Florida Heaven Before Home for the Holidays

The beach (near the historic pink Don Cesar), a white bird of paradise, with friends,
 some downtown decorations, full moon over palm, visit to Gulfport and iconic Casino.

It was great being back in St. Petersburg, Florida, where I had lived for 10 years before going to Ukraine with the Peace Corps and then moving back to the Toledo area.  I stayed with friend Sandie;  visited a former neighbor, 85-year-old Maria, still going strong; and also artist friend Sue and retired publisher Christopher, who helped publish my brother Loren's autobiography, An Asperger Journey. I couldn't do everything I wanted; time flew by.  I'll return next year, for sure!

Best was being in the downtown area, close to the Bay, on the waterfront, near museums, restaurants and shops. A dinner at The Moon, a favorite restaurant, was a special treat.  We ate out a lot, there are so many great choices and all in walking distance.  The holiday decorations along the waterfront are spectacular, and more so as the sun sets and a glorious full moon rises. The weather was perfect. The beach was wonderful.  Christopher reminded me that the heat is never far away, but I remember the winter months--December, January, February, March--the best time of the year in the Tampa Bay area. While snow and ice covered Toledo and places North, we basked in the glow of a Florida winter. No wonder those Allegiant airways flights between Toledo and St. Pete are always filled!

Now I'm back home in Sylvania, negotiating colder temperatures and snow. But I have my Florida memories to keep me warm.  And the joys of a family holiday in the wings.

California Dreamin"



Santa Rosa Sunset

Lynmar Estates Winery in Sebastopol with Suzanne: vineyards, glorious gardens, gourmet lunch.

The hills and fields of lush vineyards, golden wheat, and changing foliage with a dash of oranges and reds here and there gleamed and screamed California.  Going up and down the coast and inland from Oakland to Santa Rosa, through Berkeley and the northern San Francisco area, is stunning in October. The colors and light are as beautiful as anywhere in the world. Your soul soars with the eagles. 

At Casa de Rod  in Santa Rosa, with PCV friend and master chef Suzanne.

Jack London's Wolf House ruins, park, burial ground, walking paths.
 Yep, that's me, top middle photo, in front of a mural pointing toward the massive ruins
 in what PCV friends Ilse and Carl call my ubiquitous pose!

A statue of St. Francis welcomes us to St. Francis Winery,

 surrounded by mountains,

and full of animals there for a special blessing.

Suzanne's cooking was food for the body and the soul.  She shares the home of her friend Rod in Santa Rosa; the chef in residence he calls her.  Suz and I met in Ukraine, where she put her creativity to great use in a small town in western Ukraine while I put one foot in front of the other in far-eastern Ukraine.  The distance was vast, geographically and culturally, but it was fun to share our experiences, then and now.

She is totally at home in Santa Rosa and the Sonoma Valley, a California girl born and bred. She's lived in the North and the South, near the ocean, in the mountains, in the valleys. Lucky for me! She shared the countryside she love, the winding mountain roads, the farms and vineyards of Sonoma county and such special places as Lynmar Estates Winery in Sebastopol for a gourmet lunch with their fine house wine; Wolf House in Glen Ellen, novelist Jack London's stone mansion ruins burnt down as it was being completed, and his burial ground on the Beauty Ranch Trail; the historic town of Sonoma itself, built elegantly around a square; St. Francis Winery, which held a blessing of the animals (over 100 of them, of every variety, mostly but not only dogs).


Doris and I around her place and UC-Berkeley.

From Santa Rose we made our way down to Marin to meet friend Doris, from my old 
Toledo days, and share a delicious Thai lunch.  Then  Doris and I drove down to Berkeley, the storied  home of the University of California. It's a great college town, full of not only student housing, services and gathering places, but elegant old homes, nice walkways and gardens, lots of bookstores, shops and restaurants, some remnants of Hippie and anti-war days, and the grand white marble buildings of the University itself.  Lunch at a famous pizza place, Cheese Board Pizza Cooperative, topped off the grand tour of UC-Berkeley, all polished off with many long talks between two old friends whose bond neither time nor distance can sever.

 The historic town of Sonoma, old and new, native American, Mexican (General Vallejos was a founder), and Anglos, a beautiful natural and built environment around a central plaza, a Mexican-like square.

A small part of the grand UC-Berkeley campus, the classical library, a sculpture, statue of Mark Twain at entrance to the elegant Library reading room, and the famous Cheese Board Pizza Collective,
where we had lunch.

Cruising down the Maumee River with Steve Pollock: Outdoors Advocate

Steve Pollick with a few slides at Lourdes' Lifelong Learning program.
.

Steve Pollick may be retired from the Toledo Blade, where he was Outdoors Editor for over 30 years, but he's not retired from public life, including public education about the natural environment of Northwest Ohio and Southeastern Michigan. He knows this environment intimately; has written thousands of columns about it; and continues to explore it.

Pollick shared his love of the Maumee River Watershed on Lake Erie, at 6,600 square mile the largest of all the Great Lakes watersheds, at a talk to Lourdes University's ever-popular Lifelong Learning program on August 16, the inaugural program of the 2013/14 season.

Pollick took us along on his June 2011 canoe trip down the Maumee River from Fort Wayne to Toledo, with a slide show and talk about the natural habitat, the exuberant wildlife, the dangers, the beauty. What an adventure!

"When you're down on the river, way down from the land, the highways, farmland and bridges, you feel the wilderness."

