A One Day Staycation

     Page Two Hundred Seventy-Three.

University Circle is concentration of bldgs. at top, near horizon

     Yesterday, I took a walk down to University Circle, Cleveland's cultural, medical and educational hub. We certainly have copious museums, hospitals and educational facilities strewn all over the region; but 100 years ago the city planners decided that Cleveland should have many of them in a centralized location. So, a disproportionate amount of those facilities are in a relatively small section of town. I'm sure I've spoken of Cleveland's University Circle region in this blog before, so I won't get into it again. But really, any out-of-towner invariably ends up there.
     I visited the Museum of Contemporary Art; the Crawford Auto Aviation Collection and the Botanical Gardens, in that order. And, I was quite giddy with glee as I flashed my Cleveland  Museum of Art employee badge and received free entrance to all of the above. (The CMA is one of the grandaddies in University Circle, along with Case Western Reserve and a variety of massive, cathedral-like churches. But all the museums have a reciprocal relationship with each other.) Nothing better than a day of free museums! That's pretty much it, as far as I'm concerned.

Museum of Contemporary Art

MOCA

The Botanical Gardens

 2 different rainforests with their glass outer walls and roofs

     I live in Cleveland Heights, a suburb on the hills which overlook University Circle. So I walked down and around and back up again - about 5 miles. It was just a wonderful afternoon.

A Benefit For Heights Arts

     Page One Hundred Seventy-Five.
     It's New Year's Day, and this morning I had a pleasant breakfast at Tommy's restaurant here in Cleveland Heights. Tommy's is a pretty famous local joint on Coventry Road. It dates back to the early '70's and was one of the first Cleveland-area spots to get onto the whole '70's/vegetarian/middle-Eastern/health food/lots of wooden decor band wagon. It's still around with few changes to the menu and is so famous in fact, that's it's appeared on The Food Network a number of times. Cleveland actually has a number of restaurants and chefs who are well-known to the Food Network and it's viewers. Tommy's is only one. For the record, it does serve meat of many varieties. But much of the meat is served un-American style, meaning: meat pies.

Tommy's, when it isn't 20 degrees outside.

     For the last decade or so, on New Years Day, Tommy's has been closed for regular business and instead has been open from 10AM to 2PM for a fund-raiser. $10.00 gets all you can eat of a traditional American breakfast: pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausage, juice and so forth. The place is packed. By 9.45AM, the waiting line is out the door and, if heaven forbid, you show up after 11, you'll wait an hour for a table.
     On January 1st, 2013, one of my buddies phoned me at 9 and declared that he was already first in line. Did I want to join him? I politely passed, explaining that even though the place is 500 feet from my apartment, and I could literally show up in my PJ's, there was no way on this or any other planet I was getting out of a nice warm bed on a cold morning. This year, that same friend gave me advanced warning. A few weeks ago he began preparing me for today's predawn (9.15AM)  phone call. He was first in line again and eagerly awaiting my arrival. I managed to show up 20 minutes later, just seconds prior to the multitudes of humanity. We were sitting, drinking coffee, just a wee bit later.
     None of Tommy's workers on New Year's Day are regular employees. All are volunteers from Cleveland Heights city hall, the Cleveland Heights Teachers Union and other local civic organizations as all the proceeds from the benefit go to a local arts organization entitled Heights Arts.
     Cleveland Heights has a preponderance of artists and art enthusiasts among it's population. It's a somewhat sophisticated community and the artsy-fartsy people have organized themselves into this well-respected civic organization. Heights Arts has a Lee Road storefront where local artists sell their wares and where anybody can pop in and find out what's going on in Cleveland's surprisingly well-organized arts community. In fact, much of Cleveland's arts community is organized around the Cleveland Museum of Art which is among the world's top tier art museums and also the Cleveland Institute of Art which is commonly considered one of America's finest art schools. Both of these institutions are seconds from Cleveland Heights' western border.

Heights Arts, also when it isn't 20 degrees outside.

    So this morning I did my part. I let a friend donate $10.00 in my name to Heights Arts so I could eat pancakes and stuff. It was a nice way to start the new year. For dinner tonight, I'll be back on Coventry, with another friend at Hunan's. Then after dinner, I have a party to go to. It'll be a nice day. Last night, I rang out the old year at a rib joint directly across the street from the beauty salon I manage over on Lee Road. I'd never been there before and got a burger. It wasn't bad and the accompanying salad was really good; I want to go back and try their ribs sometime. I'll get back to you on that one.   

