Quito. Chapter 1. The Fireball

     Page Two Hundred-Six.
     Quito died recently, Friday, March 7th, 2014, 6PM, to be exact. The world lost one special doggy in that one, lemme tell ya. Now that he's gone though, his secrets can finally be told. And I'm just the person to tell 'em. Here goes.
     Quito was a 50 pound, poly-breed, long-haired black and white thing whom I dog-sat whenever his pet humans were out-of-town. He resembled a Collie, preferred The Who over Led Zeppelin, knew 6 languages fluently* was 12 when he died and had quite a life. Few people knew his clandestine affairs, but he shared them with me while we were alone in his rather large, contemporary, pink champagne beige, brick Shaker Heights home during all those extended weekends.
     His humans are world travelers; they're royalty. Their cousins, Clair, Hannah, Evelyn and Grant along with their dog, Harli-Monster, are rulers of a European country which must, obviously, remain anonymous. But, those 5 have no direct heirs so these four children, Quito's humans, are going to be taking over the throne one day. All you really need to know for right now are their names: Jordan is the baby girl (who's now 7), then Jackson (8), Thomas (14), finally William is the crown prince (15). They're beautiful and charming children who's down to earth demeanor belies their upper crust, blue blood, royal status.
     Parents found Quito in the Rubbermaid garbage can one morning. Plain and simple. Seems he'd crawled in one night looking for food, then couldn't get out. What a humble beginning to one of the most auspicious lives of the 21st century. He was about 10-12 weeks old when found but 5 months old when he began developing his super-powers.
     William and Thomas were very little that August day when they took Quito outside and were ho-humming through a game of Twister with him in the steamy, hot sunshine. Nena was singing about 99 Luftballons on the outdoor Victrola. The smell of freshly shaved grass was in the air as Ippolitto & Sons had just finished cutting the large emerald green expanse of backyard. The three of them were excitedly looking forward to the Feast of the Assumption street festival they'd be attending a few days later.
     "I can't wait to eat the scrumptious fried calamari," piped baby Thomas. "If I shan't get my bellyfull of those luscious ringed morsels, I shan throw a tantrum like Parents never experienced. I mean from me anyhoo."
     "I'm anticipating with great glee the elephant ears with extra Vietnamese cinnamon sprinkled atop," squeaked young Prince William. "I do believe Vietnam grows the best cinnamon, don't you Quito?"
     "Heavens to Murgatroyd! Who cares about cinnamon? I want the homemade sausage pizza," woofed Quito.
    They proceeded to have an overly animated conversation about which food would taste the best. Then it happened. There was a quick flash in the atmosphere above and they all looked up just in time to see a fireball the size of a scoop of pralines and cream gelato come flying down out of nowhere, well the sky really, and land right near the Twister board. Quito went close, but not too close, to the still flaming ball because he wanted to protect the boys, yet investigate also. After a moment, the flame went out but the heat scorched a bit of grass which gradually grew to the approximate size and shape of a red, felt Christmas tree skirt with white furry trim; the kind you might purchase from K-Mart. Quito was standing in that spot while it happened. He felt no burn, instead just a slight stinging sensation in each foot; a stinging similar to the shot of penicillin you get in response to a positive strep throat culture. It barely registered with him at the time.
     (Let me interrupt myself right here and now. I'm relating this story as Quito told me. I've never had any reason to question it.)
     So later that evening, after changing Thomas's very smelly diaper, rapping Tone Loc's "Funky Cold Medina" to William and changing the burned out bulb in the boys' bedroom night light, he began noticing a taste in his mouth. The taste was definitely that of Hamburger Helper, but more effervescent somehow. Could it be? Yes! it was... the taste was homemade Hamburger Helper. "Oh great! And here I am on a low-carb diet" he barked to himself. But he could just smell the cheesy, gooeyness. It was too late in the evening by that time though and he didn't feel like starting a project like that at this late hour. "I'll make some tomorrow" he thought. He then put out Penny, the Maine Coon cat; turned off the Victrola, now playing Springsteen; left a note for the milkman to leave extra cheddar cheese and went to sleep.
     Next morning started and he absolutely knew something was different.
     To be continued next week... Chapter 2: Quito the Astro-Pup
*Languages which Quito was fluent in: English; Spanish; Arabic; French; Russian; Chinese. 

Two Portuguese Water Dogs

     Page One Hundred Ninety.

