THE PLAY'S THE THING...

...that takes us to Ashland, Oregon for the Oregon Shakespeare Festival at least twice every year. This year we've purchased tickets for every production - all 12.  We just returned home from a long weekend during which we saw 4 productions; what a good time!

The 300 mile drive down Interstate 5 (I-5) from Portland to Ashland typically takes us 4-1/2 hours. Some people we know think it's a boring ride, but we beg to differ. The drive south up the Willamette Valley between Portland and Eugene, especially during this time of year, is mostly emerald green pastures, many with sheep and new lambs, areas of standing water, red-tailed hawks sitting on fence posts and poles watching for mice, and patches of scrubby woodland. The valley towns are clearly separated from these agricultural lands, thanks to the Oregon land use laws that prohibit urban sprawl. On a clear day, the valley is framed on both sides by the Coast Range and Cascade Mountains.

South of Eugene the highway leaves the valley and enters the foothills of the western Cascade Mountains, running through hills and valleys. After the city of Roseburg, we climb into the ancient Klamath Mountains, traversing a few passes each at about 2,000 feet elevation. The road cut shows beautiful displays of old rocks, some from an ancient sea floor, others more recent volcanic flows or sediments. We finally enter a high plateau where Medford and then Ashland come into view.

OSF Elizabethan Theater from the Lithia Park lower duck pond

The Oregon Shakespeare Festival was founded in 1935. They now produce a lot more than the plays by William Shakespeare, but the works of the Bard remain the cornerstone of every season.  We were privileged to be members of the audience for four productions during opening week.

Animal Crackers is a stage production of the Marx Brothers movie of the same title. Groucho was there, we think being channeled by an actor who was obviously having as much fun as the rest of us. His ad libs, especially when he caught other actors flubbing (we saw a final preview), were spot on and hilarious. Add to this Chico and Harpo, and a throng of silly wealthy folks (the 1%?), and it's a laugh a minute. This is a production that, in addition to having historic value, is guaranteed to make your smile and laugh muscles ache for days.

How about some Chekhov? The OSF production of Seagull is excellent. Oh, what miserable people inhabit this play! Why can't these characters see themselves and change their expectations and behaviors? They are so self-absorbed in their own brands of misery that they fail to see the needs of those around them. Not a pretty picture of humanity, but a compelling production to see.

The White Snake is an old Chinese fable brilliantly re-told on the OSF stage. I would see this production again just for the staging; the set, lighting, costuming, props and sound are magical, which makes sense because the story is about magic. The directing and acting bring this old story to new life, and although it is set in an earlier time, the messages are very relevant today. A very old and magical white snake decides to visit the world of humans and transforms herself (and her servant the green snake) into human form. She meets, falls in love with, and marries a man. A powerful priest, himself a man of magic, gets wise to her transformation and vows to destroy her. At one point the priest says, basically, that marriage cannot be between one man and one snake - now where have I heard a line like that before? This is a magical production; don't miss it.

And then there is Master Shakespeare. I can't say how many times I've seen a production of Romeo and Juliet; and I must admit to a bit of trepidation that I would be sitting through yet another one.  But true to form, OSF rarely disappoints, it grabbed and held me for almost three hours! The play is set in 1840's Alta California following the victorious grab by the United States of territories belonging to Mexico. US flags and soldiers mix with Spanish-Mexican ranching culture as the simmering conflict between two great families grinds up their young. The star-crossed lovers are, well, young and naive; but love is love, and teenage love is something else altogether. The two lovers are very believable characters who keep us focused on the simple question that the adults can't seem to comprehend, while all around them the adults and testosterone-filled boys wound and kill each other with words, gestures and sharp objects. Old Will certainly wrote a timeless tale, and OSF tells it brilliantly.

And so we're back home in Portland, with many memories of time and place and people imagined. For us, Ashland is a kind of home away from home. It's a small, friendly and very beautiful town that is perfect for walking, enjoying a variety of restaurants, browsing shops and galleries filled with interesting things, and just being. One of our favorite places to walk, sit, watch and listen is Lithia Park, through which Ashland Creek flows. We've spent many hours in this beautiful park, and never tire of it. (I've posted some photos from the park on my photo site.) Add to that the magic of live theater and, well, life is good!

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THE BOYS HAVE LANDED

The boys: Max, Joe and Opa (that's me) were dropped off at PDX on Monday morning for the trip to Chicago. Grandma (that's Sherry) was already there for a high school reunion (I'm not saying what year). The flight was on time, until a few minutes after we arrived, at which point it was delayed 2 hours because of weather in Chicago. But they managed to get a departure slot a bit earlier, and at about 6PM Chicago time, the boys had landed!

First stop, after dropping our bags at the hotel, was Pizzeria Due for the famous Chicago deep-dish pizza! We met cousins Jake, Jan and Isaac Bloom there (which is becoming a tradition) and shared drinks, salads and pizza.