He helped us feel it, too!  He called his talk "Beauty and the Beast."  He started with the "beasts," the current dangers to the river, mostly the spread of green algae, a thick, slimy mess, and proliferation of Asian carp, which can grow into huge feeders especially in western Lake Erie.  He followed with slides of the beauty of the river. He ended by reminding us we have a choice: Beauty, or the Beasts?


Steve Pollick photo, Sunset over the Maumee. Its beauty is in our hands,
he reminds us.

Nantucket Memories

The view from Hinckley Lane Cliff Beach.

My daughter Michelle and her four kids (ages 18, 16, 11, and almost 2), and two special friends as well, are on their way to Nantucket. They're packed into a large van overflowing with excited passengers and lots of luggage. Imagine seven people surrounded by suitcases, beach stuff and food supplies, every electronic gadget available, and tons of things for an 18-month old.  Imagine an 18-hour or more ride to Hyannis from Sylvania, due east through Ohio, Pennsylvania, New York and parts of Connecticut and Rhode Island over to Cape Cod, Massachusetts.   We used to do this every summer, plus we took along our huge Norwegian Elkhound Tryg (after Trygvie Lee, the first head of the United Nations).  Of course it's all worth it, once you get there. 

I decided not to go this year, and to plan a trip to California in the fall  to see old Toledo and Peace Corps friends.  But I'll miss Nantucket: relaxing on the ferry over from Hyannis; catching the church steeples on the horizon as we approach the island, "the Grey Lady," 30 miles out to sea.; docking in the busy harbour; driving up Cliff Road to the cottage on Hinckley Lane, passing grey shingled houses surrounded by deep blue hydrangea and wild roses. 

Last summer, July 2012.

Just thinking about it takes me back. We summered there when the kids were growing up. Vacation and family time mixed together. Still, to this day, I smell the salt air, the fresh breezes over the moors, the honeysuckle and bayberry along the lane to the beach. I hear the sound of waves crashing on the shore at Surfside and the foghorns at night.  I see the ocean from the top of the cliffs, white sails in the distance, the Jetties beach to the East, Madaket to the West.  A beautiful watercolor scene, blue and pastel, serene. I see the moon setting over the ocean, an earthly phenomenon we would rush to see after dinner, running down to the beach. 

"Nantucket's in my blood," Michelle says, "and now it's in my kids' blood, too."  She wanted to make sure of that, and she has. Nantucket memories.  They fill up your senses, live in your soul.    

Embracing Community at Asbury Grove

Gloucester, the famed fishing village where the ship in "The Perfect Storm" went to sea and never came back.
Monument to Fishermen, upper right, which is surrounded by a granite wall etched with the names of those who
 have died at sea. Sailor Stan's Cafe in the famous Rocky Neck Art Colony, and a few artists' cottages (lower right). 
 With Ilse, Carl and Bea at our  "farewell"  all-you-can-eat steak dinner at old Weathervane Tavern
 in Hamilton (lower left). "Okay," Carl called out, "hands outstretched!"

I enjoyed a slice of folksy Americana last week at Asbury Grove in Hamilton, MA, about 20 miles north of Boston.  Asbury Grove was founded by the Methodist church in 1859 as a summer camp meeting ground, part of the religious revivals that flourished around the 1850s to the turn of the 20th century. Religious groups of various denominations still "camp" at the 85-acre site, but today it is mostly a community of  privately owned rustic summer cottages for people from up and down the East coast and beyond. There's also a growing number of year-round residences.  The land is owned by the Methodist church.

Peace Corps friends Ilse and Carl invited me to their cottage in "the Grove," as it is affectionately called by the people who summer there, and I took them up on the invitation.  So did our PC friend Jud, who now lives in Washington, DC.  What a great place for a reunion of RPCVs who shared time in Ukraine!

Ilse and Carl, adventurers and world travelers, have summered at Asbury Grove for over 30 years."I fell in love with it the minute I saw it," Carl says. Over the years they've fixed up their cottage, modernized inside, added a great screened-in porch, and plan to paint the porch floor (deep aqua) and trim (eggplant purple), add "gingerbread" architectural features around the outside, and put in a garden. That cottage, in short, keeps them busy. Or, I should say it keeps Carl busy. They love it. And now their children and grandchildren do too.

Carl and Ilse's cottage

In fact many of the friends and neighbors we met on the winding paths of the Grove, all friendly and welcoming, have summered here for generations. They waved hello or stopped in for tea or wine and great conversation on every subject imaginable, politics not excluded. Roger the photographer took photos. We met other neighbors tending their gardens; admired the latest updates to a cottage; shared concerns for preserving authenticity.  We joined friends for a hearty meal at the dining hall and for a Zydeco band concert at the Tabernacle, the oldest tabernacle in America. The band called themselves the "Squeezebox Stompers," and oh boy, did they get us dancing!  Among it's tall pine trees and exuberant bright blue hydrangea, Asbury Grove also features an olympian-size pool and other recreational amenities, great for families, campers, and kids of all ages.

A precious sense of community predominates.   Fellowship, bonds of friendship, the ties that bind. It's easy to feel as if you belong, even if you are a stranger.

Residents proudly note that Asbury Grove is now listed in the National Register of Historic Places. As part of the application process, residents researched the architecture of the cottages--Victorian Gothic, Italianate, Vernacular--and the history of the community. It was a labor of love, with many volunteer hours donated.  The folks of the Grove (including Carl) continue to do research, collect records, photos and memorabilia, and work with top-notch archivists, who are also residents, to preserve and digitize their collections (I think at Boston University) for future generations.  A "wholesome" place, as Jud put it.  A community of kindred spirits, rare in this day and age.

