My Most Memorable Meal

     Page Forty-Two.
     What was the most memorable meal you've ever had in your life? Was it with a favorite relative or friend? Was it extraordinary food? Location?  Circumstances?
     I live in the Coventry neighborhood of Cleveland Heights. Coventry is very well known, almost famous, in Northeast Ohio as being a destination for young, hip kids. It's also the western edge of Case Western Reserve University's campus. I'm here 'cause I've lived in Cleveland Heights my entire life. So I didn't move here due to it's destination factor. I've also had roommates since about '99 or so. Some of my roommates have been Case students because of it's close proximity.
     In May of  '06, I received a phone call in response to an add I'd placed at CWRU's off-campus housing bureau. This call was from a fellow named Lutz. He was from Germany and would be in town for 11 months doing chemistry research at Case. Could he come by and see the room? He moved in two weeks later.
     Lutz wasn't completely comfortable with English and was a bit introverted. But he was quite pleasant and intelligent. He was also VERY German. Rules and regiment were rather important to him... how quaint.
     Within a few weeks of moving in, I realized how atrocious his cooking skills were. Clearly, his mother had taught him how to make five or six things and he made those things over and over again. When he made those things, it wasn't with panache and finesse either. His cooking style could be described as "with enough ketchup, anything is edible". I took great pity and started making him a nice dinner every Sunday. We'd sit, chat and eat together. Occasionally, during the eleven months, I'd inform him that he was taking me out to eat the following Sunday, He always aquiesced.
     Over time we developed a nice friendship and enjoyed spending time together. I took him to Cedar Point, Niagara Falls, many parties, museums, the orchestra and so forth. I showed him many of Cleveland's sites. When he moved back home in April of '07, we just KNEW we'd stay in touch.
     I quit my job at Fancy-Shmancy Nursing Home in the autumn of '06 and went to work at another nursing home for what I thought was the job opportunity of a lifetime. The new job lasted eight weeks. I would go on to be gainfully unemployed for a while. (Some might argue that I'm STILL gainfully unemployed. But that's another blog.)
     In the summer of '07, I was visiting some of my favorite residents at Fancy-Shmancy and began talking with a Jamaican nurse's aid whom I'd been quite friendly with. (I'm notorious for staying in touch with former jobs with NO intention on ever going back. It confuses people to no end but I do it more than just about anybody you've ever met.) Gloria asked me what I was doing with all my time off. I told her that I did a LOT of creative writing and general hanging out. Also, Lorna and Dune hired me to do some part-time nannying to their two teenaged girls (see page three of this blog). "Jeremy, you're the type of person who I could see backpacking around. To have this much free time, you should be off traveling and seeing distant lands. That's who you are." So, I decided to go to Europe and visit Lutz. I made the decision that fast, in spite of the fact that I'm really not a spontaneous person.
     Now, I was mostly broke and futureless. But I figured that I'd rather be mostly broke and futureless while standing at the top of the Eiffel Tower than having coffee on Coventry Road in Cleveland Heights. That logic works in my universe.
     So I contacted Lutz and made arrangements to meet him in Deutchland in November for a week. (I'd then do Paris and Barcelona by myself for another week.) His responsive e-mails were very welcoming. I landed in Berlin and promptly got lost twice prior to actually seeing his overly-tall, Aryan figure. I won't tell you all my adventures in Europe, of which there were many, but instead, my most memorable meal.
    Lutz told me that the German national dish is a type of sausage, cut into pieces, served with fries. That was their hamburger or hot dog. He asked all his friends and associates where in the WHOLE country he could give me the best. One day when we were back in Berlin, after being elsewhere for a few days, we went out for the day. It was cold, gray, rainy, gloomy and gross. We took seventy-five different buses and walked another eighty miles that day, all in the cold rain. We saw tons of sights and thousands of things. (He still hasn't forgiven me for stealing part of a sidewalk. Separate story.)
     So we're walking and walking and eventually come to a bridge. Built under this bridge, is a walk up food stand. There was one window, where you placed your order, then next to the window was a ledge with ketchup, mustard and napkins. The ledge was protected by an overhang about one foot deep. So you could also eat off the ledge, but you were truly open to the elements.We ended up at the bridge because, again. one of his co-workers told him this was THE BEST in the country. So we're standing there, outside, in the rain, in the cold, eating sausage and fries. Honestly, I thought the sausage was good. It reminded me of a slightly bland kosher hot dog, without the bun, of course; but the fries, those fries were the best I've ever had in my life. they were extraordianary.
     In retrospect, I'll bet you anything that those fries were fried up in lard, but who cares. Sometimes you have to live. And, when you're eating french fries outside in the cold and rain it's perfectly okay if they're the best fries in the world. And, they were.
     That was my lifetime's most memorable meal. I hope to get back to Germany to visit again. Perhaps soon. We'll see. But when I go back, I don't want to eat outside in the cold and rain again. But I may steal more of their sidewalks. (Their paving material was sooooo cool.)
 