The first bite, below, and Max and Joe both pledged their allegiance to the best pizza they've ever had. And the plate-size chocolate chip cookie covered in chocolate sauce and whipped cream wasn't bad, either.


Bed was a welcomed sight for this grandpa at the end of day one in Chicago.

- posted from the fisheyepad

Location:Chicago

Chicago Bound

The two 12-year old boys are sitting on the floor at the gate playing blackjack. No money is exchanging hands, I hope.

And so begins a week-long adventure in the Windy City (our flight is slightly delayed due to weather, and Sherry, who is already in Chicago, just texted that there have been 80 mph winds associated with thundstorms - windy is correct). Actually, it should more properly be called the Hot and Humid City: its now 76 degrees (headed for the 90's) and 83% humidity. Oy. This is one reason I was happy to leave my childhood home.

This will be a week of fun, Chicago pizza, More fun, Chicago hot dogs, more fun, and Chicago Italian beef sandwiches. Fun and food, what could be better?


- posted from the fisheyepad

Location:PDX

A VERY POLITE MAN JUST TOUCHED MY JUNK...

...and yet another small pocket knife was confiscated! Damn.

The act of traveling used to be fun. Now, getting to a destination and back is one of the most aggravating experiences imaginable. If you travel, you know what I'm talking about. So here we are at San Francisco International Airport (SFO), and I'm writing about yet another airport experience.

Everything was going swimmingly at SFO until we got to security. As I emptied my pockets, I realized that I forgot to put my small Swiss Army Knife in my checked bag. This is the small knife that I bought last year to replace the one that was confiscated in Dublin, Ireland. That one had traveled with me, in my pocket, throughout the world ever since the TSA decid that small scissors and nail files were OK on airplanes. The small knife had each of those, but I had removed the small knife blade with a hack saw. At every airport I went through since, I opened the knife and scissors, and told a security person that the knife blade had been removed. Good to go. But not in Dublin, where I was told that small scissors were not allowed on airplanes. I asked to talk to a supervisor, who confirmed that at Dublin airport, that is the rule.

So I bought a new one when we got home to Portland. I just lost that one. The funny thing is this: the blade part of my car key is the same size as the knife blade. And every time we travel business or first class, we get full-size silverware with our meals, including knives. I just don't get it.

The TSA staff were very nice and apologetic. They said that there is a place in SFO that will mail it to my home for $15. Nice, but the knife cost me $15, so I might as well go get a new one.

Part two at SFO. I was selected out of line after putting all my stuff on the conveyor belt scanner gizmoand directed towards a big machine. I asked, and was informed that it is a full-body scanner. I asked what my options were, and was told that I could opt out and get a pat down. OK, pat dowhere we come.

A very polite young man explained to me, as he pulled on his clean blue plastic gloves, what the procedure is, and where he would touch me. OK, says I, lets do it. And he did. It was very thorough, and to tell the truth, I've paid a lot more for a massage. And guess what? Nothing hidden in my crotch!

This whole experience is what we call "security theater." Do I feel safer because someone felt me? No. Do I feel safer because people can't take a small Swiss Army knife on the plane? No. If I had the intention, I could do a lot of damage to a person with my car key or a ball point pen, both of which I have with me as I wait to board the airplane.

I'm not grumpy this time, because I decided not to let it bother me, and I can now say that I've had the TSA pat down. But if I was in a hurry, or it was crowded and tense, or I was tired and cranky, I'd be a lot more than mildly amused at the ridiculousness of it all.

Oh how I long for the good old days when getting there and back was a lot of fun!


- posted from the fisheyepad

Location:San Francisco International Airport

I went to Europe and all I got was Blind in One Eye

I previously posted about the eye problem I had on the recent trip to Europe. For those who are interested, I'll provide an update here; those who are not interested can stop reading, and my feelings will not be hurt.

Upon returning home to Portland, I went to a retina specialist. He could not directly observe my retina because of the amount of blood inside the eye. He did ultra sound on the eye and was concerned about an elevation of the retina and blood under the retina. He scheduled a vitrectomy to remove the bloody vitreous (the gel-like substance inside rhe eyeball). Here's a description of that procedure from the Lions Club:
...
Vitrectomy is the surgical removal of the vitreous gel from the middle of the eye. It may be done when there is a retinal detachment, since removing the vitreous gel gives the surgeon better access to the back of the eye. The vitreous gel may also be removed if blood in the vitreous gel (vitreous hemorrhage) does not clear on its own.

During a vitrectomy, small instruments are inserted into the eye and the vitreous gel is cut and suctioned out. After the vitreous gel has been removed, the surgeon may treat the retina with a laser (photocoagulation), cut or remove fibrous or scar tissue from the retina, flatten areas where the retina has become detached, or repair tears or holes in the retina or macula.

At the end of the surgery, silicone oil or a gas (perfluropropane) is injected into the eye to replace the vitreous gel and restore normal pressure in the eye.