Linda's cottage. A creative soul, a producer of plays and special events,
 she painted a spirited dragon all around it. 

On top of sharing a great community, Ilse and Carl, generous and accommodating hosts, took Jud and me to tour nearby towns along the beautiful North Cape area:  Ipswich, Halibut Point, Rockport, Newburyport, Gloucester and the Rocky Neck Art Colony, and historic sites like the Choate bridge (1764) and the General Patton house, soon to be a museum. We browsed at antique shops, souvenir stores, and various galleries; admired ocean fronts, boats, ships and lighthouses; reminisced about our PC days in Ukraine; shared fantastic meals and camaraderie.  Best of all, we savored a kinship that crosses time and space, and made many new memories.  Historic Americana all the way. A feast for the spirit, food for the soul.

Halibut Point, a beautiful site, where Carl, Ilse and friends picnic on the large granite boulders.
Powerful storms have shifted their configuration over time, an amazing phenomenon. A lovely path
leads to the rocky shore (lower right corner)
"Perhaps Loren's path," the ever-kind Jud says to me. 

On to colorful Rockport, once known for its timber (for boatmaking), fishing, and granite quarries like Halibut point.

Choate Bridge 1764 in Ipswich (upper left), then over to lovely Newburyport.  Carl on the waterfront.
Great dinner (clams, scallops and shrimp) at famed Clam Box on way back to Asbury Grove.

There's ALWAYS a line to get in. General Patton's homesite and future museum (right corner).

Egypt Emerging

ramyabdeljabbar.worppress.com on yahoo

The revolution continues.  Egypt's democracy is emerging.  But it won't be easy. It won't be easy because the Islamists won't accept the will of the people.

Morsi could have stepped up to Mandela status and listened.  He could have included more voices in his regime. He could have vetted the new constitution with people outside of the Muslim Brotherhood.  The Muslim Brotherhood could have agreed to engage in a democratic process.  Show in practice that they know what democracy means. They could have accepted other points of view, rather than talking about democracy and acting like tyrants.  Now they are inciting violence, begging for violence, killing Christians and other minorities who disagree with them, acting more like terrorists than citizens, keeping Egypt in turmoil rather than promoting a peaceful transition that the majority wants.  Really, I don't think they care about what the majority want.

Can the Islamists swallow their anger, get out of revenge mode, and step up, for the good of the whole. Have they ever done this?  We can acknowledge the critical role they played in ousting Mubarek from power, a grassroots uprising.  But did they have to install an Islamist Mubarek-type government after all that?  Did they have to turn the Arab Spring on its head? Couldn't they have been among the first Islamist government to stand for a real democracy, a secular state with separation of church and state, open and tolerant? That's the real Egypt and they know that.

I am hooked on what's happening in Egypt because I love the country and its people.  The Egyptian ambassador, Mohammed Tawfit, has told the true story: the ouster of Morsi was not a coup: it is a correction on Egypt's path to democracy begun in the Arab spring.

When Morsi was elected, hope ran high.  Tawfit and many like him suppored Morsi, hoping he would get a new democratic government on track. Now THAT would have been a revolution!  Instead, Morsi did the opposite.  When you refuse to open up the government to other than Islamist voices, when  you call for jihad, and start calling opponents "infidels,"  you are not running a democratic government.  You are imposing a totalitarian Islamist government on the majority of the people who hoped for better and want a democracy.

The Muslim Brotherhood is showing it's true colors by inciting violence and refusing to participate in a new process.  They are talking democracy and acting like extremist religious nuts.  That's the worst aspect of this whole thing: the Islamists can't seem to rise up to expectations for a tolerant democracy that includes many voices.

So Egypt remains in crisis.  We all hope the interim president can hurry up and offer new elections and begin again the promise of the Arab Spring. When it comes to the Middle East, I always say "hope springs eternal."

Egypt Erupting

Reuters/Suhaib Salem, Protestors hold Egyptian flag, 2 July 2013

"In one camp are the president and his Islamist allies, including the Muslim Brotherhood and more hard-line groups. They say street demonstrations cannot be allowed to remove a leader who won a legitimate election, and they accuse Mubarak loyalists of being behind the campaign in a bid to return to power. They have argued that for the past year remnants of the old regime have been sabotaging Morsi's attempts to deal with the nation's woes and bring reforms.

Hard-liners among them have also given the confrontation a sharply religious tone, denouncing Morsi's opponents as "enemies of God" and infidels.

On the other side is an array of secular and liberal Egyptians, moderate Muslims, Christians — and what the opposition says is a broad sector of the general public that has turned against the Islamists. They say the Islamists have negated their election mandate by trying to monopolize power, infusing government with their supporters, forcing through a constitution they largely wrote and giving religious extremists a free hand, all while failing to manage the country."  AP story on Yahoo, July 1, 2013

I'm stepping into another minefield here, but it's sad to see Egypt go from Arab Spring to Arab Winter, from hope to hopelessness, in this protest by millions of people against Islamist president Muhammed Mursi. The numbers alone are staggering, proof of the depth of the discontent.

This is how I see it now, not as any expert, but as a concerned citizen and lover of Egypt and its culture.  Mursi, of the Muslim Botherhood, won the presidency a year ago with a narrow 51% margin. It was the first free election in Egypt in decades. People cheered, but they were also cautious. I remember the interviews and stories at the time. Fear lurked just beneath the surface of the celebrations.

Why?  Because Mursi had one major agenda item: first and above all else build a secular multi-religious and multi-ethnic coalition government representative of Egypt's diversity.  Mursi himself recognized this, said so, and made promises to the people.

