It's History

Parts I loved. Parts I hated. Parts bored me. I guess that sums up my view of history, and also my view of Ida Hattemer-Higgins book The History of History, a Novel of Berlin. The book is confusing and has a lot of gobbledegook in it. 

A young woman, Margaret Taub, goes to Berlin to study history. She gives tours of Berlin. She goes crazy from the weight of her history and how it may or may not fit into the Nazi past. The Holocaust weighs heavily on her. Should she murder a surviving Nazi, Hitler's body guard, as vengeance for the six million slain, or should she atone for her own sins and those of her family?

I was interested in her exploration of the Nazi past. My grandfather's family emigrated to the United States long before Hitler appeared, but there must have been family left behind. Were they Nazis? They lived in the northwest part of the country, were of aristocratic background and were no longer wanted in Germany after the Unification of States. That's all I know. I want to do two things: visit Germany in the Spring when my son studies abroad in Copenhagen, and speak with cousins who may know more about the family's history than I do. 


What I didn't like about the book was the florid nightmares/experiences that Margaret had every few minutes it seemed. The buildings became flesh, she took rides on the wings of a hawk who was really Magda Goebbels and she played cards with a woman who'd gassed herself, husband and children before the Nazis closed in. It was a bit much. I found these sections boring after a while.


I almost quit reading this book in the middle. What kept me going is that I dragged out Infinite Jest again and read maybe 20 pages. I didn't lug this up to the country, taking the Berlin book instead. Now, the only book I have to read is Jest. Maybe Dave Eggers' new book will arrive later today.

Cool Running, Light Eating , and Heavy Reading

The weather made me do it. When I saw it was a mere 72 degrees with 44% humidity I had no choice but to don my running gear and go. I didn't run fast or far (leg cramped and I've turned wimpy), but at least I wasn't suffering from sweat dripping into my eyes.

Our favorite food--soft-shell crabs--are still available in the local market. They must be farming them these days because they used to be available for just a 4-6 week period in May-June. I bought some today and will dip them in cornmeal before frying. Salad (I still have that arugula) and perhaps a ripe Jersey tomato with fresh mozz (a cliche, I know) will keep the meal light. I have to check what white wines I have.

By writing this post I'm putting off reading Infinite Jest which I've been reading for 4 years now. The first time, I got through 50 pages. The second time, I started over and read to page 250. Then I read another 100 pages last summer. I'm determined to get through this book. I'm also reading The History of History by Ida Hattemer-Higgins, a book given to me by my friend Emma. It's bizarre. I'll review it when I'm done.

Yoga later. I haven't been in a while.

When You Just Want Arugula

Chicken stuffed with arugula and goat cheese

I had a yen for arugula today.I wanted to make it with chicken and goat cheese, which I already had on hand. I knew I could get it at the Farmer's Market here in Jeffersonville today. What I got was a dozen eggs of many colors (all chicken) and a baguette. No arugula!

This forced me to go to Peck's Supermarket where I bought a package of organic arugula on sale.

If you crave a food, you should eat some right away. Whatever's in arugula, I need.  

Update: In the future , I'll serve this on a bed of arugula since I was unable to stuff much into the chicken breast. FYO: Arugula has a lot of vitamin C and potassium. I take potassium pills daily. Arugula has served as an aphrodisiac since ancient times.

Happy Ending in the Bush

Paul Theroux's latest novel The Lower River  tells the harrowing tale of a 62-year old man returning to a village in Malawi where he'd served in the Peace Corps 40 years earlier. The village
has been sucked dry and bears little resemblance to the place to which he always wanted to return. The people despise him and his money but they want it. His only friends are a leprotic dwarf and a 16-year old virgin.

They hold him captive, steal all his money and most of his clothes and gear. Why does this village bear so little resemblance to the one he cherishes in his memories?

The novel tries to explain the whys. If anyone could explain them, it would be Theroux, who has intimate personal knowledge of the African bush. The book has a happy ending but comes on the last two pages. I don't think he could bear to do anything else. 

Israeli Lunch

Our friend Lorraine invited us for an Israeli lunch yesterday. She's an attorney working for the Israeli Embassy in New York and for some reason lives here in Jeffersonville, alone with her dogs and cats. She travels to Israel every couple of months to see her family, husband and children. We like to joke that she's a Massad operative, but I guess that's no joke.

Four other people were there. Lorraine served pita and chumus and grilled eggplant, along with a few none-Israeli dishes. It was a lovely lunch and Lorraine, who's been sick lately, looked well and happy.



Most if not all of the people there are Romney supporters and hate Obama. I mentioned the selling points of Obamacare, which to them is anathema. I used myself and my family as an example of why it helps the average middle-class family, and that it will probably save us money. Marty works for a small-midsize company, and their rates won't go up the usual 5% annually. We'll also be able to deduct a higher percentage of medical expenses on our income taxes. Beginning in 2014, I can't be denied coverage for pre-existing conditions. Thank you.

