Holiday Folk Fair 2010 in Milwaukee : Folk Dancing

This was the first picture I took, thinking that the night setting on my camera might work well as I was sitting in the back of the arena in the dark. It made the dancers a blur, so I switched to the action shot setting with much better results. It does give you a good idea that dance is about motion, and how difficult it is to capture it in a single frame.


The Mid-East Dancers. Yes, they were belly-dancing. ;-)


The Russians.


The Bulgarians (from the back).


The Bulgarians (from the front).


The Pomeranians. They are clapping with their shoes on their hands. And yes, they are dancing in front a huge American flag. This is what being an American means to me, where all these cultures come together.



The Thai.


The African-Americans. These are definitely action shots! These girls can move!


The African-Americans (again).


The Serbians.


The Serbians.


The Irish.


The Ukranians are always a huge crowd-pleaser. You never seen any old guys doing this dance!


The Ukranians!


The Ukranians.


The Poles (from Krakow). The beauty of folk-dancing is that you don't have to be some skinny little bean pole. Big girls can do it too! Anyone who is interested can be part of it!


Latvians (These could be Lithuanian, too. I always get them mixed up. My apologies if I've labled it wrong.)


I am in awe of these costumes. The skirts are woven beauties!


The Poles (Syrena)


Another action shot of these whirling skirts and flying colors!


The Croatians.


Croatian Dancer from the back.


Croatian Dancers. At the Serbian stand, CL saw and heard a Croatian lady talking with a Serbian. It just brings tears to my eyes -- they would be fighting each other, hating each other in the old country. Here in Milwaukee, WI (of all places!), they are both "Balkans." They laugh together, eat together, and dance together.


The Italians. This is another wonderful "happy" dance that brings tears to my eyes.

Action shot of the Italians banging their tambourines.


The Greeks. Note the handkerchiefs.


The Bavarians. I have to say, I consider this dance cruel and unusual for the ladies. They have to spin and spin and spin in one place while the men are off doing manly knee-slapping and clapping. Then they dance together for a while, then it's back to the spinning and spinning.


The Scotts - of course they are one of my favorites! There is no such thing as a quite bag pipe!


Action shot of Scottish kilts flying high.


Schnitzl from Bavaria. (Aka pork loin sandwich, good with mustard and a pickle.)


Rakviki (little coffins) from the Czech Pastry Stand. First stop at the Folk Fair!

Thank you to Mr. Cramer (my high school Latin teacher) for taking so many language classes down to the folk fair through the years. I was in 9th grade when I first went to this window on the world, and I've loved it ever since! Where else but New York City can you see so many people together and celebrating their cultures?

Miracles Happen ... Meet Stina, Mercy ICU Patient

I had the good fortune to meet this remarkable woman and her equally remarkable husband.

They were here at my hospital long enough to "make the rounds" and subsequently made the whole hospital their home during their extended stay with us. It's rare for people to stay so long in our age of managed care. When she was well enough to be parted from machines (or at least when the machines were portable), Steve would take Stina on tour around the hospital, including the library. Everyone knew them, knew what a miracle it was that she recovered. This couple has an aura about them ... maybe that sounds crazy. They were surrounded in light ...

Even now when they come back to visit, it is an inspiration to see them, and to be part of her recovery. It reminds me that what I do in the provision of library services and health information goes beyond just providing people the info they need to make good health care decisions. We can all make a difference in the lives of our patients--and they can make a difference in mine, too!

They are telling their story in the Archival Reading Room in my Library at Mercy Medical Center in Oshkosh, WI. ;-)

Ed Herder : Shepherd of Refuse

This sketch probably looks pretty strange ... It's a sketch of a lone chimney stack, left standing after a house burned down when I was about 12 years old. I don't have a real picture, so the sketch will have to do ... Here's the rest of the story :

I grew up in the country outside of Polar, a small village in Northern Wisconsin. One of the biggest events in that community’s history happened about 1982--second only to the restaurant and bar burning down the week after they’d finished building a new volunteer fire house not 50 feet away. This event I’m talking about was another fire …

Across the road from our house lived an old hermit named Ed Herder. He was an old man who collected and saved everything other people didn’t want. Now, we’d recognize him as a hoarder. He really did keep the area free of litter. I only found out how much he’d done after he was gone.