But Mursi not only failed to do this, he's done the opposite: consolidated Islamist rule. It's what everyone feared. In so doing, he lost the trust of the majority of Egyptians, and also that of the secular-leaning army, which continues to have enormous power.  The trust issue remains paramount.  "Egypt does not want a religious state," the army generals have said. It looks like they mean to enforce that position.

On top of Mursi's huge failure in governance, his broken promises, the Egyptian economy has gone downhill:  the value of its currency is sliding; wages remain at $2 a day when one can get work; prices for basic necessities, like bread and fuel, have gone up; access to communication, transportation, and electricity have nosedived; the misery index has skyrocketed.

But the real "tipping point"?  Mursi's open support of Syrian tyrant Assad at a recent rally, and his calls for jihad, a holy war.  (Reuters article on yahoo by Yasmine Saleh and Tom Perry, "Mursi Role at Syria rally is tipping point for Egyptian Army," June 2, 2013).

The army has kept the balance of power between hard-line Islamists and the majority of Egyptians, who long for a secular democracy with religious tolerance and separation of church and state. The army understands the will of the people.  It is more in tune with the protestors' unrest, distrust and demands than with Mursi, and it has made this known. Ongoing tyrany leads to ongoing unrest. The army may be, therefore, the only force for maintaining peace and establishing the secular state most Egyptians want.

This is how I see the situation in Egypt now.  Anything could happen.  Anything can change.   Hope springs eternal.

Travels with Franciscan Sisters

A few buildings, tile murals and mosaics on the Franciscan Sisters'
Lourdes campus. Lynda Hoffman, Lifelong Learning (lower left)
 introduces Sister Ann Carmen Barone, art teacher, artist, 
institution builder. I love the depiction of the prayer of St. Francis, 
"Lord make me an instrument of your Peace," in bright tiles (at top). 

It's been art and history week for me, in beautiful settings: A stroll through Historic Woodlawn Cemetery; a Sylvania Historical Society lecture on the Ward M. Canaday Archives at the University of Toledo, our collector's corner for history; and then a powerpoint presentation by Sister Ann Carmen Barone about the fabulous art of the Lourdes college campus created by the Franciscan Sisters, my favorite group of nuns on earth. What a cultural feast! Where am I?
 

My mind wanders.  As it does these days.  I'm strolling through a quaint Mexican town sparkling with graceful fountains, bright red and yellow flowers, intricate tile work, murals and statuary on every corner. The architecture is delightful: bell towers, graceful archways and loggias, red tiled roofs, richly tiled stairways, ceilings, walls, doors and windows. The sun shines brightly in a cobalt blue sky, bouncing off golden mosaics, blue and white decorative paintings, exquisite stonework and woodwork. The joys of travel.

Franciscan Center, side tiled panels.

But wait! I’m not abroad. I’m right here at home, in Sylvania, Ohio.  I’m on the stunning Spanish-mission style campus of Lourdes University, founded by the brilliant, talented, and peace-loving Franciscan Sisters. They came to teach, to serve, to glorify, from the 1930s to the present.  And I’m listening with almost 100 other seniors to Sister Ann Carmen Barone, who’s been here forever and witnessed the campus’ evolution, tell us about the “Art Treasures of Lourdes,” accompanied by ample photo slides. This beauty is right here in my own backyard!  

The art on this campus was inspired by the first director, the famed Sister Adelaide, a Renaissance woman par excellence. Visionary, thoughtful, compassionate, a lover of nature, music, the humanities, math and science, the world and everything in it, she inspired the growth of the campus until her death in 1964, symbolically on July 4, like our early and enlightened presidents John Adams and Thomas Jefferson. In her day and in her way, Sister Adelaide paid attention to every detail, every building, every walkway, every piece of statuary, every work of art, as Jefferson did at Monticello and the University of Virginia.

But Sister Adelaide’s model for the campus was not classical Greece or Rome, but a Spanish Franciscan mission in California. All the Sisters  who came here were motivated by and shared her vision; they made it happen, tile by tile. Sister Adelaide’s legacy lives on in a lovely natural setting enhanced by beautiful arts and crafts.  The Lourdes campus embodies her spirit, her dream for beauty in the world, for love and peace, for sharing the blessings of the creator of all things and all of us. 

Mural of tiles, front of Franciscan Center.

“It’s been a great life,” Sister Ann tells us, “to feel the energy and beauty of our campus, to share it, to ensure it radiates outward to others, to the community."

"This is our philosophy, the Franciscan philosophy."  Above all, the Franciscan sisters believe "God is love," and that it is his love that shows in every work of art on the campus, as well as in its natural beauty. 

So we traveled with Sister Ann on a virtual tour of Lourdes, from one fabulous building to another, from one beautiful piece of art to another: The Franciscan Center, the Portiuncola Shrine, Our Lady Queen of Peace Chapel, the Duns Scotus Library, the statues of St. Francis with his beloved animals, and other Spanish-style buildings replete with creative decorative features.

After the virtual tour I took an actual walk around the campus.  Always a pleasure.  Always more to see, to feel. And after Sister Ann Carmen's talk I saw more than ever.  Serenity.  Beauty.  Peace.  Love.  They filled up my senses "like a night in the forest, like a fountain in springtime." My mind wandered. The John Denver song carried me home on the wings of a dove surrounded by golden mosaics.      

Tallahassee Time

Mom-to-be with her mom, her sister, friends and family,
at baby shower;  watching Leo play soccer   (he scored two goals!);
 in Andy's garden, flowers for our mom.. The spoon and fork
Kaaren is holding up were my brother Loren's.  The middle photo
shows Jenn, Andy, and dear friends Cheryl and Linda.  