First Annual Lee Road Music Hop

     Page One Hundred Fifty-Two.
     A couple of night ago, I had way too much fun. That much fun should be absolutely illegal.
     My day job is managing a beauty salon on Lee Road - a vibrant street with many small restaurants and pubs. Last Friday evening, a Cleveland Heights non-profit civic organization planned a street festival on Lee Road and arranged 29 live musical acts to perform in various venues: those same pubs, restaurants and the large library at the end of the commercial district. All the retail businesses and services were asked to stay open late and do anything they could to add to the effervescent atmosphere. The party began at 6PM and ended at 10PM with the after party starting at 10 at the largest bar on the strip and going until all hours.
     Alma's Healthy Hair Clinic stayed open very late -10.30PM. We handed out 20 pounds of free chocolate, sold Boy Scout popcorn and I gave haircuts in the window. I was amazed as people strolled by. They stopped, stared, pointed, smiled and often waved. It was as if they'd never seen anybody give or receive a haircut before. I understood some of this behavior, especially as the evening wore on and people clearly had more alcohol in their systems. But early on, when the families with small children waved, I was really surprised. Granted, our windows are elevated by a couple of feet, so it really was like being on a stage, but still.
     My models, two men and two women were quite attractive, and I looked sort of rock 'n rolly. So maybe it was just the zeitgeist of the evening. Whatever. This morning as I was browsing in the library, a perfectly pleasant college-aged gentleman walked past me, stared, smiled and said, "weren't you the guy giving haircuts in the window last Friday night?"
     "Yeah."
     "That was cool."
     It's so easy to make people happy sometimes. 

DOUGHNUT DAY!!! Part 3

     Page One Hundred Forty-Eight.

     So, one Friday morning in October, 2005(?), there's a FRONT PAGE story in the Cleveland Plain Dealer about Annual Doughnut Day in Cleveland Heights. It's a glorious human interest story about this fellow, Tom, who plays in the Cleveland Orchestra, and how he invites scores of guests onto his front lawn to marvel at this doughnut contraption. The article mentions Homer Price, the garage sale (but not Chuck), Father's Day, and how much this gathering typifies daily life in Cleveland Heights (a small town masquerading as an old, large, quirky Cleveland suburb) and how the gathering was the very next day. I read the article and said to myself, "I'm totally in on this".
     I looked up Tom's address in the phone book (you may remember phone books form the olden days) and showed up. I hardly needed an address. The cars and mob scene were crazy. You'd have thought that Abraham Lincoln and Marilyn Monroe were making special guest appearances. The line was easily twenty-five minutes long. But that little contraption was too cool. It was mesmerizing to watch one thingy-doey spill out dough into a tray filled with hot oil. Then, that dough floated along for a while. Then another thingy-doey magically flipped it over without anybody even asking it to. Then, the dough floated along some more. Then, by that time it was a real live doughnut.

                                                           IT'S A MODERN DAY MIRACLE!!!

