Studio Ruthe

The Wedding

I had a terrible foreboding of us three elders ancients, Richard, Robert and I, bringing our 58 years of memories together and being overwhelmed. I haven't seen Robert for 21 years and that was OK. But it didn't work that way. He didn't recognize me, or Robin. He was unusually quiet; his normal demeanor being loud voice and bad jokes. I only saw him smile once at this very joyous occasion of his son's marriage. I don't know what was wrong. 

Then I got very lucky, again. When we first sat down Robert and his other  sons weren't there; the empty chairs were next to me. I got up and went to the ladies room. When I returned I found the people who originally sat next to Richard had moved next to me. Robert sat next to Richard and across the table from me. My seat partner was the groom's stepfather, a lovely man I had met several times before. Memories abounded, but they were not unpleasant. Of course, none of us recognized each other. Time had clearly done its terrible work.

I had a chance to talk to Robert's other two sons, whom I hadn't seen since they were toddlers. One was particularly charming; I was pleased.

As for the wedding: the bride was beautiful (I think she is probably always beautiful); the ambiance was lovely; food was good; drinks abundant; music too loud; everyone had a good time. 

Looking back

Just finished Barbara Kingsolver's newest, The Lacuna. Her fictionalized protagonist interacts with the real history of the early twentieth century: Russian revolution, Trotsky, Diego Rivera, Frida Kahlo and finally, the anti-communist witch hunters in Washington. I don't know much about Russian history, but the witch hunters had a profound affect on me. I was 16 years old and started college in 1950 at the height of all the madness. The college seemed to be noted for its communist sympathies (the chancellor was one of the few who stood up early on to the various investigations), and my father was worried about what this would do to me. He made me promise not to get involved and not to sign any petitions. Did I know any Communists? Maybe. Was I afraid? Absolutely!

I obeyed him until I finished school, after all he was paying the bills. Then I decided I would never act out of fear again. I sign any petitions that sound reasonable. I write my Congress people often, and tell them exactly what I think. But I have given up marching. After months of marching against the Vietnam war, and being photographed (by the FBI) so often I have no soul left, I decided the whole thing was useless. 

All during the Bush administration I felt we were headed back to the same mentality that made Joe McCarthy and J. Edgar Hoover into heroes. I still feel like we're going there when I hear Glen Beck, Sarah Palin, etc. expounding on patriotism, being an American and denigrating Obama and the Democratic Party.

Going over the Constitution with my Somali refugee I realized we have diluted the power of that amazing document. How about the first amendment:

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.

We have made religion a major concern of government, freedom of speech and freedom of the press into a mockery of rational thinking and reasonable ideas. And here in Pittsburgh we have more than a few questions about the right of the people to peaceably assemble. My student has many questions about our right to bear arms. He's afraid of his neighbors and their guns.

Have you read the preamble:

We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

Sometimes I think it should read: We the lobbyists of the United States, in order to pursue more perfect profits, ...And how do you insure domestic tranquility when you don't know who is carrying the submachine gun? Explaining all this to him was not easy. I'm glad he passed the test and we can go on to something easier.

Hanukkah bush

Alice, the bush, as I promised, and aren't I terrific not to take the day off.

Once upon a time (my favorite story opener), when everyone wanted to melt into the pot, when Hollywood stars had no ethnicity and being a wasp was the ultimate goal, when Christmas meant color and lights and not so much commercial frenzy, Jewish children wanted the same kind of celebration, lights and color and trees with beautiful ornaments and presents.

Many Jews wanted to forget the war, forget the holocaust, melt into the blond, blue eyed, Christian melting pot so they said, “The Christmas tree is not a religious symbol. We can have a Christmas tree and we will call it a Hanukkah bush.”

Hanukkah is a minor Jewish holiday celebrating the victory of an army of religious Jews against their Greek rulers, 2200 years ago, who wanted them to adopt Greek culture.

After three years of fighting, in the year 3597, or about 165 B.C.E., the Maccabees victoriously reclaimed the temple on Jerusalem's Mount Moriah. Next they prepared the temple for rededication -- in Hebrew, Hanukkah means "dedication." In the temple they found only enough purified oil to kindle the temple light for a single day. But miraculously, the light continued to burn for eight days. 