    
 

 

Matzo Ball Soup - The Secret

     Page Forty-One.
     Soon after moving in with the Van Myms, in '82, I was rummaging through Amanda's spice cabinet. I picked up a bottle labeled "Cardamom" and smelled it, never having heard of it before. I thought it smelled like chicken soup. Amanda explained that cardamom is used primarily in central Asian cuisine and Scandinavian desserts of all things. But she did have to admit that I was right, though she'd never noticed it before; cardamom smells like good chicken soup.
     I'd learned to make Matzo Ball soup by that point: buy the box and follow the directions. But I decided to doctor it up with cardamom the following Passover. It was really good! I've been adding it to my Matzo Ball soup ever since and also add just a pinch to my real chicken soup. People enjoy it tremendously.
     A couple of weeks ago, a friend hosted a pop-up shop in his backyard and invited artists and craftspeople to come and sell their wares. I showed up and sold my soup. I SOLD OUT. Of course it helped that the pop-up shop was outside, here in Cleveland, on February 9th (30 degrees fahrenheit). Frozen people walked into the enclosure and immediately smelled my hot soup. So, of course, they bought. But still, I sold 43 pints of soup in seven hours. That's pretty good no matter what the temperature.
     If you want to improve your chicken soup or make even better Matzo Ball soup, add a dash of cardamom to your broth.

The Love of a Child

     Page Forty.
     When a kid tells you that he loves you, just say it back, without hesitation.
     One day in about 1989 or so, I came home after a long day of work and was joined by Scoot, one of the Shapiro twins. He must've been fourteen, perhaps. He accompanied me up to my bedroom, probably because he was bored with whatever he'd been doing downstairs. The first thing I always did when arriving home was listen to my answering machine and this day was no different. One of my messages that day was from my friend Meghan. She'd just called to say she was thinking about me and that she loved me. It was a nice, little, unexpected message. Well, Scoot, of course, heard the whole thing as old-fashioned answering machines were loud enough for the whole world to hear, as you may remember.
     "She called to say she loved you? What's that about?"
     "Sometimes people do that. They think about somebody and they just call them and tell them that they love them. It's just a nice thing to do."
     "I love you, Jeremy."
     It took me back a little, then I quickly said, "thank you". But, I've always felt a little remiss for not saying, "I love you, too". Scoot never seemed phased though.
     About a year ago, I was playing with Fauntleroy who would've been seven. In the middle of our activity he spontaneously said, "Jeremy, I love you."
     "I love you too."
     "Really?"
     "Yes." He smiled broadly and then we continued playing.
     Sometimes it doesn't take a lot to make children happy. Just tell them that you love them. It really works.