     Then, it hit a little, metal conveyer belt which mystically lifted it up and out of the hot oil. Then, the metal belt lifted higher and higher toward the sky, when it would suddenly drop the little bit of  heaven onto a waiting plate below, onto which grubby fingers would grasp it for dear life. "MINE, NOT YOURS... MINE". It was incredible. Yet more proof of God's existence.  
     I introduced myself to Tom and we got to talking. He told me he knew about the impending article, but had no idea it'd be on the front page. When he saw it he immediately went out and bought a few hundred more pounds of mix. Thankfully, he didn't need that much.
     I told him how much I loved Homer Price also and we bonded. A couple of months later, I borrowed the machine and used it at a special event at Fancy-Shmancy Nursing Home. Tom insisted on donating the batter and oil (he always donated the supplies whenever anybody borrowed the thing.) It ended up one of the most horrific experiences of my life.
     I couldn't figure out how everything went together. Tom was in Europe, touring with the orchestra, so I was really on my own. I've very rarely been that frustrated. I'm actually very mechanically inclined, but I just couldn't get that thing to work properly. I wanted to cry. I even snapped at one of the old ladies who lived there. (She immediately forgave me and told me that I'm a real live human being just like everybody else.) I was eventually able to get lots of malformed little doughnut holes. And everybody was happy to eat those. Afterwards, I couldn't get the thing cleaned properly either. I wanted to cry again. So, I just gave up. I'm somebody who's a smidgeon preoccupied with perfection, and brother, I didn't get it that day. It remains one of my most psychotic professional memories to this day. But I digress.
     Anyhow... Tom quickly forgave me for returning the contraption in filthy shape and we've become friendly acquaintances over the years. He's a very active member of his church, which just happens to be where I held my enormous Passover Seder last spring. He and Cindy attended and both helped out, too. (I'm glad he got to see that I could  do something successfully.)
    I e-mailed him last week to find out when doughnut day was this year and he told me, 10.12.13. I'm too excited. So is everybody else. His children, now older, come in from college, as do all their friends to attend. In fact, 3 or 4 or 5 neighboring front lawns are taken over by children, younger and older, and dogs, playing football and eating doughnuts, while parents mingle and eat doughnuts. There will be Cleveland Height City Council wannabees campaigning and eating doughnuts. The mayor will be there of course, along with the church pastors and many congregants eating doughnuts. Franz Welser-Most, the conductor of the Cleveland Orchestra, and many orchestra members will be there, eating doughnuts. Assorted other friends, neighbors, relatives, dogs and extras will be there, eating doughnuts.
     And importantly, I'll be there, breaking my diet, eating doughnuts (and handing out my business card - trying to drum up work for myself). It's a doughnut party. Nothing more... nothing less. It just doesn't get more fun than that. (Except some years ago, I had a friend who had an annual pizza party. I should tell that story sometime too.) 

Before Doughnut Day...

He Needs A Jewish Mother!

     Page One Hundred Forty.
     I take way too much pity on people sometimes.
     This guy who's home I'm painting, Claude, is a prime example. He's 25 and as a chemical engineer is able to afford to purchase his first home. It helps that his parents completely paid for his B.S., so he graduated from college virtually debt free, too. The home is here in Cleveland Heights. It's a pleasant 1920's shingle style, center hall colonial and it's located on a beautiful street. So far so good. Only problem is: Claude. He's so young that he hasn't yet learned how to take care of himself or a home. He owns three bath towels and two, count 'em, two dinner plates. He has curtains on one bedroom window, but not the other. He hasn't got a laundry basket, nor a dresser to put any clean clothes into. (Clothing, clean or dirty, goes onto the floors. The different piles designate used or unused.) He cleans the kitty litter once a week. He's also a slob, but I digress.
     Meanwhile he's spending like a drunken sailor on the landscape architect, the interior designer, new furniture and me.
     To back up a touch, I've known him almost a year. I met him socially through his interior designer, Dan, who's been a friend of mine for thirty years. Claude is a very nice person, young and stupid, but very pleasant. So, a couple of days ago while painting a wall, I took a break to heat up some leftover beef fried rice from China Gate. I really got sick and tired of having to take one of his two dishes out of the dishwasher and hand clean it so I could microwave my lunch. I decided right then and there to take matters into my own hands. I went to Target and bought him a complete set of dishes (for four) and a set of tumblers and water glasses (for six).
     For the record, soon after moving into the house, in August, I gave him a house-warming gift in the form of a Swedish Ivy. With all his post-college moving, it was the first house-warming gift he'd ever received. He was very appreciative. So these dishes and glasses were my sympathy gift (and for me to eat off of while painting.)
     If he lived in the same city as his parents, I'm sure his mother would be over to visit regularly and see what he needed. She'd then go out and slowly purchase said household items. However, they're in Pittsburgh, so that leaves me. I'm miles, nay, continents more domestic then any of his other friends. So I'm the person who's most qualified to teach this idiot how to wipe down a kitchen counter and why he should have a one quart saucepan.
     Having said all this, he never asked me. But I suspect he's smart enough to realize the advantages of a civilized lifestyle. I'll simply offer myself up as one who can go with him to purchase the essentials of an evolved home: salt & pepper shakers; Kleenex; dish towels, Windex; a Teflon skillet; a kitchen sponge and soap. Lord in heaven.
     You cannot believe how many times I've been referred to as the consummate Jewish mother. But I use my powers for good not evil. This is one of those situations.

