speak about her recent book, The Wolves at the Door, which chronicles the life of Virginia Hall, an American female spy during World War II.

At first I resisted, preferring to practice piano or work on various other projects. But Earl was sure I would benefit from this outing, so he persisted; and in the end I went. In the end he was right.

I enjoyed Ms. Pearson’s presentation immensely, even though she and I are not involved in the same literary genres. She likes biography; I prefer personal memoir. She seems to have settled on the writer’s life; I’m still all over the board. She commented on the research involved; my writing centers on my own life, so research is the least of it.

Pearson spent a few minutes telling her audience about Virginia Hall’s extraordinary life and another few minutes explaining how she sets about doing the necessary research for a biography. She was soft-spoken and clearly had given a presentation or two before arriving in St. Joseph.

The primary purpose of book signings is for the author to sell copies of his or her book. Earl did not disappoint Ms. Pearson. He bought a copy and had her inscribe “To Earl and Anne with warm regards, Judy Pearson” on the title page. She seemed appreciative.

As we left The Box Factory, I marveled at the hard work involved not only in writing a book but also in promoting it. My hat goes off to Ms. Pearson.

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Proud Mom

Posted on November 13, 2005

I’m now back from NYC two days, enough time for my mind and my body to show up in the same place. And what are the two of them doing?

Well, they’re missing all the people in New York who comprise the fredflare.com family. My mind and my body had a wonderful work experience at the world headquarters/warehouse in Brooklyn that is home to my son, Keith, and his partner, Chris’s, online retail business, fredflare.com. To learn more about their company, visit the website by the same name.

What struck me most about my visit to their facility was the culture Keith and Chris are creating. It’s about selling products; it has to be or the bills wouldn’t get paid. But it’s also about hiring a group of incredibly talented people who work hard and have fun at the same time. It’s about nurturing them as individuals too. I’m proud, not only of Keith and Chris, but also of every single employee I met last week. They are all amazing.

I read somewhere recently that the two founders of Google® are each worth billions of dollars. fredflare.com isn’t a tech company, so its stock – when that IPO comes — will probably never exceed the Googles of the world. At the same time, it’s heartwarming to watch approximately twenty people – owners and workers alike — pull together to make fredflare.com grow.

I’m honored to be involved.

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Really Home

Posted on November 11, 2005

I wrote earlier in the week that visiting New York City was like going home. And I meant it. But it needs clarification . . .

Visiting New York City is like returning to the home of my childhood, my first recollection of a protective place where people cared about me. I’ve lived in approximately twenty places after that, but New York was a benchmark.

At the same time, this is not to be confused with the home I currently live in and love as dearly as the New York home of my youth. It’s about feeling safe, and even though I’m challenged with the current remodeling project, I love my present home immensely.

Earl laughs that, when I walk in our house, I say loud and clear, “Hello, house.” And then, in a deep voice I answer myself, “Hello, Anne. I missed you,” as if my house could speak. Truthfully, it does speak to me.

So when I get home tonight I’ll go through the ritual. “Hello, house,” I’ll say. And then I’ll respond in my “house” voice: “I’m glad you’re home.” Earl will shake his head, maybe even smile secretly. But I bet he’s glad I’m home too.

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Grand Central

Posted on November 10, 2005

Every time I visit New York City I see an old friend. Sometimes it’s just to linger over drinks; sometimes it’s for a leisurely dinner. Either way, it’s great to be back in Grand Central, the grande dame of refurbished railroad stations. I don’t mean it’s great to be back there to meet my friend; I mean Grand Central IS the friend.

Time was when grime and decay spread like fungus across her beautiful star studded ceiling, when the floors were subjected to the same punishment and the shops were nondescript. Grand Central had declined from the heyday of elegant rail travel to the humdrum of tedious commuter rush hours and the backdrop for the movie “Silver Streak.”

In 1967, the building received landmark status, which saved it from an imminent wrecking ball. But it would be another thirty years before Grand Central was restored to its former glory. For a wonderful history of the building, you might consider logging on to www.grandcentralterminal.com. Even if you’ve never been to New York or considered a building to be a friend, this site is interesting.