It was Tallahassee family week, and I was happy to be there with my sister Andy.  The weather was perfect, sunny and warm. The capitol of Florida glowed with flowers, greenery and color everywhere.  My sister’s garden and pots overflowed.  We celebrated the coming birth of a new child in our ever-growing, extended, and far-flung family.  My niece Kaaren is expecting her first child in July, a boy.  She came from Amsterdam, where she’s lived for some ten years, to celebrate with us.  Kaaren and her sister grew up in Tallahassee, went to college and graduate school in Florida.  Many of their friends were with us.  She and her sister are “Tallahassee Lassies, ” the southern part of our family. She is a radiant and beautiful mom-to-be.  Daddy Jeff stayed in Amsterdam, and celebrated Queen’s Day and the crowning of a new King, but his mother, aunt, brother and family joined us in Tallahassee, which was special. Andy hosted a barbeque dinner and Ali hosted a beautiful baby shower the next day, full of her creative touches.  Kaaren believes her uncle Loren is celebrating this coming birth with us.  “He’s my angel, and also nana and grandpa.,” she says.  Andy believes it. I want to believe it, too.

Spring and new birth: Nothing brings family and friends together like awaiting a new child.  It was a joyous week in Tallahassee, the place where springtime comes to America.  

Bliss: Blissfield Railroad Days with Phillip

Riding the rails on the Adrian & Blissfield line,  with Elissa and Philip.
We passed old trains, vintage & colorful, shops, a park, a building
featuring Michelangelo's "hands touching." went over a bridge, enjoyed the
 scenery.  Then we had lunch, walked around town. One storefront features
a large Zebra that drew us in.  Elissa looks fashionable in large glasses 
and white hat, always adored by her favorite person in the whole world! 

Blissfield, Michigan, is just a few miles up the road from Sylvania, so on Sunday Elissa, Philip and I took a ride up through farmland to the annual Blissfield Railroad Days.  It was a cool but sunny day, fluffy clouds dancing in a blue sky that caught Philip's attention.  The farms looked wet (we've had lots of rain this spring) and slowly greening;  a few cows were grazing, a few horses; the old red barns looked pretty on the horizon, one graced by bright yellow daffodils.We live in the city, and we're city folks, but in 10 minutes we can be in the country, enjoying the far-flung flat farm fields and quiet beauty. Blissfield is a neat little town, once a bustling railroad stop connecting Toledo, Elkhart, Indiana, and Chicago. There are so many towns like this in the Great Lakes Basin, as I now call it since that lecture at Lourdes about the National Great Lakes Museum.  Blissfield also has lots of intact historic buildings in and around its downtown, dating back to before the Civil War and into the 20th century.  The railroad still runs, both freight and passenger trains, although nowadays it's mostly known for its excursion and dinner trains.  Railroad Days brings in lots of people, to ride the trains, eat, explore, and shop. Antique malls entice visitors. We began at The Packrat. As friends have posted on facebook, the name "Packrat" has Elissa written all over it!  I think Philip might be following in his Gran E's footsteps, because he ooh'ed and ah'ed in every shop, and selected and bought three fabulous little toys.  We followed our energetic and enthusiastic shopper all over town.

Of course the best thing was taking a train ride on the old Blissfield and Adrian line, Philip's first but not his last, that's for sure.  We went a short distance between Blissfield's two train depots.  Local model train collectors opened their homes for visits, but we got engrossed in the antique shops and whatever model trains they had running, until it was time to head home.

"Blissfield's rich railroad history comes to life in this annual event,"  the event organizers proclaim. It did for Elissa, Philip and me. We'll go back next year, and take in more of those model train displays.

How could we resist this store!

Detroit Institute of Art

One segment of  Diego Rivera's huge mural, "Detroit Workers," so representative
of the times. www.dia.org.

A group of seniors from Lourdes University's Lifelong Learning program took a bus to Detroit last week to visit the Detroit Institute of Art. The   group was lively, curious and enthusiastic, which made the trip lots of fun, even though we had to go back to the museum on the way home. “Oh no, I forgot my coat,” we heard over the din. No problem.  We understood.  It could have happened to any of us. Heck, I had forgotten my camera, of all things.

DIA exterior, at dia.org

Great Hall, dia.org

The Art Institute is a great institution in the heart of the city.  Wayne State University is a few blocks over; the Science Museum, a huge Medical complex, and City Hall nearby. Detroit’s  been hard hit by the ups and downs of the economy, unemployment, the recession, so we cheered any signs of resurgence, led by our bus driver Dennis, who it turned out is from Detroit and shared his love of his city with us. Restoration of historic downtown buildings and a re-design of the famed Cobo arena are a few examples.

The museum itself, started in 1895, is a beautiful Beaux Arts building that has added wings and had lots of upgrades over the years.  It's noted for its fantastic mural by Diego Rivera, done in the 1930s.  The mural room has been cleared of fountains, a large skylight added, and the mural cleaned.  It’s as compelling and strong as I remembered it when I first saw it, over 20 years ago, a tribute to Detroit workers, and to workers everywhere..

Famous Durer etching, "The Hands,"
 at www.albrechtdurer.org (not in
collection we saw, but representative.)
. 

We also had a private peek at an Albrecht Durer (1471-1528) collection, led by an informed curator who told us about his life and art.  Durer was born in Nuremberg, traveled around Europe, and was quite an entreprenuerial businessman as well as a great artist. The engravings and woodcarvings portrayed both religious and secular themes; they looked just as they did when they were created in the early 1500s, some of the best works of  the Northern Renaissance. 