Learning Disabilities - Part 3

     Page Thirty-Nine.
     I was in the right place at the right time.
     Since '99, I've done the hair of a wonderful woman, Nikki, who's a semi-bigwig at one of Cleveland's community colleges. Over the years, she's done a lot of work with special needs, handicapped or other non-traditional students. She knows a lot about the topic of university adjustments for handicapped students. One day in about 2011, I told her the entire story of my learning disabilities: the testing, the diagnosis, the college requirements adjustment and so forth. Nikki told me what probably really happening. I was amazed.
     She told me that it was in the early '90's when many new laws were put into place concerning the disabled in the workplace or classroom. With all the new restrictions and guidelines, institutions weren't really sure what to do as the laws were as of yet untested. I came along and asked for the sun, moon and stars, all 'cause I'm hyper as hell. CSU granted them because they were scared to death of a lawsuit. If I'd come along and done the same thing a few years earlier, later, or today, they'd laugh at me and say, "we'll provide you with all the tutors you want and oh, by the way, go take some Ritalin, but we ain't adjustin' our college requirements just for you". I was likely the first case and they were scared.
     So when a college professor told me in '91 that I received the largest university requirement adjustment in CSU history, he wasn't kidding and likely it wouldn't happen again. And all because I just can't sit.
     When I graduated, the first time, in '92, I figured out that I studied an average of 15-30 minutes per class per quarter. That includes time looking in a textbook, time spent organizing class notes and then, subsequently studying them. Again 15-30 minutes TOTAL for the entire quarter. I would work on projects and reports though. I've always enjoyed research very much and I would be happy going to the library and amassing facts, then presenting them in a report.
     I wasn't quite ready for the real world in '92 though, so almost immediately I went back and took this class or that. In '96, I went back full-time and pursued art history with studio art on the side. Originally, I was going to pursue a Master's Degree in Art History, but I quickly realized that the work level required would be impossible for me while working essentially full time. Also, it was too expensive. Hey, let's be honest here. So I took all the classes as an undergraduate. In '98 when I finished, administration told me that they would think of me as simply having a double major, six years apart.
     I received almost straight "A's" this time around. Getting an "A" in a studio art class was old news, no comment required. The reason I got mostly "A's" in art history is because there's really very little studying involved. It's primarily projects, research and term papers. And what studying there is, really is more about memorizing pretty pictures and who did them. Things like that I can do.
     I think that as I've gotten older, I've settled down a lot, too. I went back again, full-time, in '01-'02 to begin pursuing a career as an art teacher, K-12. I finished one third of the coursework, getting straight "A's" for the entire year. But I then dropped out 'cause of money. Also, I became disillusioned with the prospect of being an art teacher. (Extremely smart decision on my part.) None-the-less, my GPA in '02 was, like, 2.98, or something like that. I was definitely studying more and not feeling persecuted by it. While taking all the artsy-fartsy stuff, I made Dean's List often. I've often wondered which words appeared more often on my transcripts: Academic Probation or Dean's List?
     I also know that my hyperactivity has had profound effects on my work life. I know that any job description which begins, "Sit and..." isn't for me. Additionally, I've never learned how to handle routine, hence my frequent job changes.But, such is the nature of being a "Jack Of All Trades" that I'm constantly getting new jobs and leaving old ones. That works perfectly for me. Between hair, food, children and old people, I know that every few years my schedule and routine will be drastically changed. Some people can do 9-5. Some people can even work in the same building for a few decades. I'm not one of them. I have to run around like a chicken with his head chopped off.
     Does your kid have learning disabilities? Try as hard as possible to find out what his or her strengths are. Mine are memory for detail and sound, high organizational abilities, tremendous creativity and inherent love of research. The most screwed up kid still has strengths. Identify them as early as possible and play up to them. Everybody's life will be easier.
     By the way, my memory for detail is why this blog is peppered so generously with specific dates, locations, people and situations. I remember it all. Really.