Beautiful Shaker Heights, Ohio

     Right now, I'm dog-sitting 2 Portuguese Water Dogs. Xerxes and Valentine are tres cute and charming albeit loud, especially if they see deer, squirrels or bunny-wabbits in the yard. I'm in very luxurious digs in deep Shaker Heights, Ohio, about 2 miles from where I live in Cleveland Heights, the neighboring suburb. I've been the dog-sitter for this house-hold for 20 years I think. The original dog and cat, Captain and Smokey, are no longer with us but Xerxes and Valentine will do.
     Their mommy and daddy are in the South Pacific right now sailing around and having a nice time. Meanwhile, I'm here walking these monsters at 7AM each day in the most uncomfortable winter in 2 decades. I don't mind too much though. When I get home next week and don't have to go for a walk while it's 5 degrees outside, I'll be so grateful. I typically watch these guys in the summer. But, occasionally a winter trip occurs. A few years ago, they went to Antarctica, so that dog-sitting gig was winter-based also. (Don't forget, America's wintertime is Antarctica's summertime.) It really is amazing what the human body can get used to though; even strolls in the park in sub-zero temps.

The window on the stair landing

     Some years ago, I was here while Captain was actively dying. Many months earlier, he'd been given 4 months to live. So mommy and daddy reserved me for 12 months later, assuming Captain would be no longer and my job would only involve watching Xerxes. Well Captain showed Mr. Death who was in charge. They couldn't re-schedule their trip and receive the deposit back just because they had a quickly dying dog to care for, so here I was. They set up my bed in the dining room because he couldn't make it up the stairs to the real bedroom any longer. And he was used to sleeping with his masters. (In fact, mommy slept on that bed while they were home, until Captain finally did give in to the inevitable.) I've had other jobs caring for dogs while they were on their deathbeds, too. It's really no fun, but someone's gotta do it. I mean, if you made plans 8 months earlier to be in Italy, assuming the dog would take the plunge as the Vet said he would, and he doesn't, well what are you going to do? Cancel? So here I was.

     Xerxes will probably be next. But hopefully not for a while. (In this house-hold, anyhow. Another one of my regular jobs has already reserved me for mid-March and late April, even though their dog has been on death's doorstep since last November and as of yesterday has stopped eating.)
     Meanwhile.... The Van Sweringen Company is a well known brand in Cleveland. Though the company went bust some 75-80 years ago, it was the primary planner and developer of Shaker Heights and some major downtown Cleveland property during World War I and the 1920's. This home where I'm staying was the family home of the Van Sweringen Company's chief engineer. It just epitomizes 1920's opulence. It's not truly large by Shaker standards, perhaps 5000 square feet, but it sure has oomph. Mommy and daddy have a few homes strewn about other states. When they're at one of the others, I'm the caretaker for this property. I stop in occasionally and make sure it's okay.
     One of these days I really should have a big, blow-out party here. I'm sure they wouldn't mind...

The Summer Lay-Off

     Page Ninety-Four.
     Next week is the last week of school for the Shaker Heights schools. So, that means that next week will be my last week nannying the boys until the end of August. Though this will be my third summer working for them, it'll be my first one with a summer lay-off.
     For many years, the children, including the much older sister, went to a horsey day camp where they rode, swam, created arts & crafts and enjoyed other such summer camp activities. That camp was right on Lake Erie and had been owned by one family for a few generations with the current deed-holder a very old man whom everybody loved. Well, he died last winter and his children were fully intending on continuing the camp until they discovered that he'd taken out a reverse mortgage against it. I know nothing about reverse mortgages except for the fact that they don't have good reputations. In this case, the family lost the camp. And closer to home, the boys lost their beloved horseys.
     According to Mom, the boys are "getting older" anyhow, so it's just as well. Only the youngest, Fauntleroy, (aged 9 come July) was still enamored with days filled with horseys. The other two, Zok (13) and Billy-Bob-Joe (11), were beginning to stir, what with more varied and mature interests. Subsequently, Mom and Dad have spent the last few months finding sleep-a-way camps for all three.
     So, this boy will be going to this camp for this summer segment and that boy will be going to that camp for that summer segment and so forth. Plus the fact, the entire crew, except for Grandma, will be going to California for a couple of weeks in August, it only makes sense to lay Jeremy off for the summer.
     I understand. They were kind enough to offer a modest unemployment compensation; I have my second part-time job as a beauty salon manager; and many, many people know me and they know that I'll be available for any odd jobs, so I'll be fine. But I'll miss the boys... mostly.
     Fauntleroy has been really obnoxious lately and I think we need some time apart. He ADORES me, don't get me wrong. But he's going through a phase, and I'm sick of it. I've talked with Mom about it and she thinks I need to come down harder on him. Eight year-old boys are tough, though. They're walking a fine line between devoted little boys and independent young men. Therefore, I have chosen to give him a piece of my mind only a few times 'cause I don't want to run the risk of over-complaining. If I bitch too much then I loose credibility. So I pick and choose when I'm going to come down hard. There's something to the old saying, "pick your battles". I did tell Mom last week that he won't have me to "kick around" for ten weeks so I think he'll appreciate me more come next fall. And if he isn't less of a snot, well... I have ways of dealing with that too. Don't forget, I was a live-in nanny to three teen-aged boys for eight years. I have lots of tricks up my sleeve.
     And this isn't to say that I won't see them at all this summer. I'm still preparing my cooking instructional videos and occasionally I film in their kitchen. I anticipate making a few new videos this summer so I'll probably run into the family occasionally, in their home. (I currently have twelve videos completed with two more in post-production. One of these days I'll start posting them to Youtube. Perhaps that might be a nice summer project.)