His dark house was a ramshackle old thing, with no electricity, no plumbing. I think even the stairs leading to the second floor had probably fallen down years before. His yard was overgrown with lilacs and sumac and other brushy weeds I couldn’t identify. The wood siding had weathered to a dark gray long ago. We kids were ordered to NEVER GO EXPLORING over there. Aside from stepping on rusty nails or other hazards, he was suspected of booby-trapping some of his space. My parents just did not want us to get hurt.

Herder must have been about 70 years old, though he may have looked older than he actually was. He always wore a ratty old dark wool coat. Even in the dog-days of August, there he was at the side of the road, hitching a ride to town in this smelly old wool coat. I’ve heard that wool is warm in winter and cool in summer. Maybe this was the proof? Or maybe it was easier to hide things that he shoplifted?

He had lived through the Depression years and learned the ethic for conservation. For a while he actually owned two houses. The other was next to the saw mill right in Polar, also without modern amenities. When that house burned down, I remember people who helped him salvage his belongings, saying that they saw mayonnaise jars stuffed full of money. He didn’t trust banks at all. He’d lived through the Great Depression, remember, when people lost their life savings. At that time, Social Services set up an account and made him put his money in the Credit Union, for his own good, so that he wouldn’t be subject to burglaries.

I remember one day when I was 6 or 7, I walked out to the mailbox with my little brother and my baby sister. Herder was just returning home from a forage through the dump. It must have been a good day because he seemed really happy. He greeted us and offered a pair of old creme-colored pumps to the beautiful lady I was with. She was unimpressed. After he turned to go home, so did we and she commented that he was a “creepy old man.”

Well, after Herder's first house burned down, he lived across from us. When winter got too cold, he would ask us for candles, matches, or a loaf of bread to tide him over until he could catch a ride 10 miles to Antigo to get supplies. We also let him draw water from our outside faucet. We always knew when he was around because the pipes would shudder and ache through the house to announce his preasance. It was this sound heard 2 times daily for so long that we missed first one day, then another, and another.

On the third day, Dad really started to worry and decided to go over and check up on him. Grappa Eddie went with him.

They returned about 20 minutes later with news that the old man was dead in his chair next to his wood burning stove. Ma called the county coroner while Dad and Grappa told of all the junk and newspapers and jars he had piled up there, leaving only a rabbit trail to wheedle through the monstrous piles of stuff. He even had an old piano there with no strings in it! The man seemed to save everything! It had taken them so long to find him because Herder had boards piled up outside his house which were hidden by the quack grass. Some of them still had nails in them, so they had to be careful where they stepped. Dad seemed to be pretty affected. He said the body was already starting to fall apart with the warm August weather. Back on our porch, he could still smell Herder’s rotting body, though the rest of us smelled nothing amiss.

Not long after, the coroner arrived, asked a few questions, and trekked off across the road with a few things and a black plastic body bag. Dad led the way.

Anyway, after many weeks of legal permits and red tape, the house was officially condemned and legally set aflame. The fire trucks came in the evening with a very fine misty rain to help contain it. Twelve of us, family, friends, and neighbors, sat on the porch with drinks and soda pop watching the event.

The wooden parts of the house came down first, leaving a brick chimney which stood like a tower for several more days before it finally fell. Herder had died sitting next to that chimney. Perhaps it was his spirit and energy that worked so hard to keep it standing for a few days more.

We found out that he actually did have some family. Two nephews in Milwaukee came up and parked a boat next to the rubble for a few years. They said that he’d led a hard life and had been abused by his father. They also said that he was French, after which, Dad always referred to him as Ed Hertier to make him a little more upscale than he was. The nephews posted a sign attempting to sell the land. Seven years later, they were still trying to sell it. Mr. Herder had collected everything nobody wanted, and now nobody even wanted his land.

I should say that Mr. Herder, Shepherd of Refuse, lived as he did because he wanted to. He had plenty of money, and no debts. He lived alone, though he could be around people when he desired. That’s real freedom--to live the way you want, even if it’s outside the norm.

After her died, I noticed a lot more garbage at the sides of the road. No one bothered to stop and pick up the aluminum cans any more. They were only worth something to an old hermit.

Note : This story was originally worked up for Anne Lundin's Storytelling Class in 1997 when I was still in Library School.

Last Days of Summer

I just love this picture of Oliver swimming in a lake.
Looks like he is of 2 worlds ...

Water Lily

This summer's water lily on my little pond. ;-)

Life is a Celebration

The Kids from Fame sing Life is a Celebration.