The other parts of the museum are fascinating, too: We wandered through many of the galleries, the African, Islamic, European and  Contemporary collections.  A docent-led tour after lunch gave more information about what we were seeing, especially of contemporary sculptures and paintings by African-American artists. We could only touch the surface of this great museum, which is known for its diversity and its multicultural and multinational collections.

I am again reminded that cultural gems like the Detroit Institute of Art are everywhere, near and far, and close to home!  

Teaching About Ukraine

Chernobyl upper left, flag and Jud's sunflower, me in Ukraine;
Ukraine in gold on map. in Laura's class, gift of a t-shirt
 "I love WSU" in Russian. 

It’s easy to focus on Chernobyl when talking about Ukraine.  It was the worst nuclear disaster in history, a reactor #4 melting down and exploding on 26 April 1986, 26 years ago, sending radioactive particles and plumes of hazardous materials into the atmosphere and onto the land.  The deadly fallout blanketed areas of Northern Ukraine, Belarus (which got the worst of it), and Russia, as well as northern Europe and most likely beyond. The planned Soviet industrial town of Pripyat, near the Nuclear Power Plant, and towns around it, were evacuated, over 250,000 people directly exposed, dispersed, displaced, relocated.  The environment suffered catastrophic contamination, above and below ground, in forests and rivers, on farms, in towns and cities. The clean-up crews, involving thousands of workers, faced horrible contamination. Health hazards, many forms of illness and cancers, continue to grow; long-term effects are still being studied.    

At the time of the disaster, Ukraine was officially a part of the Soviet Union, which was responsible for the Nuclear Power Plant.

Five years later, the Soviet Union broke up, an event almost as explosive as Chernobyl.  In 1991, Ukraine, along with Belarus and fourteen other Soviet republics, became independent nations.  The fallout from Chernobyl continued, a legacy of Soviet secrecy and ineptitude in safeguarding its nuclear plant.  

Chernobyl is just one tragic chapter in the history of Ukraine, a history that encompasses one disaster after another: foreign occupations; Stalin's enforced collectivization of farms and brutal famine of the 1930s (the Holodomir); the horrors of war and especially World War II, its ripple effects felt to this day; efforts to obliterate the culture; economic, political and social catastrophes.  Chernobyl is the tip of the iceberg, so to speak.

The divide between the Eastern and Western parts of the country reflects this conflicted history. East of the Dnieper River, which runs through the country like our Mississippi, people speak Russian; in the west, Ukrainian.  In the East, people retain strong ties to Russia; in the West to Europe.  Nationalism flourishes in the West, which long and violently at times opposed Soviet rule.  Divided loyalties characterize eastern Ukraine.  

Still, in the East and the West, there is a growing awareness of a Ukrainian national identity built on shared cultural traditions.  This is the basis for hope. 

The Ukraine I experienced from 2009-2011 was in the throes of the transition to becoming a self-governing and united nation. That’s how I learned about the resilience of the people, their struggles for survival, their dreams for their children and the future of their country. Injustice, inequality, lack of jobs and opportunities, economic hardship, and a huge gap between the wealthy oligarchs and the rest of the people dominate life.  Rampant government corruption and lack of transparency, at all levels, bring despair, as well as grassroots efforts at reform.  It's a daily grind, but change is happening.  Trust is hard to gain; gloom and pessimism are never far from the surface; painful memories mar the present.  Yet hope springs eternal. 

In this spirit I said yes when Laura Kline, a professor of Russian language and literature at Wayne State University in Detroit and long-time friend of my daughter Elissa since their high school days, asked me to give a talk to her class about the Peace Corps and my experience in Ukraine. 

“The focus will be on Chernobyl,” Laura told me, commemorating the upcoming 26th anniversary. “You’ll come at the end, to give us a more positive view of Ukraine beyond Chernobyl, and to cheer us up.”    

Laura in her usual fashion organized a wonderful class attended by over 50 students and some visitors. First we heard from a native Ukrainian and teacher of the Ukrainian language, Natalia, who talked about the origins and development of Ukraine.  She took us back to Kievan Rus in the 10^th century and up through the horrors of World War II.

Next came Steven Andre, a young man who had been on two trips to Chernobyl, now a tourism destination.  Yes, that's right: a tourism attraction and much-needed economic generator (google it for more information and to plan a visit).  We saw a video of the site, "The Exclusion Zone," and the ghost town of Pripyat, a haunting still-life of a 1960s Soviet town, with lots of photos, sad, hard to take.  The aftermath, the hardship, the personal stories are heart-wrenching.  

Jim Tucker, a professor of Biological Science at Wayne State, talked about the causes and effects of the Chernobyl explosions, fact and fiction. “Chernobyl was not an accident.”  It was caused by human error, by the “flawed design of the reactor” operated by inadequately trained staff, and by an "experiment" to cut costs and find cheaper ways to operate the plant.  An experiment gone wrong.  It led to nuclear disaster, the full effects of which are not yet fully known; monitoring and scientific studies continue. He reminded us that the Soviet government kept the disaster a secret for two days, a horrifying 48 hours, and then was forced to tell about it after experts in Sweden detected unnaturally high levels of radiation in the atmosphere.  

These were tough acts to follow.  My main message was that while the Chernobyl tragedy has become synonymous with Ukraine, it is not the whole story. It does not reflect the complex history and nature of this rich land, once "the breadbasket of Europe,"
the stories and struggles of its people, their hopes and dreams.  