An Old Lady's Recipes

     Page Seventy-One.
     Does anyone need a short cookbook which teaches how to prepare 1950's style gourmet?
     When I worked at Fancy-Shmancy Nursing home, I befriended an old women who had been a private cook prior to retirement. For twenty-five or thirty years she cooked in an upper crust home in Shaker Heights. She knew of my interest in food and one day approached me about writing down her old recipes. Mostly because I thought it would be good for her, I accepted the challenge and went to her room most Friday mornings and had her recite, from memory, all her old cooking instructions.
     At the beginning, when she said things like, "now add some chopped tomato" I would say, "how much tomato". That would frustrate her to no end, so I stopped. (Today, I understand the aggravation inherent to that question.) It took a few months, but I finally ended up with a few dozen of her favorite recipes. When we were done, she said, "how do we get this published"? At that point I realized she didn't just want to save her recipes for posterity. She wanted to make some cash off them. I explained to her that it's nearly impossible to publish a cookbook and make money from it. But she badgered me for a few months anyhow until she gave up.
     She would die a few years later. Two of her four children wrote me letters of thanks for all I did for her. (There were other things too, but, that's for another time.) She wasn't even on my unit either, but, whatever. So, I still have all those recipes. They're stapled together nicely and stashed away in the back of my clipped recipes folder.
     If I ever have reason to make Chicken in Aspic, golly, I'm ready.

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. 

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.
     

Missing Your Children

     Page Twenty-Five.
     Do you want to know one thing they don't warn you about prior to becoming a parent (or surrogate parent)? You'll end up caring almost as much for your kid's friends as for your own kids.While living with and taking care of the Shapiro boys I came to care for many of their friends deeply. I've already mentioned Spanky. There were, of course, many more. I found out last month that another friend whom I saw frequently, Eliza, was pregnant. I heard this news through the grapevine.
     To hear news of weddings, births and new jobs of your kids' childhood friends is glorious, it really is. It's also bittersweet. It just re-enforces the life cycle. Believe me, I know the life cycle. I take care of many old people in addition to the childcare I provide.
     You know what? Today's blog is rambling. I started out writing about children's friends and now I'm talking about the life cycle of the human being. Perhaps I'm in a mood. Watching children grow up and move away is depressing as hell. It just is. When the Shapiro boys come home and then leave, I have deep psychological difficulties. I've also told the Queen Mother (mom of the three princes and one princess whom I currently nanny ) that she really needs to savor all the time she has with her kids now 'cause one day in twenty years she's going to look back and cry, wishing they were little again. With all their fights, with all their screaming and yelling, with all their tantrums and foot stomping, in twenty years those memories are going to bring tears. At least they will for me. Yeah! I'm so lucky.
     Love your kids while you have 'em. Love your children's friends while they're around. They grow up so fast, it leaves your head spinning like a roller coaster, wondering... when did they enter middle school? Five minutes ago they were in Kindergarten. Before you know it they're away at college. It really does happen that fast.
     I was very lucky, I became really good friends with the Shapiro boys. This, in spite of that darned teenaged era. I basically lived with very good friends for those eight years. Perhaps that's one reason I miss them so much. Because I don't know how it's going to play out with the princes, I really chose to just value my time with them like it's my lasts moments on earth. If, hypothetically, I end up nannying them until Fauntleroy graduates from Shaker Heights High in 2023, I'll have that many more memories to be grateful for.
     A friend recently asked if I ever missed having children. Was she kidding? All the parental energies that could possibly have dammed up in my male system never even had a chance. Not a single molecule of unspent parental desire exists in me. I became a live-in nanny at age twenty for crying out loud. Then I continued off and on (mostly on) until age thirty-one. More recently, I was asked to get back into nannying at age forty-six. And the potential exists for me to continue until age sixty-two (depending upon what my future holds). That's a million years of memories and worries and concern and joys and jubilations... all about children: children whom I've been deeply involved with.
    And time with kids really does go that fast. I know this. Value the seconds, even the rough ones. In fact, twenty years later, it's the rough ones make the best Thanksgiving Day stories.
     I think some future blog will be about the fact that I'm not a normal nanny. And parents and bystanders have noticed this. I don't actually even stop and acknowledge the term baby-sitter. I go straight to "Foster Parent", without passing Go, without collecting $200.00. But really, that's for another time.     
     (My God, today's blog was aimless. Oh, well.)