I feel GOOD tonight!

I Sing the Body Electric

I remember the Swing Choir singing lots of songs from Fame when I was in high school. I didn't sing, but I did play bass guitar with them. The Fame songs had the most interesting and do-able bass lines. I loved those songs because they MOVED!

This song, I remember being mystified as to what the words really meant, figuring I'd get it some day.

Today, I feel like I get it (at least part of it)! Can you tell? It's a great day!

I sing the body electric
I celebrate the me yet to come
I toast to my own reunion
When I become one with the sun

And I'll look back on Venus
I'll look back on Mars
And I'll burn with the fire of ten million stars
And in time
And in time
We will all be stars

I sing the body electric
I glory in the glow of rebirth
Creating my own tomorrow
When I shall embody the earth

And I'll serenade Venus
I'll serenade Mars
And I'll burn with the fire of ten million stars
And in time
And in time
We will all be stars

We are the emperors now
And we are the czars
And in time
And in time
We will all be stars

And in time, we will all be stars. So mote it be!
I've got it good!

The Jester's Tear

Marillion's Script for a Jester's Tear (Recorded Live)

That year after my Spring awakening in 1989 was filled with work-work-work. Winter Quarter, I remember realizing 1 reason I was so frustrated and bogged down was from schoolwork assignments. Between an African-American Literature class, Sociology, and whatever else I had that quarter, I read over 4,000 pages of text in 12 weeks. No wonder I was cranky then.

For Spring, I was smart enough NOT to take a heavy class-load that would require research and writing essays on nuclear war while the trees were exploding in fizzy pink color. Instead, I took 2 creative classes : Sculpture and Creative Writing. You still had to put the time in, but it was a refreshing way to learn and create other than rote learning and memorization. We studied and learned the forms (wood, clay, metal, paper mache ; sonnet, haiku, short story, etc.). Then we did our own stuff within those forms.



In the sculpture class with Doug Johnson, I made a Jester out of clay. No mouth which represented 8 weeks of being wired shut after my jaw surgery. The jester is supposed to make us laugh, supposed to be happy himself, but that's the irony--The jester hurts, too, and can't speak of his sorrows. I was also a big Marillion fan even back then, so this song was also on my mind.

Spring Awakening & Reconciliation

[Image by Debbie Fischer from here. Used by permission with my gratitude.]

"Every now and again the compressing folds of time touch and prompt a memory sparkle, sometimes inducing sadness, and sometimes a private smile that carries [me] for a moment before disappearing again ..." --Fish (the Rockstar)

Do you remember Tony Moore? [No, not that Tony Moore ...] He was that set designer/theatre guy I fell for in college at UW-River Falls in 1989. It was a beautiful, gorgeous pink and sparkly Spring that I don't ever want to forget. I was so young, just 18 years old. He was a student of 26. We got to know each other in 40+ hours in the scene shop, building the set for Joe Egg. On the night of strike, after the last show, when everyone else had gone, he kissed me. I was in 7th heaven! In May, 2 weeks later, we stood under these exploding pink crab apple trees while the sun went down, and the moon and stars came up. [Talk about a magical set!] We talked about our futures--apart. He was encouraging and supportive and tried to be kind ... He broke my heart back then, but I understand why he had to do it : I had things to do, a life to lead, places to see ... and so did he. He gave me my freedom.

Anyway, he's been in the dog house for the last 20 years of my mind, or pushed down so as not to think about him at all. They say when we fall in love, we fall in love with the way the other person makes us feel. He made me feel like I'd never felt before ... Of course I wanted more--who wouldn't? But I couldn't have more, so I buried it. But those buried pieces kept sending up shoots and runners that would not be ignored ...

About 2 years ago, CL was cutting some fresh lumber in the front yard--the smell of that fresh-cut lumber brought me back to the scene shop at UW-RF, and my lovely spring romance. So I re-read my journals, and realized, yes, that spring was sweet, but there was way more hurt there in the year of separation after. Even just 2 years ago, when I thought of TM, I would argue with him in my head. Knowing that wouldn't go anywhere, I eventually buried it again.