...
My surgeon found a lot of blood behind one part of the retina, so he had to poke a hole in the retina and remove the blood, then "weld" the hole with a laser. The final step was to fill the eye with silicon oil to maintain pressure on the retina until it is completely healed. At some undetermined time in the future, I will need to go in for another surgery to remove the silicon oil, this could be months from now.

There is a risk that scar tissue will form on the retina and affect my vision; only time will tell.

The surgery was yesterday, and I have some vision in the "bad" eye that will continue to improve. As you can guess, I'm able to use the computer, read the paper, etc.

By the way, the hemmorage was related to macular degeneration in my eye.

So here's looking at you - with two eyes!

- posted from the fisheyepad

Location:Portland, Oregon USA

My Father's Hat

My father wore hats, as did most men of his generation. Not baseball caps, although in his later years he had some of those, but shaped felt hats like the one I'm wearing in the above photo. I, too, wear hats, including some very nice shaped felt fedoras.

I decided to take a men's hat with me on this trip to Europe. We had plans to attend cultural events where we would dress up (we went to a concert in Prague and a ballet in Vienna). The hat I'm wearing in the above photo, taken by Eric on a tram in Vienna after the ballet, belonged to my dad, Morris Milton Fishman. I've had it since he died in 1986. Inside the leather hat band are the labels: Champ "Feel the Felt," and Club Men's Shop 551 E. 47th Street Chicago, and KASMI'R finish. There used to be a small feather decoration in the band; I think it's in the bottom of the old cardboard hat box I have from my dad's things.

Morrie Fishman was a man of broken dreams and many fears. He had big dreams and ambitions when he was young. He was a man with a singing and speaking voice of silk, and got a job as a radio announcer on WCFL, "the Voice of Labor in Chicago" operated by the AFL/CIO. He was summarily fired one day when the Manager discovered that Milton Morris (dad's radio name) was a Jew. I don't think Morrie ever recovered from that, and he spent most of his working life after that selling shoes and men's clothes.

But family was his anchor, even after he and mom divorced when I was about 8. When my brothers and I were kids, after the divorce, Morrie lived in a small residential hotel near our house, and we saw him every weekend. He taught us each to drive his car, a 1953 Hudson, and let us use his Nash Rambler when we were old enough.

As he aged, dads fears and nervousness increased. He could not handle height, so he never flew on an airplane. He could not drive on a freeway, making it very difficult to cover his territory around Chicago as a shoe manufacturer's representative. Despite these limitations, I think he enjoyed many things, including his many roles in community theater (I found out from a friend of his that the had terrible stage fright, but forced himself to get on stage because it was such a basic part of who he was).

I don't think dad ever traveled much, certainly not out of the country. He was born, lived and died in Chicago. He did visit us a few times after we moved to California, taking the train from Chicago.

And now, at the end of our trip, I've realized that one of the reasons I took this particular hat with me was to include dad in a trip overseas. If he could have overcome his fears, he would have enjoyed Prague and Vienna, and maybe even southern France, especially the food and the beautiful women!

So dad, Morrie, hat's off to you. I hope you enjoyed the trip.




- posted from the fisheyepad

Location:Dulles International Airport

Ordering gluten free on Air France

Never, when flying Business Class or better, order any special diet.  I am not writing this to single out this airline; my experience could happen on any airline.

On this flight the regular menu for the meal in this ticket class began with an amuse bouche: it was foie gras and small rolled rosemary crackers stuffed with mozzarella. A cloth napkin and real dishes came with the quite elegant meal. The entree (appetizer) was shrimp with roasted zucchini and peppers, a duck and beet risotto and baby spinach served with a tiny sweet little bottle of olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

Preceding this was champagne; wines of Provencal offered along with other beverages for the meal were all served in real glasses. Then came the main course selections: veal osso bucco, a fish dish with basmatti rice in a wonderful sauce along with spinach, and there was also a chicken coconut curry with rice. The lovely crusty rolls were the only thing with gluten.

Dessert was also marvelous for the gluten free diet: sorbets, ice cream, fresh fruit; and I forgot to mention the cheese course: camembert or comte.

So here was my gluten-free special diet tray: plastic everything to eat from, rice crackers, vanilla soy yoghurt, some weird salad of shredded carrots with either chicken or tuna (I never tasted it, because the wonderful guy I married shared his regular meal with me).

The flight attendants brought me the coach meal of fish and rice in a plastic tray of course and gave me dessert. I was also given the foie gras and Paul had grapes and a clementine to share with me.  I know that a special diet order usually necessitates one size fits all, so the trays for gluten-free/kosher/halal/vegetarian/vegan/dairy-free/no cholesterol are pre-prepared, one-size-fits-all horrid.

Not blaming the airlines, just saying.... Order the elegant delicious food and pick out what you can eat when in business/first class.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Above the clouds