Because of its gift giving tradition and proximity to Christmas, Hanukkah has become an important Jewish holiday in the US. As awareness of the Holocaust grew, and people like Steven Spielberg and Mel Brooks took pride in their Jewishness and didn’t become WASPS, I think we have become more conscious of our Jewish culture and less likely to have Hanukkah bushes with their mixed messages.You can find more information about the Hanukkah bush at Wikipedia. 

Me and Ayn Rand

This is the story I'm writing for my memoir class. I'm having fun with this after all.

I am embarrassed to confess the influence Ayn Rand has had on my life, so I haven’t told this story often. I prefer to think it was all because of Gary Cooper as Howard Roark.

Saturday afternoon was always movie time. There were five theaters in walking distance, but we usually went to the Terminal, a Balaban & Katz 1920’s picture palace, named after the elevated train terminus just down the block. It was the best theater with almost first run features. That day we were seeing The Fountainhead, taken from Ayn Rand’s book of the same name, about an individualistic Frank Lloyd Wright type architect who refuses to compromise his work or his ideals, regardless of the money involved.

Sitting in the dark, totally enchanted by awesome Gary Cooper and beautiful Patricia Neal, my unhappy, depressed 15 year old self, certain high school was a terrible compromise, totally bought into the idea of taking action to be true to herself. By the time the movie finished I was so excited and so convinced I had found a solution to my misery I couldn’t sit through the second feature. I did not want to think about anything else as I waited for my friends in the lobby.

Wanting desperately to be an artist, maybe even an architect, the movie affected me deeply. I was convinced my life until then had been a terrible compromise; I had to change things. I thought about all my alternatives and realized there was only one that was acceptable: I could go on to college after one more year of high school. My friend Eva, whom I met in classes at the Art Institute, went to U high, the laboratory school of the University of Chicago. From her I learned U High was only two years and then students could go on to college at the university. Also, the university would accept students from any high school after two years. Robert Maynard Hutchins, Chancellor of the university, believed students didn’t learn anything in the last two years of high school. I felt I was a living embodiment of his belief.

I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. First, I had to convince my parents, who thought I was too young to go to college. Then, of course I had to be accepted at the university. My high school teachers and principal hated the university; I had trouble getting recommendations; Hutchins arrows had hit their mark. Adding another layer of angst, Hutchins went before one of the communist witch-hunting committees and defended his faculty, assuring the committee that being a communist would not be grounds for the dismissal of his professors. It was a very difficult year, but I prevailed. Three months after my sixteenth birthday I went to college. I learned how to read critically and how to think. I did not become a communist. I met my husband there, our daughter met her husband there and now both of my grandchildren are going there. You can see that Ayn Rand and Gary Cooper certainly influenced my life.

Nostalgia time, again

Sometimes when I fly somewhere I feel like I've entered an altered reality. That's how I spent my weekend. Friday morning, too early, Steve, Robin and I flew to Chicago where we met Renee, who flew in from NYC, and went out to the university for parent's weekend. I spent most of the weekend thinking "it used to be this way" or "I was here when." I really don't like thinking this way, but the university was one of the good places from my past. It's easy for me to go there even though I had to keep telling myself to forget it.

We flew into Midway Airport, Chicago's first airport, unused for many years, now busy, bustling and unrecognizable for me. The first time I flew, in 1953, was from Midway. Those were the days when for entertainment you would park on 55th Street and watch the planes land. I flew to Los Angeles and spent 21 days with Aunt Flo and many other relatives, among them two of my mother's brothers. But that's another story.

Renee and I stayed downtown. There is almost no decent accommodation near the university. We got on a bus to go to the south side; again there was that sense of altered reality. I remember much of the south side of the city as a barren wasteland, destroyed by the urban renewal craze and further devastated by the riots after Martin Luther King's assassination. There are still some blighted areas, but much has been rebuilt. Not for the first time I was awed by new, good-looking buildings.