Something shifted this summer. I had a dream about TM, and although I don't remember any real words, the general feeling was Reconciliation. He didn't apologize (and neither did I), but the feeling is very different now. It's hard to explain ... I wonder where he is now? First kiss. If he hadn't been that, I'd probably have forgotten about him. That was another defining moment / turning point in my life. Because of all the problems with my jaws in high school, I felt like a freak--The Elephant Woman with people staring at me. Even after the jaw surgery fixed the physical problem, I still had psychological scars. I did not feel beautiful or attractive or desirable--even though looking at pictures from that time, I just looked pretty normal. Tony Moore gave me a glimpse that I was not a freak, though it took many more years for me to really GET it. Tony had a way of just watching me walk across a room with true appreciation and pleasure--not at all leering, or lascivious, nor did he want anything from me. He just enjoyed what he saw in me. That was a precious gift for me. I liked his eyes on me; I felt comfortable with him. That was entirely new for me. In 40+ hours in the scene / set shop for Joe Egg, we got to know each other. He was funny, handsome, and talented. He would say hilarious things, and none of the other students would understand he was making a joke. All that to say it was a mutual attraction. I liked him too.

Now I'm older, I can look back on those situations and yes, I remember my own hurt, but I can better see what the other person was going through, too. Compassion. It was hard for him, too. He liked me, just didn't realize I was so young. He didn't write me at all that summer -- and when we got back to school in the fall, of course I was hurt and angry and still wanted to be with him. He had broken it off before it started ... but now I remember him coming to the reference desk at the library where I was working when Mike A. (the computer guy) was there. He was talking to Mike, and looking at me the whole time with a pained look on his face. Now, I understand that he just wanted to be near me, but he couldn't approach me alone ... Now I'd probably say, "Let's go for a walk, Ton. Seems like you have something to say ..." At the time, I think I probably escaped to the bathroom. It was just too hard to be that close to him, and not hug him. There were a few other incidents like that. I didn't understand what was happening then, or how to handle it. I was too hurt and dejected. It was hard for him to turn me away--for my own good. He liked me too.

I wish we had found a way to enjoy each other AND get our schoolwork done. I wish we'd have been able to get to know each other better ... I really did enjoy his company, his sense of humor, his soft voice--not to mention his good looks. It was more than infatuation for me, or I wouldn't be reflecting on it 20 years later. Sigh! But then, as they say, "a kiss is just a kiss."

It's a defining moment for me because I soldiered on and built my life as I wanted, as he ordered me to do back then. I couldn't wait for him. He wouldn't let me do that. Back then, too, I didn't know how to handle the situation. It wasn't so much rejection as redirection. But at the time, it sure felt like rejection. In later years with bad relationships, I learned how to let go and not look back, learned what I wouldn't put up with in a relationship. It worked because I'm not pining away for any of those guys. Tony was special for me. There were some firsts, some really wonderful memories that I don't want to forget. Those are the parts I don't want to let go of. I finally let go of the anger and the hurt ... That feels GREAT! I will savor the sweetness. TM is part of my story. He is written into the threads of my life. I don't have to give that up. ;-)

Thanks for the memories, Ton! I'm glad you were part of it. I hope you are well and that you've found someone to share your heart with.

Now, 20 years later, what I really want to do is give him the update on my life, tell him how things have turned out for me so far, and hear his adventures, too. I honestly wish him well. I wish him Love, Abundance, Happiness. All things good.

None of this should matter now that I've got a whole other life with a well-matched husband. I'm happy, and grounded. Except that it DOES matter ... Anyway, I just hope that Mr. Moore feels the shift in energies through the Force (I'm talking Star Wars here), because I'll likely never get the chance to tell him myself.

A big day for the inner life.

Coming of Age

Coming of Age

And when it rains,
do you think of me?
Of the night I
trudged the six blocks
through the downpour
to stand on your step?
I needed to be with you.
I needed reassurance
that my world wouldn't
cave in without you.
But you had other plans:
You wanted to show me
that I could stand on my own
like I'd done all the years
before I knew you.

I didn't believe you then.

You said I had so much more
to do, see, and be
--and so did you--
before I settled down on
one person. Besides,
you said, you didn't
want to put me through
all the doubts,
all the uncertainties
of a relationship
carried on over
distances : land, age, life.

I've had my doubts
about my own strength,
even your expectations for me.
But I've survived
not without believing
that your love for me was
pure enough to let me go--
no--to make me go
when both our futures
pulled in opposite directions.
What else could you have done?

Thank you, and know
you still have
a piece of my heart.

Spring 1990
Lessons from Tony M.

