Ready in All Respects for Sea

Frederick Dezendorf died in March. He did not want a funeral; he did not want a memorial; he did not want a fuss. Anything religious was out. He wanted to be cremated and buried at sea by his son Mark and no one else. We had to figure out how we were going to honor this man whom we all loved and some of us really wanted to be on that boat. The biggest decision the family made was that we were going to have some sort of gathering despite his wishes. I think the people who remain behind need to gather and grieve together. We did this last weekend.

Capt. Frederick Dezendorf was a harbor pilot. Pilots are in command of ships entering and leaving ports. The pilot boats are working vessels and although sturdy - built for rough weather and bad seas, they are not very large. The Canaveral Pilot Association agreed to let us use one of their boats this day, but they could not accommodate more than 8 passengers. Let’s see, one sister, plus five children, plus spouses = 11, plus six adult grandchildren = 17, plus a few more spouses = too many people. The grandchildren especially wanted to be included.

The pilot association was very generous and allowed us to use both of their boats (they only have 2). A few chose not to go out on the boat. The pilots on board talked to us of changes made to the port since Fred retired 26 years ago. They flew the flags at half-mast and told us it was an honor for them to help us in this way. Stories of Fred included the fact that he would use foul language when he felt the need. We laughed and cried telling stories. We arrived at the buoy markers where Paul’s mother’s ashes were scattered 35 years ago.  Paul, Deborah and Mark took turns scattering the ashes in the water and then we each put a rose in the water as we said good-bye.

After this some of us drove to the house they built in Cocoa Beach over 40 years ago. The current owners have been there 30 years and they invited us into the back, which has an outstanding view of the river. We talked for an hour. Shortly after moving in, Paul’s parents installed an in-ground pool. Once the kids left, Fred was not using it and did not want to fuss with the upkeep so he buried it. Paul thought he had it removed. The original pool is now uncovered and looks very inviting. We laughed about the window he installed in the center of the living room wall – with a view of the garage. He did this to enable a cross breeze. I also remember his idea to rig his own solar hot water system with hoses on the roof. This did not work out too well; the hoses could not take the heat.

Later in the day we had a reception at the house in Melbourne Beach. One of the retired pilots told us that Fred was “Unit A.” Fred founded the Canaveral Pilots Association and therefore has the “A” designation. Fred’s best friend’s son was there as well as neighbors and one of his caretakers from recent years. There were a lot of side stories but no formal or prepared remarks. In this way it was not a memorial – more of a gathering. Fred’s grandchildren (the cousins) had their own reunion. We went out to dinner later – the family numbered 17. Paul’s Aunt Maggie was with us as well as her son Jeff who flew down from Lake Placid, NY to meet his cousins for the first time.

It was a very nice weekend. I felt we honored Capt. Frederick Kent Dezendorf. May he rest in peace.

Italy 2011

Italy was amazing. The beauty of Tuscany and Umbria blew me away. Flowers bloom everywhere from scotch broom to wild poppies to baskets and window boxes of geraniums and petunias to roses of every color. Flowers bloom in the most unlikely places. The cities built on cliff sides have flowers in pots decorating stairs to residences and shops. We must have seen hundreds of miles of olive groves and vineyards. We passed huge stands of hazelnut trees (oh, the nicciola gelato was exquisite). Farmers plant all sorts of crops. The largest tracts are tended w/machinery while the smallest triangles of dirt boast rows of lettuce, peppers, or tomatoes.

Jean arranged our accommodations. For the first six nights we stayed in a small stone cottage in northern Tuscany in a town named Piazziano near Lucca (link here and scroll down for photos) I think it was originally an out-building for the olive grove. It is accessed by a dirt road, but to get there you need to stop at the cemetery first. In autumn when the olives are ripe you can pick them from the bedroom window. Mosquito netting hung from a hoop hooked to the ceiling. It was so quaint, so peaceful; it would have been better if there was hot water, but we managed. At night the fireflies were abundant. We bought groceries and cooked. Inexpensive wine from the supermarket is very palatable in Italy (big grin.) We probably should have spent more time just hanging out but we had a country to see.