Lorraine is a hoarder, maybe because she lost everything to the Nazis, including her parents. She lived in a death camp as a baby and was adopted by a Belgian Jewish couple after the war. They lived in NYC on the Lower East Side for a number of years. Lorraine emigrated to Israel when she was 14, where she met her husband. She's a character. Her smallish house is filled with multiples of an eclectic melange of products: 25 pounds of rye flour (she makes her own bread), 4 vacuum cleaners, a stack of really nice quilts, 40 rolls of paper towels. Her clothing and shoe collection, which she keeps neatly arranged by color in (lucky for her) ample closets, is extensive. Marty's mom, also a concentration camp survivor, doesn't hoard things. Maybe she doesn't have the money Lorraine has, but she hates clutter. She couldn't stand four vacuum cleaners parked in the kitchen.

Buck came with us. When Turbo died, Lorraine sent us a sympathy card. She couldn't wait to meet Buck. Her 3 dogs were kept in her bedroom most of the visit, but she let them out to meet Buck. All was very friendly. No barking, biting, just a lot of friendly sniffing. Dogs are so civilized.    

Reading Theroux

Free books are the best, especially when you wouldn't have been exposed to them otherwise. I was in a cheese shop in Callicoon and saw a bunch of books I thought were for sale but were free. I'd read Paul Theroux's The Mosquito Coast and The Old Patagonian Express (I might be confusing it with Bruce Chatwin's In Patagonia). The free book I picked up is My Other Life. Told in the first person, it reads like a memoir, covering the writer's life through his years in Africa, Singapore, London and Cape Cod. He writes about visiting a leper colony, marriage and children, writing his books, the end of his marriage and move back to the U.S., where he can no longer write. He sees a shrink, hangs out with young people in a housing project, and gets together with his old friend George from high school, friends despite the fact that he's white and George is black. Medford, Massachusetts, where he lived until he 18, has changed, of course, it being more than 30 years later.

At the library this week, I saw a new book by Theroux, The Lower River. Written in the third person, it tells the story of Ellis Hoch who's lived his entire life in Medford where he's managed a men's clothing store inherited from his dad. He sells the store, just as his marriage is ending. He decides to return to Africa and visit the area where he spent his Peace Corps days. Before he leaves, he gets together with his high school friend Roy, who seems like George, not just because he's black.

I'm up to chapter 5 in The Lower River. I'm sure there will be many more events that echo My Other Life. I'll let you know.
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Country Life

Happy Family

Last week we went to visit Harry at his job at a country club. Notice he's growin' the fro. He's definitely Marty Junior. Marty had a huge afro in college. 

While we were there, Marty did a little fishing and I hung out in the grass working on a little yoga. I haven't donned a bathing suit in years, since I was at my friend's house in France and wore an itsy bitsy bikini. Amazingly, the green maillot I'm wearing still has its elastic after 10 years.

A Small Perch

 Yoga on the Beach

 Wet and Sandy Buck

On the weekend, we drove to our friends' place in the Poconos where we learned that Buck can swim. He fell off the dock head first, calmly righted himself and scrambled up the rocks and back onto the dock. Unfortunately, he was the only dog that enjoyed the weekend. His friend Sadie had a skirmish with another visitor's dog and when it was all over, Sadie had 7 bites on her leg. The other dog, named Motley, had a light bite on her head.

I'm back in Jeffersonville now where the drama is low, the weather is fine and Buck doesn't have to worry about dog fights.

Chicken on the 4th of July

Ages ago, when I was a teenager, my mother was grooving to the beat of Chicago's Saturday in the Park. Like many people do, she misheard the lyrics and sang (off-key--she was tone deaf), "Saturday, in the park, chicken on the 4th of July" instead of "you'd think it was the 4th of July." I think of this every Independence Day, and try to have chicken.

Of course, I think of my mother, who died at the ripe old age of 53 from lung cancer. She was an avid smoker. She had her whimsical side, which considering her trying life, made those moments very special. I can't hear Paul Simon's Slip Sliding Away without hearing her tunelessly singing along as we tried to drive the car post-blizzard. We were living in Hampton Bays, NY taking care of her mother, my grandmother, who was recuperating from a hospital stay. This was in 1979. I was lucky to be able to spend three weeks with these two women who were smart, funny and irreverent.

Now it's 2012. "Time keeps on slippin', slippin,' slippin' into the future"(Steve Miller Band). But we'll always have chicken on the 4th of July.   

Brook Bath

Restorative soaking 

That's Nick and Mark cooling off in the brook after a run on Sunday. Nick and his dad Steve, old friends from East Greenwich, RI were in town to see the Dave Matthews Band. They're groupies, seeing them whenever they can, including the night before in Hershey, PA.

It was great to see them. We had a BBQ Saturday before the show, and brunch on Sunday before they headed back to EG. 

Last night, Mark, Harry and his friend Matt came for dinner. I excused myself so they could chat without their embarrassing mother around. Privately, Harry will say I'm cool, but they both berate me for the faux pas I make. I wouldn't make them if I knew what they even were.