To My Dog : Golden Keiya

A lullaby of rain falls
on the roof above our heads.
Sleep, Golden Keiya of the Wolf,
at the foot of my bed.
How warm you shall keep my feet,
and already my heart!
Does the night, singing us to other places, realize it too?

Somewhere in the Wings of Time ...

When I was 17 years old, I wrote a letter to my favorite writer at the time : Laurens van der Post. My mom received the letter at home, and brought it to me at the book store where I was working after school. I looked at the envelope with the British stamp on it, and couldn't figure out who it might be from, but I knew it was important. My heart was racing as I opened it ...

"VdP! It's a letter from VdP!" That was my shorthand for his name. I was so excited to see that he had actually written back to little ol' me in northern Wisconsin! I have kept this letter framed ever since.

Here's what I wrote him (taken from a draft that I kept) :

Dear Mr. van der Post :
I am happy you still live and that I have this opportunity to express my sentiments to such a wonderful writer.

I shall begin by explaining how I came to know your work. Initially, I was a fan of David Bowie, curious to see his talent as an actor. I saw the film Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence. It was among his best acting, but in it, too, I found a great story of honor, guilt, and values I find missing in this world. I did finally acquire the book, less violent than the film and full of such beautiful prose! Do you remember this line? "The wet earth at our feet was like an antique mirror and we stood with our feet among the stars." Lovely! I've since read In a Province, First Catch Your Eland, and Face Beside the Fire.

I am not so old--just 17. The lessons we learn in History class trouble me. Your books are hopeful. The mystical sense in your writing holds me. I am grateful for that and so I thank you. Africa fascinates me and your doorway to the landscapes, foods, people, and stories keeps me dreaming that one day I might see it with my own eyes.

Would you one day be so kind as to autograph a copy of Yet Being Someone Other for me? I would so appreciate it. I wish you many helthful years to come.

With Only Respect,

Michele Matucheski
************************************
Even after all these years, this letter still means a lot to me. He had a way with words!

Who stands in your own "wings of time?"

Bridges and Walls

Katie Doherty's beautiful song, Bridges.

I think of my role in this world as being a bridge or a channel--a connector.

I figured this out at a Work-that-is-Real Retreat a few years ago (Thanks, Dottie--I'm still reflecting on that weekend!)

In the song, Katie sings about a woman building bridges and a man who builds walls. Her home has open doors, but her bridges "can't conquer the human wall."

I just realized I built a stone wall 20 years ago. All this time, I thought it was the other person shutting me out, but it was me. I was young and hurt when I built it, for my own protection. I'm in the process of dismantling it now after so many years.

Forgiveness - Compassion - Love - Personal Responsibility. It feels good to bring it down. I can see the beautiful landscape now! It's been a gradual dismantling in the past few weeks. New insights every day. ;-)

I also know in my heart-of-hearts that the person involved will be greatly relieved too. I look forward to re-connecting with this person soon. I just have to wait for the dust to settle ...

Baltimore Oriole

Baltimore Oriole enjoying grape jelly in my garden. ;-)
My friend, Vicki Moen made the trellis.

Zuill Bailey : Extraordinary Resonance on NPR

Listen to Zuill Bailey playing his magnificent cello on NPR's Morning Edition yesterday. NPR offers a "Desktop Concert."

Treat yourself and be enriched!

Grandlac : Fortified Farm House, 1500s France

Near LaCanourge, we visited a fortified farm house built in the 1500s.
Looks pretty cool, doesn't it?




This the the back side where the door is. The Poyets knew the owners and had permission to show us inside. This round tower is the circular staircase.

When we got inside, I didn't even take pictures -- I was so startled. It was cold, dark (not many windows). The ground floor would have been like living in a cave, or a garage. The Poyets said that people lived here up until the 1970s. It made me think twice about wanting to live in a castle--and how hard it would have been to keep it warm in winter. The 3rd floor was the most livable now, with a kitchen ... Still rugged living.

You have to love solitude to live there.


This is the barn, built like a boat, and low to the ground.


The slate (?) roof.


Inside the barn, built like an upside-down boat. It was perfect for sheep back in the day.


Another building on the property. Looks like a crofter's cottage in Scotland.

The family who owns this property has been slowly restoring it, and making it liveable. They have a modern farm with 500 sheep over the hill. We didn't see the working farm, though.
I also kept looking for a big lake, but didn't see one ...