On Decorating For Rosh Hashanah

     Page One Hundred Twenty-Two.
     Right now I'm sitting at my dining room table, writing this blog. Besides my computer, the other things on the table are many decorations for Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, which is in a few weeks. The reason they're here is because I'll be using them in a couple days to decorate one window at the beauty salon which I manage. Decorating a window for Rosh Hashanah is mostly no big deal. But if you remember from a couple blogs ago (page #119) the salon is almost exclusively African-American. However, here's the thing: my boss, Alma, knew what she was getting herself into when she asked me to be the manager. She knew that my world view is a bit odd, overly embracing and quite rebellious.
     Last spring I decorated one window for the Jewish holiday of Purim and I decorated another one for St. Patrick's Day. Of all things, I didn't do one for Easter because one of our two windows was broken at the time and the other window was set with something that Alma and I both liked, though I don't now remember what it was. (Also, that was the week that I was hosting the Passover Seder at the church, and was cooking for 260 people. So, I took the entire week off from the salon anyhow.) Alma, the beauty salon and I are all in Cleveland Heights, Ohio, an unusually ecumenical and integrated community. If I can't get away with decorating a black beauty salon for all the Jewish holidays in this city, I can't do it anywhere. And I want to.
     It doesn't go unnoticed either. Last spring while the windows had their St. Pat's theme, some drunken bar hopping patrons who were staggering by, were overheard to say "why do those ni****s have their salon decorated for St. Patrick's Day?" (The salon is on a street heavily occupied by popular restaurants and bars.) But also, earlier this summer, I received word that my windows had been nominated for the best decorated windows in Cleveland Heights. So there you go.
     Actually the salon clients love it. Alma is a devout Christian as are many of her clients. They love the fact that I embrace and then talk about my Jewishness because Jesus was Jewish. So they're fascinated by our holidays. As far as I'm concerned, anything which keeps my creativity popping is good. And doing those windows for various holidays, Jewish and otherwise, definitely pops my creativity.

How To Pay Rent

     Page One Hundred-Five.
     Today's writing is not about anything related to children or cooking. It is about the things we do to pay rent.
     As mentioned previously, I was laid-off from my job with the three princes for ten weeks while they're away at this camp or that camp, traveling to California with their parents, etc. I do have my job as part-time manager of a beauty salon, but really the bulk of my yearly take is from the royal family. My temp job with the fifteen year kid has picked up some of the slack, but not the entire thing, and that job ends this Friday when Shem goes off to camp anyhow. (Side note: I'm trying to talk them into keeping me long-term. I think that I can aid in this situation.) So, I've put word out to many friends and acquaintances that I'll do anything for cash (as long as it's moderately legal in at least one U.S. state).
     Last week I painted a totem pole. Yeah, that's right, you read correctly. I have a long-time acquaintance who's a Cleveland-based interior designer and his house will be on the Heights Heritage Tour this autumn and he's working really hard at getting his home "over the top".
     The Heights Heritage Tour was established in the mid-late '70's, here in Cleveland Heights, as a way to showcase some of our grand or stunning homes. The tour organizer, a non-profit organization, approach private homeowners who's homes have reputations for beauty and ask them to open their houses to the paying public one Sunday in September. Typically, they get about five or six homes plus another three or four gardens each year. And then, one of our stunning houses of worship will allow the entire crowd to gather for coffee and cake in their community room and tour that building as well. The entire afternoon is self-guided and informal and gets hundreds and hundreds of people. It's a major September event for Cleveland's gracious and curious. I go every year, and in fact, last year (2012) I secured one of the homes on the tour (separate story).
     So, my buddy's home will be showcased this year. His home is not big or gracious, but being a designer, he's turned a modest sized salt-box into a showstopper. And his grounds are equally jaw-dropping. So... just for fun, he had a front yard tree stripped of all its branches a  few weeks ago and then I came by and painted very wide, colorful stripes on it. Then. he wants me to paint a few eyes, that's right, eyes, on it so that it appears to be watching over the home. The only problem with this project is that the stump is as tall as his house. I was able to go up rather high but not all the way due to my low-level acrophobia. He hired someone else to go higher, but that person didn't complete the job either. I don't know how he's going to get someone to risk their life for the sake of a stinkin' tree.
     Then, tomorrow, I'm helping another friend who's an estate liquidator. She's been hired to empty out a nearby, small, old bungalow and apparently it's a disaster. She's actually giving me a mask to wear.
     Sometime in the next few weeks, I'll also be cleaning out the Shapiro's basement. (The Shapiros are the people whom I lived with for eight years and raised their kids during the '80's and early '90's.)
     The things we do to pay rent.
    .

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?