Learning Disabilities - Part 2

     Page Thirty-Eight.
     So she wrote the letter. Jeannie knew how to write those letters too. She'd had much experience in that department as you can imagine. That letter had flower petals and glitter enclosed. That letter was scented with Chanel #5. That letter was delivered to the front office of Cleveland State University by a scantily clad, beautiful, buxom blonde. It was that good.
     And then, there was my letter. If I must say so myself, I know how to get my point across with the written word. I'm no Faulkner, but in contemporary America, if you could, right sentence which reasonable is gramaticall corect, you insantly a head of game. I can do that. So Jeannie's letter was about my inability to think, while my letter was about the CSU guidance counselor who suggested there might be some underlying problem and how CSU might be able to help. I don't get assertive often. I find that it takes expends energy which I'd rather spend watching TV. But every once in a while, I will actually let my needs known.In my letter I requested that four "F's" be removed from my transcripts; I asked for removal of the college math requirement; and, I asked for removal of the college foreign language requirement. There's only one word for this: Chutzpah.
     The letters ended up on a very large, heavy, oblong, oak conference table in an upper floor office around which sat the president and vice president of the university along with the committee who makes big 'ole decisions. Apparently, nobody had ever asked for such a complete overhaul of university requirements and adjustments in the history of CSU.
     A quick word about CSU: In greater Cleveland, most people think of CSU as an extension of high school - little more than a community college. The only Clevelanders who think CSU is a good school are business and civic leaders and professors and staff of CSU and other area colleges. The reasons for this disconnect are many. CSU's liberal acceptance program make it possibly for anyone to get in, and I mean anyone. Then, there's the big concrete campus which isn't attractive. The complete lack of college life doesn't help. Almost all the student are commuter, and/or older, and/or poorer, and/or first generation college attendees, and/or working in addition to studying. Are you getting the picture?
     The reasons that important Clevelanders behind the scenes like the school are equally many. The 78% drop out rate implies that it's a real school. The commuter/older/etc. thing means that anybody who does graduate really works hard. And, CSU professors are really great. Many former business leaders retire and teach there. (I once took a business class which was taught by a former senior executive of BP Oil.) Also, we had many Rhodes Scholars and other such famous teachers on faculty. One of my profs was the 7th most heavily published researcher in the world in his field (Family Communications). In short, in Cleveland,  if "Graduate of Cleveland State University" appears on a resume it's taken seriously by HR people, but not by the graduate's friends or acquaintances.
     Incidentally, this is slowly changing. In the last ten or fifteen years CSU has built many new dorms and torn down much of the concrete, building new grass and trees in it's place. The greener campus is growing quickly and attracting more students from out of town. It's reputation in the liberal arts is growing nationally.
     Now, getting back to my ballsy letter... they gave me everything I asked for, under certain conditions. They removed the four "F's" no problem. But in exchange for removing the math requirements I needed to take many extra science classes. And, in exchange for removing the foreign language requirement... extra anthropology. Well, I was thrilled. I'd actually be able to graduate. Who woulda thunk it? I wasn't the least bit phased by the extra science because I'd already taken enough science classes to fulfill their silly, old demands. And, I only needed to take a little more anthro to meet that requirement as I'd already taken extra because I enjoyed it so much. I would eventually hear through the grapevine that administration adjusted my transcripts and requirements more than any other person's in University history. I was a bit impressed by my own assertiveness but more importantly I began planning my graduation party.
          Which party I did have in June of 1992. September '82 - June '83 & September '86 - June '92... sort of the seven year plan I guess you could call it. But by the time you include all the flunked classes and lightest workload full-time ('cause I was a live-in nanny and increasingly busy freelance hairdresser) it really does work out. (Have you ever gone to school full-time while working full-time? It's not easy.)
     Let me interject right here for a moment: the Shapiro boys knew how much I studied and they knew how hard I worked in school. They used to tease me and say that if I ever actually had cracked a book open I could've gotten a free ride in Harvard. They were pretty much the only people who knew how little I worked in school. 
     So that was how I was diagnosed with learning disabilities as a senior in college. Fascinatingly, I'd be back in school faster than Bill Clinton at a rib eating competition. And, it would be almost twenty years before I'd find out what really happened.
      To be continued...
          

Learning Disabilities - Part 1

     Page Thirty-Seven.
     Does you kid have learning disabilities? Here's an interesting story for you.
     My primary education years saw me as a less then stellar student. In junior high, I had awful report cards. In high school they got a little bit better, but that's not saying much. I always attributed my poor grades to complete disinterest, deadly procrastination and teenaged distractions. I graduated from Cleveland Heights High School in 1980 anyhow.
     By the time I got to Cleveland State University the first time, '82-'83, my grades improved, however microscopically. When I went back to CSU in '86 they were quite stable in the C plus B minus range. This really bugged me 'cause I knew I was capable of better. Now, I should admit that homework wasn't my strong suit, nor was studying in general. I certainly didn't have teenaged distractions anymore, but I rarely found myself just sitting and studying. My friends tried to help. They gave me books on how to study and tried to teach me good study techniques. The problem was that every suggestion they gave me required me to sit and well... study. I just couldn't do it. Nothing worked. I really was very upset over the fact that I just couldn't magically get good grades. I was having serious issues over this.
     But I kept on going. I was a psychology major the first couple of years. But as my interests are very diverse, I took many classes in art, science, english and anything else which fit into my schedule. I flunked the occasional class, too. For example, my psych major required that I take statistics. But I flunked. Then, for the general college requirement, I had to take some advanced math, which I did in the form of logic, which I flunked. In the foreign language category: well... um... first I went to Israel to learn Hebrew... flunked. Then, I came back and took Italian. Flunked. Then I took Spanish... flunked. These F's all translated to the occasional Academic Probation on my report card. I discovered though, that when I took an art or science class I could simply show up and get a decent grade. In art I rarely got lower than a B (mostly I got A's) and in science if I simply graced the doorway to the class I got a C. (And, as I didn't do homework, gracing a room and getting a C was fine with me.) So I took extra studio art and science classes whenever I needed to artificially increase my GPA to avoid being kicked out. Incidentally, I eventually switched majors from Psych to Interpersonal Communications because I couldn't pass statistics.
     You see, I was good at showing up for class and remembering what happened there. But the moment outside work was required, there were problems. I was fine with projects or reports. I'd work on those. But general studying... no, no, no! For tests I rarely studied (even in science.) As the years wore on I acclimating to my low GPA, again about 2.5, but I was also getting concerned about my imminent graduation. Israel was in '89 and Italian was in '90. And I couldn't pass a stinkin' math class to save my life. In '90, as a new senior, I went to see my guidance counselor for some unrelated issue and she noticed the inconsistencies. She suggested that I might have some form of learning disabilities as my strengths and weakness appeared to be textbook cases. She said that I should get tested and perhaps the school could work with me on their requirements.
     A few weeks after she said that, I started doing the hair of a new client. Jeannie was very pretty and charming. As I was doing her hair in her recently renovated, stunningly beautiful Cleveland Heights Arts and Crafts home, I asked what she did for a living. "I own and operate Penobscott Learning Centers. We tutor kids in SAT's. We also tutor kids who are having problems in school. And we test for learning disabilities."
     Well at that point, I knew that the Great Spirit of the Universe was in my corner. I told her my story and she said, "Of course we can test you!" A few weeks later, I was sitting in her office and we were testing. It  actually took a couple of days.
     A couple of weeks after that I went to get the results. "Jeremy, let me ask you a question. the first time you walked into my house, a couple of months ago, what did I serve you for a beverage?"
     "Raspberry New York Setzer."
     "That's incredible."
     "What?"
     "Your memory for detail. According to my tests, you're hyperactive, slightly dyslexic, you have a huge problem integrating symbols and you're smarter than average. You remember what you hear, more than what you see. You have no focus and can't pay attention. And your memory for detail is off the scale. Because of the nature of your symbol problem, I'm sure you could eventually get any foreign language or mathematical concept if you just sat and studied a little bit longer than the average person. The problem is that you can't sit."
     "You mean there are real reasons I can't sit?"
     "Yes. You're hyperactive. If you could sit, you'd be fine. Over the years you have learned to overcompensate. That's why you remember what you hear so well. Your attendance is great because on some level you know that you're going to have to remember things for tests. And you know you won't study. So you essentially taught yourself to memorize what professors say, while they're saying them."
     "So what do I do now?" 
     "Let me write a letter to the university. We'll see if they stick by what they said and waive some requirements."
     To be continued...