I talked about the Peace Corps first, its history and purpose, and then shared my experience as a volunteer in Ukraine who came to understand the culture, experience its art, music and folklife, love its churches and architecture, its parks and playgrounds with their ubiquitous larger-than-life statues of Lenin or Stalin and colorful Ferris wheels marking the landscape. I liked the statues of Taras Schevchenko, a beloved Ukrainian poet, that were popular in the East.  I grew to love the people, their warmth, hard work, kitchen gardens and food preparation, their hospitality and, in private, with family and friends, a great gusto for life.  

I learned as I went, I explained, one day at a time, developing relationships and integrating into my village of Starobelsk in far-eastern Ukraine.  I talked about the role that NGOs, non-governmental organizations, are playing in bringing change from the bottom up, and the projects I worked on: the English Club, getting English language books and computers for the Library, working with kids at a summer camp, and the "Know Your Rights" campaign.  

I spoke about the good people who came to accept the optimistic “Amerikanka” in their midst and make this stranger from America a part of their lives.  I stopped just short of jumping on a desk and shouting "Viva Ukraine!"  

“Perfect!” Laura said afterwards, with a big smile on her face. “Just what I wanted, to end on a positive, upbeat note!” Laura was happy, and I was glad. Teaching about Ukraine is a challenge, and Laura understands that; I appreciate her knowledge and insight.  Now I hope her students do, too.  

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Below is a blog I wrote about Ukraine in transition, "in the process of becoming."  Being on the ground in Ukraine, witnesses to this transformation, afforded a unique look at a historical phenomenon from the ground up.  It was sometimes frustrating, sometimes humorous, always fascinating. 

SATURDAY, AUGUST 28, 2010

Ukraine-Time

Photo of Salvadore Dali's melting watches, "Persistence of Memory," by Joelk75 (Flickr photo)

When some of my fellow PCVs get frustrated at what looks like resistance to planning and change, the slow pace of getting things done, the low regard for schedules and time discipline, the poor quality of service even at train and bus stations, stores and hotels, I try to explain the difficult transition that Ukraine is now undergoing. I say that Ukraine is" in the process of becoming," a transition to a new model of democracy, caught between two worlds, the old and the new, the pre-industrial and the post-industrial. It's a matter of time, but the process itself is fascinating. It's a historical phenomenon.

"Historical phenomenon?" Yes, that's what it is, I reply. The little group of young PCVs chuckles .

"That's great, Fran. I'll remember that the next time I try to buy a train ticket and disturb the cashier."

"Yeah, me, too, the next time I'm alone in the office waiting for a meeting that never takes place!"

Well, remember it when you get back to America, I respond. You are witnesses to this transformation; you have a unique perspective. And if you are thinking of graduate school, you have all the material you need for a dissertation, just by having lived in post-Soviet Ukraine for two plus years.

"I''ll keep that in mind, Fran, but right now I have to get ready for a big meeting tomorrow. My counterpart just told me about it, and asked me to give a talk, in Russian."

Learning about the Crimean Tatars

My friend Barbara Wieser has served as a Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV) in Crimea, Ukraine, for over four years. She's from Minnesota, owned a book store, is a book lover, dedicated environmentalist, and indefatiguable hiker.  She was part of our Ukraine Group 36, which trained, and bonded, in Chernigov. She, Jud and I were a trio, surrounded by lots of dear friends. We walked all over the town; visited the fabulous churches, museums, and historic sites; went for a beer or "debrief" after long sessions on Ukrainian culture; shopped at the markets; and Barb and I did a special literature project at the Chernigov Biblioteca, comparing an American and a Ukrainian author.  After almost 3 months of training, Peace Corps assigned us to our sites all over Ukraine.  I went East, far east; Jud and others went North; Suz and others West; Ilse and Carl South to Odessa and others to various towns and cities in between; and Barb to Crimea.  Most of us are home now, but Barb re-upped after her first two years of working with the Crimean Tatar community in Simferopol.  She's been a trooper, a warrior for peaceful relations.  She's now a citizen of the world.

She is also our teacher about Crimea, the land, geography, the towns, the beauty and culture, and especially the Crimean Tatars  Many of us have visited in her city and at her work site, the Ismail Gasprinsky Crimean Tatar Library, and enjoyed hikes and excursions around Crimea.  I had a memorable trip from Simferopol to Bachysaray,  Yevpretoria, and Yalta  on the Black Sea (famous site of the World War II conference between Roosevelt, Stalin, and Churchill). Breathtakingly beautiful, and so rich in history.  Barb has hiked the mountains and forests, and explored every nook and cranny.

She has become an important part of the Tatar community, developing strong friendships and relationships, helping computerize and modernize the library, increasing its outreach, learning the people's history and struggles, and supporting their contemporary role in rebuilding the community from which they were once forcibly exiled by Stalin. The Tatar people have returned to Crimea, their homeland, after more than 30 years.  It's a harrowing story, of a community brutally demolished, lives shattered, families separated.  It's also a story of courage, the persistence of traditions, and achievement against the odds. The struggle continues.

So many of us have learned about this story of forced exile and return through Barb, and about the Gasprinsky Library, where she has made enormous contributions. The Library's goal is to preserve the memorabilia, artifacts, newspapers, traditions and stories of the Crimean Tatar people, to keep the memories alive, to remember the past so as to shape the future.   Barb has wholeheartedly shared and advanced this goal.

Below is one of her many blogs about the Library, this one focused on its founder, Ismail Gasprinsky, a brilliant and thoughtful man ahead of his times, as Barb tells us.  He reminds me of the Islamic poet Rumi, a man of depth, a source of wisdom.  I was moved by his life and purpose when I visited the Library.  I hope you will be, too.

