A Trip to the Winter Show

I always enjoy a trip to The Winter Show (previously called The Winter Antique Show) at the Park Avenue Armory during the cold, dark days of January to see some beautiful things and escape the state of current affairs. This was the 72nd year of the show, with over 70 international dealers presenting art, antiques, jewelry and furniture -- truly a cornucopia of treasures. And it supports a good cause too. Proceeds from the ticket sales and benefit events go to the East Side Settlement House, the community organization that which provides education, development and resources for residents of the Bronx. 

     A favorite dealer off the bat was Robert Young Antiques from London, which sells wonderful folk art. The booth was light and cheerful with a wood plank floor and delicately stenciled walls. I love folk art, which has a simplicity and humbleness but also can be refined and graceful.

 

This charming diorama of a butcher's shop had the delightful, child-like whimsy of a doll house. Inside the wooden box, the waving butcher is surrounded by hanging carcasses and joints of handcarved, painted wood. It was made in England circa 1884 and had already been sold by the time I viewed it. 

 

The colorful wedding chest was made in Norway in 1832. The handpainting inside the lid features a happy landscape and the exterior is covered in decorative swirls. The bride must have been delighted to use such a chest! In the gallery, above it was hung an eighteenth century equestrian portrait, the colors of which perfectly complemented the chest . 

 

These six humorous metal penguins squatted happily on a wood trestle table. Made of painted and weathered sheet metal in France in the late twentieth century, they looked like they were ready to waddle away. Hanging above them was an English private road sign that listed toll road charges and was dated September 1898.

     I chatted a bit with the proprietor Robert Young about the appeal of folk art. We both lamented the destruction of the wonderful Folk Art Museum building on West 53rd Street which was designed by architects Tod Williams and Billie Tsien in 2001 and then demolished by the Museum of Modern Art in 2014 to make way for its own expansion. 

 

When I was an art history major in college, I wrote a paper about elegant Greek lekythos vases and so I was delighted to see this lovely specimen featured in the Hixenbaugh Ancient Art gallery. The lekythos vase was used to hold oil and had a signature tall, graceful shape that was decorated with delicate line painting that perfectly fit the vase's profile. The gallery founder Randall Hixenbaugh told me that this vase was created in Athens, Greece, circa 480 BC by one of the finest vase painters who is called the Berlin Painter. This one features Eros, the god of love, flying away but looking back at the work he has done so in one gesture it tells a little story. 

 

At the Thomsen Gallery, I admired these small, exquisite Japanese tea caddies. Erik Thomsen explained to me that they were gold lacquer on wood. The fine decoration and gleaming surfaces made them look like pieces of jewelry. These tea caddies reminded me of Jayne Wrightsman's collection of small, gorgeous snuff boxes that I wrote about for Cottages and Gardens magazine –

 

In contrast to these fanciful decorations was this simple pine chair in the striking, dark gallery of prominent English designer Rose Uniacke, who is debuting this year at The Winter Show. One of a set of eight, the Swedish chair made circa 1932 by furniture designer Axel Einar Hjorth features a handsome, smooth wood grain and blackened iron rivets paired with a soft velvet cushion for a striking mix of natural and elegant, the best combination. 

The Serenity of Agnes Martin

    Last weekend, I walked up to the newish Pace Gallery on West 25th Street in Chelsea housed in a big eight-story building that's as large as a museum you'd find in a mid-size American city. On the first floor, I found my destination - an exhibition of 13 paintings by Agnes Martin called "Innocent Love" done towards the end of the artist's life and up until Dec. 20th. I motored into the gallery and was stopped in my tracks by how serene and quiet the paintings were. Shockingly, I was completely alone in the galleries. I was stunned by the stillness and moved by the peacefulness of the paintings. It was like being in a church. 

    I was not extremely familiar with the work of Agnes Martin, but my curiosity was piqued by an interesting article on Vogue.com by Grace Edquist. The paintings are very simple - horizontal bands of blue, pink and yellow rendered in a thin imperfect wash, but the effect was powerful, like standing in front of a Rothko, which similarly evokes an emotional response through its plain clouds of color.  

      Because the paintings are simple, photographs can't really convey their effect or impact. It reminded me of an observation by the fashion historian Caroline Milbank when she was talking about the simplicity of American style and noted, "It's hard to look at something simple or plain and realize how radical it was at the time." 

 

     Agnes Martin was born in Saskatchewan, Canada, in 1912. She studied art and made her way to New York City in 1957 when she lived on the now renowned Coenties Slip in lower Manhattan with other young unknowns including Robert Indiana, Jasper Johns, Ellsworth Kelly and Robert Rauschenberg who took up residence in abandoned lofts. Later, Martin left New York City for the solitude of New Mexico where she lived and worked until her death in 2024. At the Pace, there is a long video interview with Martin playing in which she talks about her work. She notes that her emotions are recorded in the paintings.  "I use the horizontal line to get to meaning," she says. "A lot of painters paint about painting but I paint about meaning. It took me 20 years to paint what I wanted." 