Day trips included Lucca: a lovely pre-Etruscan city w/ Roman walls. This was our first full day and I was charmed. In retrospect, I wish we spent more time here.

Sienna: is a large city w/a beautiful church. The marble façade is extraordinary. We walked and explored but did not have a city map. I think we missed some of the highlights. Earlier that day we did a drive-by wave to the tower of Pisa while en-route to the airport to change money. (Note to self: change money in USA before departing.)

Cinque Terre: 5 towns on the Liguria Sea approachable by foot or train. (I opted for the train.) This area is oh, so beautiful. In one of these towns I ordered pesto for lunch. The pesto was served atop homemade pasta – very delicious. The unusual part was the potatoes and green beans under the pasta. We met a British couple who told us the Brits take a lifetime to see Italy – one city at a time. Americans do it all at once.

Elba: took the ferry and drove around this large beautiful island and happened upon a nature preserve. We could not figure out why Napoleon had a problem w/Elba. It seems to be a favorite family vacation spot in Italy.

Florence: drove to Pesica and then took the train to Florence. Saw The Birth of Venus at the Uffuzi. A mime accosted me and then turned to Jean who gave him a good pinch on his bottom to the applause of the crowd seated on the cathedral steps. We ate a wonderful dinner at a restaurant that served wild boar. The train trip back was notable in that I got us on the wrong train. It only went to Pistoia, which was several stops short of ours. I asked for the train to Pesha and received a puzzled look. The workers figured where we wanted to go and was able to pantomime that I need to take the train on track 2 – but not the one arriving in 2 minutes. I needed the one arriving in 10 minutes. Grazie, grazie. Some man overheard us and tried to help. He spoke to Jean in French. The joke turned into tears of laughter when we realized that pesha means fish and this explained the puzzled look I got from the train people. I imagined him thinking “Fish? Lady, this is a train station. There is no fish here.”

Venice: is everything you hear it is. The big highlight for me was the opera, The Barber of Seville performed at a palatial residence with limited seating (maybe 50-70.) With each act the audience got up and moved to the next room with the final act in the bedroom. The Barber of Seville was somewhat slapstick and the audience was engaged from the beginning. We bought a libretto and were able to follow along pretty well. The other Venetian highlight for me was the open-air market on Saturday morning. Tented tables and tables of fruits and vegetables whose aromas filled the air. The covered area was just as large with fresh seafood: whole flounders, squid, octopus, snails, shrimp and clams of every size, eel, crabs, fish, fish and more fish. The fishmonger gutted and cleaned fish, wrapped it and presented it for payment. He worked the whole time with ash dangling from the cigarette in his mouth. I think the sea bass I had for dinner that night on the Grand Canal was obtained from this market that morning. It was delicious.

Next stop north Umbria. The pictures don’t capture the charm of this place. This was probably my favorite even though the upper bedroom is accessed by a steep ladder. A woman from the Chicago area owns this and rents it when she is in the States. (It includes screens on the widows and a bathtub!) As the listing states “Arezzo, Cortona, Perugia, and Siena are all less than a hour away. There are five absolutely beautiful medieval towns that are 15 minutes or less from the house with spectacular views of the Tiber valley. Monterchi is only five minutes away and there you will find the museum which houses Piero della Francesca's famous painting "The Pregnant Madonna." There is also a variety of stores and two restaurants.” We did it all. One restaurant served ravioli with a cream truffle sauce. Oh, so good. Again we should have hung out here more, but the hill cities called. With all of these cities we parked outside the city walls and walked the rest of the time.

Assisi: the cathedral is magnificent. I felt my mother sitting on my shoulder in this church. There are several sections or altars. Every so often we would hear a recorded “shush” or “silencio.” We descended into the tomb of St Francis and happened upon services. The monks chanted while some congregants responded. Loretta was happy. The town is beautiful; the vistas spectacular.

Cortona: This city has beautiful churches, gorgeous views, so-so panini, and good gelato. (I haven’t met a gelato I didn’t like and have a plastic spoon collection to prove it) Many of the churches have frescos that are literally falling off the walls. They are so old. Many are faded. I lit a candle for Loretta in one of these churches. Jean told me that Italy is very prone to earthquakes so it is surprising that these buildings hundreds of years old are still standing. I kept thinking of Macaulay’s Cathedral where he describes the hundred (or three) years it takes to build a cathedral and what that meant in terms of daily life.