The bus ride added to my sense of altered reality. Chicago is still a segregated city. We had the only white faces on the bus, and the only white faces we saw until we arrived at the university. Although the bus was not crowded that anonymous, recorded voice kept telling the nonexistent people to move to the back of the bus. I don't want to give the impression Chicago is completely segregated. I think it's possible for African Americans to live where they want and where they can afford. At least I hope so. It seems like it's us, white people (Chicagoans) who don't want to live with them. Pittsburgh is supposed to be equally segregated, but I live in an integrated neighborhood and I enjoy it.

We went to a reception in Charna's dorm at the resident master's apartment. Both the dorm and the apartment were much better than any place either Robin or I lived. My only perk was maid service; Robin had no perks that I could see. We all went out for dinner at a Mexican vegetarian restaurant in another Chicago ghetto neighborhood. Saturday, more disorienting bus riding, then Humanities Day with a full schedule of classes we could attend (keep us out of the kids' hair). Saturday night dinner at Cedars, a Mediterranean place in a shopping center that replaced the building (and many others) R and I lived in when we were first married. I told this to Charna, then realized how silly I was. She couldn't possibly care about something that probably hasn't existed for forty years.

Sunday, Renee and I went to dim sum in Chinatown with Betty, another nostalgia trip; Betty and I, and our spouses did this often. We went back to the university and hung out until it was time to go to the airport. Now it's like it never happened.

Shopping, again

Everything changes, but still it remains the same. I'm staying with a cousin, about a half mile from the Old Orchard Shopping Center. For seventeen years, while Robin was growing up, we lived about a mile from Old Orchard. It's a much different place today, more shops, less class, but well within my comfort zone. I went there this morning and bought three more pairs of pants, size 16. Whoopee!

I always feel like I should know people when I walk around here. After all, I lived in and around Chicago for 61 years. I search the faces of all the old women knowing full well recognition is unlikely, but always hoping for the magic of a familiar face. It was not to be.

My cousin's wife is related to a man who briefly worked for Richard thirty  plus years ago. He happened to be in Chicago and came here tonight. So that was today's nostalgia.  

Catching up

We took the red-eye back from San Francisco on Friday night, and I've done nothing but sleep or think about sleeping since then. I guess that's not entirely true, but it's Tuesday morning and I'm still not functioning properly. I'd like to go back to bed.

SF was fun. Unfortunately we seemed to be between new exhibits at the Asian Art Museum and the DeYoung. The best thing I saw was at the public library: an exhibit of drawings by Paul Madonna that appeared as All Over Coffee, in the SF Chronicle, over the past five years.

The library doesn't open until noon on Friday. Here are people pouring in as soon as the doors opened.

In a kind of nostalgia trip, on Thursday I took the Caltrain down to Palo Alto and Stanford. (Never thought of taking the train while we lived there.) We lived in Sunnyvale for two years, and Robin was born in the hospital on the Stanford campus. I did not go down to Sunnyvale, but I could see from the train some of the same type of houses we lived in were still in existence. These were built for returning GIs after WWII and sold for $10,000. I think you could get one for a thousand dollars down and a hundred a month for the mortgage. We rented; I don't remember how much we paid.

I went to see Asian art and the New Guinea Sculpture Garden at the Cantor Art Center. Robin arranged for the mother of a friend to meet me at the train so I had a companion for the afternoon. She was lovely.

I was most impressed with the sculpture garden. Ten artists were brought from Papua New Guinea to create sculpture in the garden. Some of the pieces resemble things I brought home when I visited Robin and Steve during the year he was doing field work there. I'll put up a PNG slide show soon.

More Door County

I began writing on my new toy computer even though I couldn't connect it to the internet. Here is some of what I wrote:

September 17

I am a mass of thoughts and impressions as I wake this morning and don't know how to put them all down. This is so strange to me. This house reminds me of Kentuck Knob, one of the Frank Lloyd Wright houses near Pittsburgh. It has that kind of show house/museum quality. There is even a table and lamp in my room that look like FLW. I think my apartment could fit in here 10 times with space left over. The custom made dining room table comfortably seats 16 and you could probably squeeze in 20. We had an elegant steak dinner last night. I don't remember when I last had filet mignon. And there's more beef on the way. My mostly vegetarian family would be appalled. Here is the sun rising over Lake Michigan.