China Gate

     Page Thirty-Six.
     China Gate Restaurant recently re-opened. That's a place just a few miles east of me in Cedar Center which is a plaza on Cedar Road in South Euclid, Ohio. Cedar Center was one of the shopping district where I grew up. A May Company Department Store anchored it, and then there were a couple dozen stores which lined both sides of this very busy street. We shopped there a lot when I was a kid.
     Cedar Center was built in the forties as that part of town became more residential. In fact, The May Company was built on an old golf course. According to the 1960 census, Shaker Heights, Ohio was the wealthiest suburb in America and Cedar Center catered to that population to a certain degree. According to some urban legelnd from the sixties or seventies, the five mile radius around Cedar Center had the highest level of disposable income per capita of any spot in America. I don't know if that's true or not, but it could be, and any long-time Cleveland resident knows it. That five mile radius would have included Shaker, Cleveland Heights, Beachwood, Pepper Pike and other very wealthy enclaves.
     Cedar Center had a wide variety of stores: gift shops, drug stores, clothing stores - your typical mix. It also had the usual restaurants. Mawby's, Solomon's Corky & Lenny's and China Gate. There were two Mawby's, the other on Lee Road here in Cleveland Heights. I don't remember them real well but you'll still hear Mawby's brought up in conversations at cocktail parties among long-time Cleveland residents. Apparently they had the world's best burgers. Solomon's and Corky & Lenny's were both fancy deli fare. I have no memory of any difference between the two, but I don't doubt that any old Jew in Cleveland right now could be brought to fisticuffs when engaging in argument over which was better. Corky's still exists and does a bang up job in their location at Village Square in Woodmere, where they moved in the eighties.
     Then there was China Gate. This was the style of Chinese food that put the 1950's on the map. Cantonese style Chop Suey, Egg Foo Young, Chicken Chow Mein, BBQ Ribs... and all with florescent red sweet 'n sour sauce on the side. It was so exotic. There were the plastic palm trees in the corners. The front windows had colorful beads as curtains. Everybody, and I mean EVERYBODY remembers the Lava Lamp on the front counter. What a Lava Lamp has to do with China, you weren't supposed to ask, but it was cool. And then there was the wooden screen which led into the dining room. Between the foyer and dining room was, well, a wooden screen which had Chinese scroll work cut into it. The screen was the entire width and height of the place and smack dab in the middle, on top, above the entryway, was the Jewish Star of David. A smarter Chinese restaurant owner never existed.
     I guess China Gate originally was downtown somewhere and then moved east with the post WWII suburb explosion. They quickly became an institution. We ate there at least as often as Mawby's, Corky's or Solomon's when I was little. It was simply THE Chinese place you went to. That's it.
     So, in about 2004 or 2005, the reconstruction of Cedar Center began. It was done in two parts because one side of the street is in University Heights and the other is in, again, South Euclid. The University Heights side, which was rebuilt first, got a new Whole Foods and gobs of new stores. It's very nice. So then they tear down the other side of the street, including China Gate, in '06 or '07. Whoops!!! I don't know which fell faster, those buildings or the stock market. I'm sure those few acres looked worse than downtown Kabul for the next few years. It was too depressing for words. There were stories in The Cleveland Plain Dealer and on the local news about the delays in rebuilding Cedar Center. That's how high profile this little 500 foot plaza is in Cleveland.
     But all bad things must come to an end and they finally started rebuilding in '11. All the buildings have been in place for a few months now and tenants have been moving back in. Last fall I went into the new national chain family dining place; no comment (it sucked). But last August or so there was an article in the paper which said that China Gate would be re-opening sometime. Then they put the storefront sign up in December and people went bonkers. Everybody was hoping they'd be open by Christmas but apparently there were delays in getting the appliances hooked up. But about a week ago, I noticed that the "open" sign ws on. I'd heard in advance that the new place is take-out only. Oh well. I'll miss the Jewish star though. I think I'll go there for dinner tonight. Yummm!!! "1950's style sweet 'n sour chicken come to daddy."