     Martin offers some wisdom: "Worry about your own mistakes and not the mistakes of others," she advises. "Your own will be enough."  

    As for her work, she tries to illustrate the positive, not the negative. "Say, 'What can I do?' and then you wait for inspiration," she says. "Beauty is the mystery of life. Beauty illustrates happiness." 

     

The Man Who Designed the Gilded Age

    When TD and I were in Newport, we visited a very interesting exhibit at the Rosecliff mansion sponsored by the Preservation Society of Newport about Richard Morris Hunt, the great architect who built many of the Vanderbilt mansions and came to define the Gilded Age. Hunt was a fascinating character who was more than an architect - he was passionate about promoting art and culture in the United States.

    Hunt was born into a prominent New England family and was the first young American architect to study in Paris at the prestigious École des Beaux-Arts, which was dedicated to teaching a lavish, opulent French national style that was based on classical ancient Greece and Rome blended with French and Italian Renaissance and Baroque.

    After the Civil War in the United States, newly made wealth flourished and the rich sought a lifestyle that expressed their success. Titans like the Vanderbilts wanted to live like European royalty and hired Hunt to create colossal mansions in New York, Newport and beyond. He dipped into his Beaux Arts bag of tricks to create grandiose, aristocratic style houses with colonnades, arches, dramatic entrances, sweeping staircases, carved ornamentation, and gold gilded decoration. 

The Breakers in Newport. 

   In Newport, Hunt designed the colossal Breakers for Cornelius Vanderbilt II and extravagant Marble House for William K. Vanderbilt and his wife Alva. In HBO's "The Gilded Age," George and Bertha Russell are based on William and Alva Vanderbilt, and indeed some scenes are actually shot at Marble House and the Breakers. In Ashville, North Carolina, Hunt designed for George Vanderbilt the Biltmore estate, which is still the largest house in America. 

The Biltmore in North Carolina. 

Hunt's workroom in Newport. 

     Besides his architecture work, Hunt strongly promoted the arts and culture after the Civil War, and was one of the founders of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He also co-founded the American Institute of Architects to improve the status of architects, who up until that time had been treated like tradespeople. His final commission before his death was the entrance hall of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which still offers a magnificent, monumental portal into one of the world's great art museums.  

My picture of the Great Hall at the Met. 

 

   Later, architectural taste began to change and shift away from extravagant, aristocratic French style with its rich flourishes. New York architects like Delano & Aldrich, who worked for the Rockefellers, favored a cleaner, simpler, more conservative style based on Federal architecture that eschewed European influence and reflected the independent American democracy. But Hunt will be remembered for creating the style of the Gilded Age and for his relentless promotion of the arts after the Civil War. "It has been represented to me that America was not ready for the Fine Arts, but I think they are mistaken," he wrote. "There is no place in the world where they are more needed, or where they should be more encouraged."

 

 

A Day Trip to Newport, Rhode Island

Rosecliff

The view from Rosecliff

     To celebrate our 40th (!!) anniversary, TD and I recently spent a week at the beautiful beach home of my great friend Abby in Little Compton, Rhode Island, which is a lovely small town with green hills that roll down to the scenic coast line. TD and I enjoyed visiting different beaches there and swimming in the Atlantic Ocean in September. We went to the local fish markets and stopped at the farm stands for fresh corn and tomatoes and lettuce. One day we drove about 50 minutes for a day trip to Newport, Rhode Island, where the millionaires of the Gilded Age built palatial summer "cottages," as they were called, by the sea. 

     Our first stop was Rosecliff, pictured at the top of this post. Rosecliff was built in 1899 by architect Stanford White for Nevada silver heiress Theresa Fair Oelrichs, and based upon the Petit Trianon at Versailles. On the top floor of the building was a fascinating exhibition about architect Richard Morris Hunt, who built colossal homes for the Vanderbilt family in New York City, Newport, and Ashville, North Carolina. 

     As a student, Hunt was the first American to attend the prestigious Ecole des Beaux-Arts in Paris. Back in New York, Gilded Age millionaires newly awash in money wanted to live like European royalty and Hunt knew how to deliver the French splendor; he was the man who designed the Gilded Age. 

    Our second stop was at Marble House, which was built by Hunt in 1888 for William K Vanderbilt and his wife Alva. On HBO's popular show "The Gilded Age," George and Bertha Russell are based on William and Alva, and indeed some scenes have been shot at the grandly opulent Marble House. 