As for me, I had dinner with Keith and Chris in the Oyster Bar, which advertises as “below sea level at Grand Central Station.” It opened in 1913, meaning its one-hundredth anniversary is around the corner, relatively speak. Another great site to visit is www.oysterbarny.com.

We reminisced about the last time we had dinner there and about the times I’ve dragged them to the various bars in the station just for cocktails. We picked our favorite current retail store in the station. My favorite is the Grand Central market where you can buy almost anything to go, so that you have a gourmet meal at the end of your commuter trip home.

Finally, we headed home ourselves, probably with a little too much libation under our belts. But definitely not enough reminiscing. I swear I felt the old girl smile.

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New York City

Posted on November 9, 2005

There is no place in our country like New York City. I haven’t been to all the major metropolises of the world, so I hesitate to say New York is the top of the tops; but I wager it’s a contender.

As someone who’s spent part of her childhood in New York and much of her adult life in and around Chicago, I feel qualified to make comparisons. Sorry, Chicago, if it doesn’t always work in your favor.

When you arrive by plane, New York City’s skyline dwarfs Chicago’s. When you find a taxi to go to your hotel, the traffic makes Chicago’s look like a drive in the country. When you seek diversity, New York is a little United Nations, while Chicago is a littler one. New York is faster, smarter, cleverer, trendier than her Midwest counterpart will ever be.

At the same time, here are some things Chicago offers that New York doesn’t.

Through some divine planning, the Windy City has alleys, while the Big Apple doesn’t. This may not sound like much, but when it’s garbage collection day in your neighborhood where would you rather have your leftover food, your disposable diapers, and your beer cans waiting to be picked up? In the alley or on the street in front of your house or apartment?

I thought so.

Chicago is driveable, while New York City really isn’t. The Dutch founded the original island in the seventeenth century with fewer than one thousand residents — you do remember the story about the Indians selling Manhattan for a handful of trinkets? — so who’s to argue that the layout of the streets precluded the automobile?

For the record, Chicago wasn’t founded until the early nineteenth century; and, granted, the automobile was still years away from invention. However, Chicago never was an island with limited space; rather it subscribed to the endless prairie theory.

Fortunately, I don’t have to choose between either city. Rather, I live in bucolic southwestern Michigan, which makes both cities seem world-class. And, for the record, I’m really happy to have experienced life firsthand in each.

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In Sight

Posted on November 8, 2005

Yesterday, while I was packing and planning for my New York trip, I began to think the end of our remodeling project was in sight. Not in grasp, you understand, but definitely showing signs of visible progress.

While I’m gone, the tile should be completely laid, the painting should be done, and some of the light fixtures will be installed. I’m excited to return.

When you live in a project day to day it’s difficult to see progress, even though it exists. I supposed it’s like living with children. You can’t always see their development, until someone who hasn’t seen them in a while exclaims, “My, how you’ve grown,” or “How tall you’ve become.” I hope to feel that way about my bathrooms on Friday when I come home.

Of course, some of the details will dribble in. I ordered two mirrors for the master bath, but only one came on the truck. The other won’t come for two weeks. I ordered two lights for the closet with the same result. And the shower door won’t show up until after Thanksgiving, because it couldn’t be measured until the tile was set. Shower doors don’t take kindly to the slightest mis-measurement.

Nevertheless, it will feel great not to have workers in our house at odd hours. Soon we’ll be able to sleep in our master bedroom again, even if we have to mount a temporary tension rod and a plastic shower curtain in our mega-buck bathroom.

Like I said, the end is in sight.

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Not Lost in New York

Posted on November 7, 2005

So tomorrow I fly to New York City, and it’s like coming home. Sure, I get to see my son Keith and his partner Chris. I’ll visit their company headquarters and meet the staff too. In fact, that’s the primary reason for my visit. But, secretly, it’s like a return to childhood.

I lived in NYC umpteen years ago, when I was in second and third grade. Back then, I lived with my grandparents in what was a beautiful apartment at 106th Street and Riverside Drive. I’ve never been back, so who knows what the neighborhood is like now; but I can tell you that when I inhabited it, it was unbelievable. A fairy tale for a seven-year-old.