... The line was out the door and I didn't feel like waiting. I picked up a menu and will order later in the week. There is seating inside too. Not much mind you, but enough for about ten people. They'll do a great business. 

Too Many Children's Haircuts

     Page Thirty-Five.
     One day in about '90 or '91, I had hair appointments all day long. Actually, I only had two stops but at each house I had multiple clients. One home was here in Cleveland Heights, the other was in a suburb farther east, Gates Mills. The nearby stop was first. There, I cut the oldest son: age twelve, the middle son: ten, and the youngest son: eight. In Gates Mills, I cut the oldest son: age six, son number two: four, the next son: three and the baby: eighteen months. That was it for that day. I don't mind kids, really I don't. But until the day I die, I'll never, ever forget that experience. I was so exhausted by the time I got home, I thought I would drop dead. The people who work in those salons that specialize in children should be canonized. Maybe they're masochists?

High Tea

     Page Thirty-Four.
     On page thirty-three, I spoke of the fashion shows at Fancy-Shmancy Nursing Home. Today, I'll talk of the High Teas.
     They started simply enough. I began realizing relatively early on in my employ there that nursing home residents don't get to eat "special food" very often, if at all. By special food I mean: party food, exotic food, unhealthy but scrumptious food, food they've never tried before, food you'd have at a new restaurant... anything out of the ordinary. This was in no way a judgement call on the dietary department, it's simply not possible to realistically give the residents mini quiches, spinach-filled phylo dough or tiramisu on their lunch trays. It cannot be done.
     So sometime in my first year there, I asked my boss to approve a plan whereby I'd go out and by lots of frozen exotica (read: large budget) and then on one of my scheduled Sundays, the afternoon activity would be High Tea. I'd make all the food myself, brew up the tea and serve it. We'd then just enjoy good food together. This activity would be for the highest functioning residents of the home. She approved it and I did it.
     Well, the residents LOVED it. And I did again a few months later and this time a few family members attended. It was more work than you can imagine but everybody, all three dozen attendees, had such a good time it was worth my poor fingers dripping off my bones. Front office had some problems though. They felt it was too exclusive and that I was segregating the residents. If I wanted to do a whole house affair, then fine - do one. But to have an affair such as this but limited to only the highest functioning in the house, well they felt it just reeked of red velvet rope.
     Soooooo, I opened it up to the whole house, all one hundred and fifty residents. Have you ever made heavy hors d'oeuvres for one fifty? I still get nightmares. Actually, I never saw more than about half the house come, but many brought loved ones with them. So, again, back to about one fifty or so. The problem here is that I've never catered in my life. I simply didn't know how to cook for those numbers. I'm sure Martha could do it with both arms tied behind her back and blindfolded. In my case, it was nothing short of miraculous that I got the thing on at all.
     People did help. I didn't know that I was allowed to delegate, but people absolutely helped. Co-workers, residents' family members and volunteers all helped out. Also, I eventually learned that dietary was more than happy to aid. In fact, I ended up putting a certain amount of the food ordering through dietary because they were able to rationalize the budget better than activities. They really surprised me with the diversity they were able to provide.They couldn't necessarily illustrate their capabilities on a daily basis, but on occasions like this they supplemented what I did beautifully. They also would always cook a lighter dinner that night knowing full well that half the house would be full. 
     Once these things really reached their peak I hired musicians to play nice music and often there would be themes. I always covered Mother's Day; my co-workers in activities appreciated that. (It's nice to have big Mother's Day extravaganzas in any nursing home. With me doing high tea it freed my boss up from having to come up with something.) I always decorated the community room and put out the fine linen for the events. I used the nice silver trays and the ladies eventually got into the habit of dressing up a little. The ten or so that I did were sort of a fancy affairs. Our own little Ascot Races, if you will.
     Let me tell you something, putting on events like this requires the cooperation of every single department. I worked so closely with everybody, it was just ridiculous. Making sure the community room is properly cleaned and prepped; making sure the tables and chairs are set out; getting the linens, plates and flatware in place, consulting dietary/menu planning/ordering food; decorating; PR/advertising; arranging transport for the residents; not one single department is exempt. (And I'm doing all these while simultaneously doing my regular job coordinating activities on the two dementia units.) But those residents loved it. They got to be fifty years old again and going to fancy evening affairs. I was so exhausted I wanted to collapse. But it was worth it.     