Narni is proclaimed the center of Italy. As one of the professors (born and bred Southern Baptist) reminded me Italy is the heart of the Catholic Church. I think the Italians are more accustomed to relics of the saints and bones etc, but in Narni one altar covers a tomb w/glass sides to enable all to view the corpse of St Lucy. She died in 1544. It was downright eerie.

Montepulciano: what a friendly city. Once you enter the town there are numerous shops offering samples of their wares from cubes of bread dipped in olive oils or balsamic vinegars to varieties of sausage you’ll not find in an American grocery store to wine – very good wine. This is not a bad marketing technique. The samples put you in a good mood and the wine mellows you toward a purchase. The shops have passageways that lead to basements filled with casks of wine. It is all so old – Etruscan I think – pre Roman – fascinating.

Rome: We only spent one night here to be close to the airport for the next day’s departure. We did not do any sightseeing, but had dinner at a sidewalk café and watched people going about their daily lives.

Then there was the gnocchi that was the best ever and the woman who tried to sell me a black straw hat full of butterflies and the physics professor from Princeton and the fight due to vaporetto tickets and the problems with changing money and credit cards and car rentals. Gas was about $10/gallon. Jean drove, Helen navigated with a country map of Italy while Paul sat in the back seat, said little and took pictures. We have about 2000 photos. We forgot to bring the phrase book so could not say more than please, excuse me and thank you while depending on Jean’s much better but far-from-fluent Italian.

Have I captured it? I don’t think so. I tend to write in chronological order, first this then that. I don’t know that I conveyed the beauty, the aromas, the feeling I was in an enchanted land with endless history and endless time to explore. It was romantic in every sense.

California Dreaming

A couple of years ago Paul suggested we enclose an unused part of the deck to make a closet – a dressing room – a boudoir. He asked me to think about what I would like. When he went to Russia for most of last year, his departing gift to me was the room enclosure. This included insulation, walls, 2 windows, 4 electrical outlets, ceiling light drops and a built in ironing board. Okay, so it is more of a room than a closet.

I was starting to despair of ever hanging any clothes in my new space and voiced my frustration. Lo and behold, Ben showed up, laid the floor, sanded it and finished with polyurethane. The following week all the closet bits were being cut and fitted into place. How many closet rods? How many shelves? What about the corners? How many drawers? Desk/dressing table? You say you want concave corners? Paint or stain?

An interior designer said, “Oh, it’s a California closet.” I had never heard this term but now it is part of my vocabulary. Paul told friends that many men worry that their wives want to come of out the closet. He has a wife who wants to get into the closet.

We call it the White Room.

Cornish Pasties

I have it on good authority that as well as cake and champagne, hot and cold hors d'œuvre will be served at the royal nuptials. Palace favorites include sausage rolls and Cornish Pasties. Since my invite appears to be lost in the mail, I decided I needed my own pasties to toast the happy couple.

Several recipes got confused at the grocery. I picked up potatoes, carrots, a rutabaga, onions and a small inexpensive steak. I was trying to use the best from 2 recipes for this dish and I finally realized I did not have all the ingredients for either. Welcome to my kitchen. How wrong could it be?

First I made the pasty dough by boiling water with butter then adding flour and salt. I set this aside in the fridge to cool for a bit while I chopped the veggies and meat very fine. (I forgot the carrots.) The seasonings called for bouillon (check) and I thought the mixture could use a little flour and dill seeds although they were not included in either recipe. One recipe suggested I cook the meat and veggies before stuffing the dough; the other did not. (I decided not) One recipe suggested I bake the pasties at 425 and the other at 350. One recipe said to bake for 35 minutes while the other said an hour. Oh, the recipes called for ground beef, ground pork, or chicken thighs. I used none of these. I think I am a rather cavalier cook. I had no idea if this savory was going to be worth repeating.

I rolled the pastry dough out in circles; added a generous helping of the meat veggie mixture; folded the dough; crimped the edges; did the egg wash thing; set the oven temp to 425; cooked it for 30 minutes, then lowered the temp to 350 and cooked it for 20 minutes more.