The apartment’s windows overlooked the Hudson River, and I can still recall how the lights on the other side twinkled at night. I remember the upright piano in the living room, Sundays at the Central Park Zoo, the hair salon where my grandmother had a standing appointment, the Chinese lamp on my grandfather’s desk, Gristedes market, posing for a photo with Santa Claus with my two front teeth missing.

I remember Grand Central before its facelift, before the billboards that covered the windows were removed, before the Campbell Apartment was restored. In fact, Keith, Chris, and I have tried on a couple occasions to have cocktails in the Campbell Apartment, only to be turned away because we didn’t meet the dress code.

I remember Macy’s former glory, Wanamaker’s now defunct department store, Horn and Hardart’s automat at full tilt, Schraft’s splendiferous coffee ice cream (the only flavor our family ate), the ice skating rink at Rockefeller Plaza. Most of all I remember that, when I was a child, New York City was the capital of the world, the center of the universe.

Maybe that’s changed. I don’t judge. It doesn’t really matter. What matters is that for a couple November days, I’m home again.

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Lox Plate

Posted on November 6, 2005

This morning we ate breakfast with Earl’s daughter and son-in-law at a charming restaurant in Douglas, Michigan. As a rule, I prefer to skip the first meal of the day, but Everyday People (an unusual name for an eatery, although there’s probably a reason behind the choice) almost changes my opinion. That’s because on Sunday, one of their specials is lox and bagels.

They serve it in what I call the Chicago-style too. That means you get not only the basics — a freshly toasted bagel, a scoop of cream cheese, and the lox – but also a plateful of various garnish. (This is a digression, but I just looked up the plural of garnish, only to learn that garnish is a verb and not a noun! So I guess I got a plateful of embellishments with my lox.) They included a hard-boiled egg, lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber, onion, orange slices, sprouts, and capers. (I promise not to look up any more words until this essay is done!)

It’s a beautiful presentation, although I suspect some of the embellishments are included to justify the nine-dollar price for what is essentially a fish sandwich the customer makes herself. Given the items involved, you could ask for salad dressing when the lox and bagel are gone. Or maybe a doggy bag.

Regardless, visiting Everyday People on Sunday morning is a treat.

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Covers

Posted on November 4, 2005

I lost count of the number of magazines Earl subscribes to long before I gave up trying to read them all. Now, as they pour into our house, I merely glance at the covers and draw some quick conclusions.

For instance, the September Fortune shows a fancy racecar with the headline “Inside American’s Fastest Growing Sport.” Plastered all over the racecar are various logos representing the Fortune 100 Companies. So I guess our country’s fastest growing sport is racecar driving . . .unless it’s branding opportunities.

The November Smithsonian heralds its thirty-fifth anniversary with a cover titled “35 Who Made A Difference.” The graphic is merely a list of those men and women, and one assumes that each is profiled briefly inside. I checked the list to see whom I knew: Maya Angelou, Bill Gates, Yo-Yo Ma, Steven Spielberg, among others. The names spanned professions and industries, but I wondered if anyone anywhere in the magazine defined difference.

Then we have Money and Smart Money. The former shows a couple lounging in lawn chairs on a beach somewhere, while the latter features Fed Chairman Greenspan. The headlines on both emphasize, as does Smithsonian, the magazine industry’s current obsession with lists. There’s “Four Great Home Makeovers, Incredibly Cheap” and “Five Fantastic Laptop Computers.” Fortunately, there’s only one Greenspan.

And only one Jim Cramer on the cover of a recent Business Week. He’s the wild man who dispenses his advice on various stocks at ear-piercing decibels. Sort of reminds me of the personality of a rabid dog. Golf, of course, displays a golf course and a headline about 168 tricks. I’m assuming they’re golf tricks and not the magic kind.

At last, Forbes FYI offers us a photo of a desert with two men walking in it. The size of the men against the golden sands gives dramatic perspective to the vastness of the terrain. It could be a desert anywhere, except the headline reads: “Libya’s Shifting Sands.” In the lower corner, another headline caught my eye. It seemed rather incongruous with all that sand about, but it heralded an article that I might even read in full.

The title: “The Memphis Tailor Who Dressed Elvis.”

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