Nursing Home Fashion Shows

     Page Thirty-Three.
     While working at Fancy-Shmancy Nursing Home, from spring of '03 until autumn of '06, I ended up making a name for myself on a couple different fronts. I was technically in charge of activities for the two dementia units. But, I also started some new whole house activities; created some unusual Christmas decorating and established a vintage hat collection. Concerning the whole house activities: I started a series of fashion shows and I established a series of high teas. Today, I'm going to talk about the fashion shows.
     I actually discovered the concept of nursing home fashion shows while working at University Hospitals, my previous job. U.H. had an association with one of the local private girl's schools whereby the students came in once a year and strutted around in their finery. Where that tradition began, I'm not sure, but I then ran with it. 
     At Fancy-Shmancy, I was bored one day and told my boss about these shows and suggested that we do them. "Sure, Jeremy. Wonderful idea! Get right on it."
     "Who me? That's way too much work for MY delicate system."
     "Yes, you."
     So I called around and got in touch with the headmaster of a local girl's school, explained my need and he put me in touch with the student council president. She simply LOVED the idea. I forget if this was spring or autumn so I can't tell you if the initial offerings were prom or homecoming fashions but either way the girls and the old ladies all had a "simply marvelous" afternoon. I have a theory: all teenaged girls love to show off their clothing and all old ladies love to look at pretty teenaged girls who are dressed beautifully. If you disagree with my theory, that's okay. It's just a theory.
     My shows were always on Sunday afternoons and had light refreshments accompanying. Also, to elongate the afternoon's entertainment, I created a series of  slides. I would then supplement the live models with a slide show which illustrated more fashion: current, old Hollywood or ridiculously high-end - anything fun and exciting.
     I was always the host and commentator but the girls wrote out my cheat sheets in advance so I didn't have to work too terribly hard. Occasionally, I had help hosting. I had a co-worker who, in a previous career, worked in high-end fashion retail and she helped me comment on at least one occasion and maybe more. As a team we were great. For another show,  I phoned around and got a well-known fashion expert who used to own one of Shaker Heights' finer dress shops to come on in and comment.
     It got to the point where I printed up flyers and advertised, letting family members know about the shows. A lot of family showed up too. People had a great time. All in all, these shows, for all the work they took, were original and entertaining and the old ladies loved them. They were also low budget, always a plus in a nursing home.
     