The dining room at the Vanderbilt's Marble House

The staircase at Marble House 

     Besides his work as an architect, Richard Morris Hunt was passionate about bringing European and world art and culture to the United States, and was one of the founders of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, for which he designed the still majestic Great Hall. In order to improve the status of architects, who were thought of as tradesmen, he founded the American Institute of Architects. Hunt was a fascinating figure who shaped the design of his time and was devoted to elevating the culture of the United States after the Civil War.  

    Hungry after our house touring, we had a wonderful lunch at Belle's, which is located on the dock of the Newport marina. Along the dock, big boats and tall sailboat masts soared overhead. 

 

Belle's

 

    And then we stumbled unknowingly into the picturesque Newport Historic District with its 18th century Colonial houses. There we found the charming Cottage & Garden antique shop offering vintage furniture and accessories. 

 

    I really enjoyed our day trip to Newport and would gladly return - there is so much American history and culture and design to be a savored there. I was delighted by everything I saw. Newport is a rich resource for those who love beautiful things. 

A Trip Upstate for a High School Reunion

 

    I recently had a trip upstate to New Hartford, New York, where I grew up, for a high school reunion. Shortly after I graduated with high school, my family moved away so I had not been back up to New Hartford in a very long time. I had never been to a reunion so I didn't know what to expect. But my great friend Suzy was pushing me to go and TD thought it would be a good idea too. I figured, "Well, now are never!"

     So one morning I took the train from Grand Central up to Beacon, New York, where I met Suzy and her husband John who drove us up to New Hartford, outside of Utica, about a three hour drive. Suzy had our yearbook and we went through it in the car to refresh our memories. Up in New Hartford, I rented a car and drove to the home of my cousin Celeste on my father's side, who had invited me to stay, and it was great fun to catch up with her and her husband Kevin. That night Suzy and I had dinner with the two Nancys at an Italian restaurant in the village of New Hartford and then stopped into a bar down the street that used to be Wanamaker's Furniture store. 

     The next day, I had some time to drive around New Hartford and Utica to some favorite place. First was the two houses my family lived in. I have sweet memories of our little Cape Cod house on Morris Circle but it was now overgrown with vegetation in front and it looked like the roof was damaged. Across the street is a ravine where my brother Thom and I literally spent four seasons a year outdoors roaming around. Now many years later it had eroded further so it was deeper than it used to be and the side was too steep to go down. On the other side of the ravine where beautiful wild fields that had now been turned into a residential development. 

   On I drove through town and went into the big modernist Catholic church St. John's the Evangelist where we went as a family every Sunday for mass, the six of us lined up in a pew. I spent a lot of time in that church. The next stop was up Wills Drive where our second home is located. It was bigger - five bedrooms. We moved there when I was in seventh grade so I spent my junior high and high school years in that house. 

    Then I headed over the hill past the Valley View Country Club golf course to downtown Utica to two favorite spots. The first is the Utica Public Library housed in a beautiful Neoclassical building designed in 1904 by the renowned New York City architecture firm Carrere and Hastings, who in fact built the New York Public Library, one of the finest examples of Beaux Arts architecture in the United States. The interior of the Utica library has five floors of elegant metal stacks with glass floors. In high school, I loved studying and doing research and reading there. 

Old views of the the exterior and interior of the library.

    Alas, the library was not as I remembered it. The refined interior has been mucked with clashing displays and signage and a video screen. I asked the librarian if there was an elevator to the upper stacks and he replied that it was broken. But I still have fond memories of reading and studying in the stacks, and perusing the Conde Nast magazines from New York City in the Periodicals Room. 

    Then I headed right across Genesee Street to the Munson Williams Proctor Art Institute, which is now simply called Munson, like the New York Historical Society is now called New York Historical. Shortening a name is the new thing, I guess. This art museum was designed by prominent architect Philip Johnson in the modern International style and opened in 1960. It's quite a contrast to the Neoclassical library across the street. 

    I took a lot of art class at the adjoining art school and always loved visiting this museum. The museum interior felt vast and was very quiet and cool. It has a good collection of modern paintings and its treasure is "The Voyage of Life" series of four oversized paintings by American artist Thomas Cole. There was a lending library where members could borrow art works to take home, and my mother let me help her pick them out. This place really was a sanctuary for me. My cousin Celeste met me at the museum for a tour through a current exhibition and then we had a tasty lunch next door at the Terrace Cafe at the Fountain Elms house museum. 

    When I graduated from high school, I went to McGill University in Montreal and studied art as an art history major. And it's largely due to these two places in Utica facing each other on Genesee Street -- the library and the museum. They were the beginning of me. 