Not much art today. Lots of ideas; we took a trip to an antique store for books to alter; had lunch at Door County Coffee and Tea for Pilgrim sandwiches, hashbrown bake, triple layer brownie and tea; wound up at Kathy's studio, a wonderful log cabin and separate studio and garage in the woods. Back at Anita's we looked at some of the idea books we brought and decided we were too tired to work tonight. Tomorrow we'll begin.

After dinner, reminiscing, and trying to remember names, (raja says we have problems with nouns that won't remain in our heads), I brought up someone I had worked with who left the area and went to Arizona with her husband and kids, they ultimately returned and she remained with another woman. Sandy was remarkably compassionate saying how awful it must be to hide your own needs for so long then finally come out of the closet. I hadn't thought about it quite that way, preferring to believe one could be first one thing then another. Now that doesn't make sense to me. Sandy was right and I was impressed with her compassion. Here is Lake Michigan from the porch.

And Lake Michigan while walking on the beach.

I've begun posting on my other blog. If you want to know what I did today, go to Japan and China on My Mind.

Questions about China

I've been spending a lot of time reading China Wakes by Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn. It's an easy read--lots of stories about how they got the job done as New York Times correspondents and stories about how people are living in China. All of those stories are used to illustrate the point that all is not well in China. Interspersed with the stories is speculation about the end of the Communist Party, because of corruption, peasant uprisings, various other disasters. The book was written around the time of the Tiananmen Square massacre, certainly reason to think about these kinds of things. But it hasn't happened yet, and the Party is probably as strong as ever. To give Kristof credit, he says it could take a very long time.

It's a scary book to read. He makes the point, and I know this from my study of Chinese history, that sometimes dynasties have fallen because of natural disasters, such as that earthquake. He was actually talking about a previous earthquake. The book was published in 1994. My inner voice of gloom is speculating about what might happen if the Olympics are not a huge success. I was left with lots of questions about China's stability, and also about Kristof.

In his most recent column about China he is much more optimistic and tempers his criticism in ways he did not do in the book. Have things improved, or is Kristof older and wiser?

My biggest question is why the book is on the reading list I got from CCS. If their concern is that we might all be starry-eyed idealists then a better and more recent book with more narrative and less prognostication is Confessions: An Innocent Life in Communist China by Kang Zhengguo. His terrifying picture of life in Communist China comes from his own experiences and reads less like propaganda, although I had to wonder about his naivete. So I am not going to China because I think I will change anything. I am going because I had a Chinese pen pal, Laura, when I was 13 or 14, who had to stop writing because of the Communist take-over. I am going because my interest in Japan constantly leads back to China. And more than anything, I am going, as I used to tell my mother, because it is there.

Random thoughts

A Prairie Home Companion is coming from Ravinia this week. Sitting here listening I'm feeling very nostalgic. I've spent many summer evenings there, although I never considered it a great place to hear music. But some of the concerts were good and I saw Stravinsky conduct the Chicago Symphony.

I'm sure my cousins are sitting there in the audience. Maxine lives near the park and is always urging everyone to come and picnic on the lawn. Garrison Keeler wished Paul of Chicago happy 94th birthday. That's probably my cousin, also. I was supposed to go to a party for him, but had to cancel my trip because of my detour to the hospital.

I think about Chicago often. Even now, after eleven years away, it's still a big part of me. I plan to visit in September, make up for the trip I missed. Sometimes I think about moving back. But it's probably true, you can't go home again. My cousins are very good to me and I still have several good friends there. But I've decided it's better coming back and visiting. After all, then I'm a celebrity. And I would miss my family terribly.

Charna is going to the Governor's school for international studies this summer. She's been there for two weeks; this weekend is her only opportunity to come home, then back for another three weeks. I think she's enjoying it very much. She was very happy.

I'm still concentrating on all my exercises. I went back to the mobility clinic on Thursday and they suggested a few more exercises for mastering those steps. They also told me the beta blocker I'm taking is what is probably making me more tired than before. They think I'll get used to it. I did manage my three miles yesterday and didn't collapse afterward, so I guess I'm doing better.