Tea With Brini

     Page Thirty-Two.
     Around '90, I received a phone call from a woman named Brini. She'd gotten my name and info through word of mouth and was interested in having me do her hair. She lived sort of far out, in South Russell actually. S.R. is about thirty minutes east of me but a pretty drive and I was taking new clients at that time so I went out and met her. By the time someone greeted me in person for the first time, they already knew the story: I came to them and did their hair in the kitchen, or wherever. Considering the service, I was dirt cheap but I didn't care 'cause I was in college and was just trying to make some money 'till graduation.
     Brini's husband worked with some of my other clients so that was the connection. He was Vice President in charge of public relations and advertising of a large national company. Their home illustrated his worldly success, it was sheer glamor, as was she. She had to have been in her sixties and quite beautiful. In fact, I once told her that she looked a lot like Myna Loy. She took that as a compliment, as it was intended. We took to each other instantly and I would go out and cut her hair every third Friday afternoon for six or seven years.
     My long-lasting memories of her are absolutely dominated by the tea that we would sit and drink prior to cutting. Most visits would see the two of us simply sit together, drink hot tea and chat for up to an hour, before any scissors were picked up. We would talk about anything: my classes, her daughter, her mother, the Shapiro boys, etc. I now know that we talked about what people talk about when they sit and have tea together.
     She was of the generation and station that invited visitors to sit and enjoy a refreshment prior to any business being taken care of. I was on the receiving end of that twentieth century, upper class hospitality for those years. Brini would have had great similarities to Brooke Astor or Jackie Kennedy in that regard.
     It was quite entertaining for me and I think for her too. She got a kick out of me and told me so. During the eighties and nineties I was sort of punky/grungy/tacky/trashy looking; very different than my personality; which was then inconsistent with my living position (male live-in nanny). This disconnect really mystified people and kept many mouths babbling endlessly like beautiful Vermont brooks. Brini told me that she liked talking with me 'cause I wasn't boring, like so many people in her circle.
     So tea with Brini was just one more of those pleasant memories that I look back on and think, "how did I get here? Just luck I guess".
     Eventually Brini got a new colorist who insisted on cutting and styling as a condition to coloring. So we had to part. That was okay. I understood. Some years ago I heard that she had pretty bad dementia. Then a few months ago I saw where her husband died. I wanted to go to the funeral but couldn't make it.
     We meet so many people in our lives. We know some for only five minutes, others we know for decades. We're blessed when people who aren't with us for a very long time have a long-lasting and positive effect.

My Valentine's Day Cards

     Page Thirty-One.
     I'm technically not an artist. When all is said and done, concerning my secondary education, I ended up taking so much studio art that I was only two classes shy of a B.F.A. in 3-D art, (think: arts & crafts); this, on top of my first two majors: Interpersonal Communications and Art History. But I eventually got tired of going to school so I stopped. Guess that makes me an art-school drop out. So, I'm not a real artist, 'cause I don't have a degree in it. What am I then? Good question. I'll let you know when I find out.
    In about '89, I received a cute little envelope in the mail from my friend, Filomena, on Valentine's Day. It was a charming construction paper valentine reminiscent of the the third grade. I called her and inquired and she explained that she simply felt like sending out cards that year. She made these retro cards and sent them to her close friends. I was thrilled and stunned. It was just too cool and I loved it. So the next year I did the same thing. My closer friends, clients, nieces, nephews, Shapiro kids and various stragglers all got home-made construction paper cards. They loved it and so did I. That had to have been about '90.
     The next year I got a little more elaborate with my materials: lace, felt, silk flowers, etc. and I started including chocolate. Within a couple of years the things took on a life of their own. Every year since, it's a completely different design, using a totally new medium. There's always a heart shape involved somewhere. And there's always chocolate. A few years ago, I painted all the canvases in one of four colors. Then I glued on plastic jewels in a variety of shapes and colors, outlining the heart. Each canvas was completely different.
     Some years ago, I went to a metal shop and commissioned then to cut small, rectangular shiny metal plates. I then made a heart-shaped template and placed the template over each  metal plate. I proceeded to spray on glue and pour over shiny, tiny, red and silver glass beads. So the whole things had the feel of a child's typical glitter card, but on steroids, what with no glitter, instead glass on metal. Every year it's something completely over the top.
     At some point in the '90's I also began including a child's store bought card in the package. Scooby-Doo, Superman, Barbie, Sponge Bob, Mickey Mouse etc. have all been included in the bag of chocolate at different times and they've contained the personal greeting as there's no place on the card itself.
     Ever year, I insist that "this year's is the most frustrating". But I keep on doing 'em. I send out an average of four to five dozen per year, with the list always changing to reflect who's in my life presently. These are really my yearly greeting card, but in February, not December.  (This year's edition involves hand-painted, hand-cut rigid plastic hearts which are then given a Christo treatment.) Every January and early February I insist that I won't survive 'till the fourteenth, but I always do. I don't know how.
     The adults let me know how much they appreciate them, in no uncertain terms. But, my nieces and nephews and any children probably enjoy them the most. I'm perfectly okay with that.