Crimean Tatar Gasprinskiy Library

This blog is written by a Peace Corps Volunteer assigned to the Crimean Tatar Gasprinskiy Library in Simferopol, Ukraine. The views expressed are my own and do not reflect the views of the Peace Corps or any other organization.

 

TUESDAY, APRIL 9, 2013

Ismail Gasprinskiy--a feminist

Ismail Gasprinskiy in his office in Bakchiseray.

Recently, as they do every year, the library celebrated the anniversary of the birth of Ismail Gasprinskiy (March 21, 1851). The day began with a ceremony of tributes at the Gasprinskiy monument located on the Salgir River in the center of Simferopol. A two-hour seminar on Gasprinskiy’s life and work was held at the Franco Library, and on the following day, a celebration was held in the nearby city of Bakchiseray, where Gasprinskiy lived for most of his life and where he is buried.

The festivities made me think once again about this remarkable man and how so little is known of him in the western world. And perhaps because I am currently showing the recent PBS special on the history of the American women’s movement to students at the Window on America Center in Simferopol, I also thought about Gasprinskiy’s views on women and how he truly is someone we would call a “feminist.” 

At a time when women were almost universally seen as inferior to men, particularly in the Muslim world, Gasprinskiy had the courage to speak out, demanding to be heard on the importance of changing the attitude towards and treatment of women. In the pages of his newspaper Terdjiman which he published from 1887 until his death in 1914, Gasprinskiy criticized the practice of polygamy and arranged marriages and divorce being a prerogative for men only. Edward Lazzerini, the foremost western scholar on Ismail Gasprinskiy, writes that “Gasprinskii insisted that ‘evolution in the marriage laws’ had become a necessity” and Gasprinskii felt that “what was needed…was a regularization of the laws so that men would no longer be able to repudiate their wives arbitrarily, and women would be permitted to divorce their husband for just cause.”

His own marriage to Bibi-Zuhre hanim Akchurina seemed to have been a partnership in the modern sense: “the union of two determined young people who valued the role education could play in the enlightenment of the Muslims of the Russian empire and who were ready to dedicate their energies to achieve this goal,” writes Azade-Ayse Rorlich, translator and editor of the only book of Gasprinskiy’s writings available in English.  Zuhre hanim played a vital role in the publication of Ismail Gasprinskiy’s renowned newspaper, Terdjiman, according to Rorlich:   “Even though her name did not appear in the paper… Terjuman would have neither become a reality, nor endured, had it not been for the material and moral support of his wife Zuhre, as well as for her very real contribution to running the paper.”

Perhaps what Gasprinskiy is most known for is his belief in the importance of the education of Muslim women. In his words: “Whoever loves his own people and wishes it a great future, must concern himself with the enlightenment and education for women, restore freedom and independence to them, and give wide scope to the development of their mind and capabilities.”

He was quick to publicize any evidence of attempts to improve education for Muslim women, such as the opening of schools especially for girls. In Bakchiseray, his sister opened the first school for girls of the new method schools (Gasprinskiy’s modernization of Muslim education which was widespread across the Russian empire). With his daughter Sefika, Gasprinskiy started the first magazine devoted to Muslim women. And in his fiction writings, he often created strong women characters that embodied his ideas of modern women, in the belief that his writings would “inspire the real-life Muslim woman to utilize fully her capabilities as a human being, and real-life Muslim society to permit her the opportunity to do so.” (Lazzerini)

It was in such writing that I came to see how well Gasprinskiy understood the role of society in keeping women oppressed. French and American Letters, the only collection of Gasprinskiy’s writings available in an English translation, are excerpts from a fictional travelogue that he serialized in Terdjiman. It follows the adventures of a Muslim man from Central Asia and his travels to France and Africa, and at least some of the writing is loosely based on Gasprinskiy’s own life.

But the last letters are pure fantasy and recount his and his travelling companions’ capture by a band of “Amazons” in Africa. In this Amazon society, gender roles are reversed—men are sexual slaves, women are rulers and warriors. There is much discussion among the men about this reversal of roles and titillating humor when one of the captured men is summoned into the “harem” of the Amazon sultana. In the end, the men escape but not before doing fierce battle with the Amazons. Gasprinskiy writes:

“The amazons flew toward our improvised fortification with extraordinary speed and courage…the Frenchmen…marveled at the spirit and courage of these desert riders.  The life and courage of these amazons… clearly proved that education and world views could endow women with much courage, strength, and fortitude…It became clear that in other countries women were fearful, weak, had a delicate nature, frail nerves and no will of their own, not because that is how it should be, but because their education, world view, and those life conditions which had shaped them over time, had made them what they were. “

Truly, Ismail Gasprinskiy was a man far ahead of his time. His radical view that women are equal to men and it is society that is holding them back would resonate today and earn him the label of “feminist.”

The information for this blog post came from these sources:

Gasprali, Ismail. French and African Letters, Annotated Translation and Introduction by Azade-Ayse Rorlich, Istanbul: The Isis Press. 2008

Lazzerini, Edward. “Ismail Bey Gasprinskii and Muslim Modernism in Russia, 1871-1914,” unpublished dissertation, University of Washington, 1973.

Fisher, Alan. "A Model Leader for Asia. Ismail Gaspirali."  In The Tatars of Crimea: Return to the Homeland, ed. Edward A. Allworth, Duke University Press, 1998.

Note: There are many different spellings of Gasprinskiy, based on the translation of the original language—T