They were pretty tasty pasties. I wonder how the palace makes theirs. Do you think they’ll ask me for my recipe?

Cheers to William and Kate.

Holy Mackerel

When I was young my mother served us fish on Fridays. Most of the time it was flounder or tuna but we also had other fish. I remember eating bluefish and mackerel. These fish were very tasty. I can’t remember the last time I ate bluefish – maybe 35 years ago. The bait and tackle shop on A1A was the place to ask. We stopped to get something for dinner and I asked about bluefish. I received a sideways glance from the man behind the counter and then I heard this strong Boston accent from the other side of the room. It seems that bluefish and mackerel are (were?) fish for the common people. They have a very fishy taste and most people do not like it. They don’t sell these fish; they don’t have a market. The fishmongers had a little distain for some of the fish they were selling e.g. grouper, haddock – all perfectly good fish but on the mild side. We settled for a tub of their fish dip (mixture of different fish and spices) which was really yummy and a pound of fresh sea scallops with the instructions to only sear them for 30 seconds per side (I cooked them a bit longer). The scallops were delicious. Paul calls me a foodie. I don’t think it’s a compliment. Speaking of seafood, Terry and Jim took us to The Crab Shack on Tybee Island last Friday evening. The tables have big holes in the middle with something that looks like a pizza stand on top. There are trash cans below the hole . . . to catch the shells and other discards. We shared a big plate of steamed oysters and then ordered this huge sampler platter which contained: snow crabs, stone crabs, muscles, shrimp, sausage, potatoes, corn and crawdads. In a word it was ‘wow’ – one of the best seafood meals I’ve had. Maybe I am a foodie – my apologies.

Dirty Business

Do it yourselfers are giving me ideas. Figuring I could not afford what I want (red oak hardwood stairs to match the floor I had installed 8 years ago) I decided to rip out the 30-year-old carpeting that was installed when the house was built. Painted steps should look better, be easier to clean and keep the dog hair under control. The dogs had enough sense to hide in the bedroom while I stirred up the dust. The carpet removal took about 15 minutes. Next came the thin foam under carpet. This was pretty easy to bag since it was disintegrating anyway. When I swept I noticed all the nails that did not rip out with the carpet. Starting at the bottom I used pliers and flat head screwdrivers to pry up the nails. This took more than an hour. I needed a shower after messing with thirty years of dirt and dust and I feel the twinges of shoulder and back aches. The steps are not great. However they are in better shape than I was expecting and slightly better than the ones leading to the basement. The leading edges are rounded but the wood is also cracked in places. When they were installed the workmen did not protect them, so they have paint and Spackle splatters. Next I need to decide if I want to sand before I paint. Are they worth all this work? And how much dust will I stir up? Quite a bit, I think. If I want to sand I need to think about protecting the furniture and the good carpet. I also need to decide on color. I think two-tone, don’t you? Brown and off white might work for the steps and risers. Of course now that this project has started, I see that the walls could use a fresh coat of paint. Slow down, Helen, one thing at a time. Under the carpet I found a dime dated 1975. In that year I could have used this for a local phone call in an enclosed phone booth on the streets of New York City.

Old friends

There seems to be interest in a reunion of the old neighborhood crowd. After attending my 10th year high school reunion, I passed on the subsequent ones. For the most part the girls in my high school were not my friends; the neighborhood kids were. Most of us attended catholic elementary schools and there was a competitive entrance exam for the various high schools in the area. So of the 15 or so kids in the neighborhood, we probably attended 5-6 different schools. My commute to high school took about an hour and a half and none of us drove (driving age was 18.) I needed to catch two city busses separated by a 15 minute walk (sometimes run.) We had a discounted rate for the NY city bus and paid 5¢. There are a few in the old crowd with whom I have never lost touch and others that I have reconnected with over the years. Recently I had a visit over a cup of coffee with Joe and his some of his family. He was en-route home to Iowa. We cannot help but wonder “whatever happened to . . .?” Who would be interested in a reunion? I guess the first step would be to make a list and then find the ones who have dropped from the radar. What about those who were my friends but had better things to do than earn street corner reputations? So the list comes first.