    Then it was back to Celeste's house and onto the main event - the high school reunion at the Yahundasis Country Club! I met my great friend Nannette in the parking lot and we walked in together - just as we had gone to the Senior Prom together. From the moment I stepped inside, the event was a blast. It was so much fun to see people again after 50 years! Some looked exactly the same. It was a pleasure to be with everyone after such a long gap. High school is an intense time. At least it was for me. And it wasn't always a picnic. As a tall, thin, bookish, creative kid who ran in the opposite direction from a ball, I did not fit into the athletic focus of New Hartford High School. But everyone was so happy to be at the reunion and glad to see each other again. There was a buffet dinner when we were briefly sitting down, but otherwise we were on our feet talking and catching up and reminiscing. I was there for five hours. It felt very restorative and when I got back to Celeste's house that night, my head with spinning with conversations and snippets. I wanted to remember it all and everything everyone said. 

    The next morning was a tour through New Hartford High School, which felt oddly smaller than I remember but also larger as several big additions have been made. Then it was on to a friend's house for a brunch. For lunch, I met my cousin Ginny Border at a restaurant in the village. Ginny is actually my second cousin as she is the daughter of my mother's cousin Katie Border. Along with Ginny's sisters Mary and Patty, we have the most wonderful memories of being at 611 in Herkimer with our great aunts. Ginny is our family historian and it's always intriguing to talk with her. 

    Then I drove out of New Hartford! It was a whirlwind 48 hour visit. 

   I drove on to Saratoga Springs to visit my uncle Brian and his wife Susan for two nights. My great grandfather Dan O'Donnell was a railroad engineer and Brian loves trains so we drove together to the Saratoga train station to pick up TD, who came up from New York. Brian and Susan have a wonderful pool and deck that is a treat to lounge around. He is the last surviving sibling on my mother's side and I love to hear his wonderful family stories that go way back in time; he recalls when I was an infant and he was my babysitter. Then TD and I spent a night with my cousin Bob (on my father's side) and his wife Nancy who live nearby. Bob took us in the car to Ballston Spa, a charming nineteenth century town, which had some big antique stores to explore, and then to visit their daughter Louisa and some of her kids. 

    The next day, TD and I took the train home along the wide, unblemished Hudson River which has to be one of the most beautiful train rides in the US. We arrived back in New York at the quiet and civilized Moynihan Train Hall. 

    It was a trip back into my youth, back into my past. I'm so grateful that I got to do so much and see so many places and people -- family and friends. The reunion was such an unexpected pleasure. I'm glad that I went and I thought of my parents - they would be happy that I did that too. To drive around the streets of New Hartford and Utica and see my friends and classmates again was fulfilling and warmed my heart. It was one of life's full circle moments. 

"Oh, Mary!"

      At last! "Oh Mary"! Everyone has loved this Broadway show and some of our friends have seen it more than once so expectations were high but it did not disappoint. The fictional, wacky story about Mary Todd Lincoln written by and starring Cole Escola is running at the Lyceum Theater, which was built in 1903 and is like a great ancient vaudeville theater. We had good seats in the first row of the mezzanine so a wonderful view of everything including the ornate ceiling, walls decorated with molded plaster swags and sculptures of three muses high overhead at the very top of the proscenium arch. It was the perfect setting for the old school madcap hijinks that followed.  

     Escola has said that this play is about a woman with a dream that no one around her understands and also what if Abraham Lincoln's assassination wasn't such a bad thing for Mary? The result is hysterical. One gag, one funny bit after another, and it felt good to laugh, along with the entire theater, for 90 minutes straight. Escola throws themself into the role with the most extreme facial expressions and body contortions. Also, I found Conrad Ricamora as Mary's tortured husband Abraham Lincoln to be just as funny. The entire small cast was excellent. At one point I was laughing so hard doubled over that I was afraid I was distracting the guy sitting next to me so I tried to rein it in. It's such a gift to be able to write a piece that creates joy like that. This play was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize and has been nominated for numerous Tonys. I hope it wins. And I want to see it again immediately.

A Great Season in New York City Museums - 4 Things to See Now

This spring has really turned out to be a banner season for New York City museums. After Covid, I think the museums are going all out to attract visitors, and there are some wonderful things to see in New York now. Taken together as a whole, New York offers an astonishing display of the best of the best - there really is no place like New York! In the order in which I saw them, here my favorites that I recommend. And you can see how they are related --

 

The Newly Renovated and Expanded Frick Collection 

The West Gallery 

The Fragonard Room 

     The Frick Collection has always been a favorite spot of mine, and now, after a lengthy and expensive renovation and expansion overseen by Selldorf Associates, it reopened this spring. I was lucky to get a tour of it before it opened to the public as I was researching a story I wrote for Frederic magazine (read my story here). On the afternoon that I was visiting, actress Christine Baranski, who is currently in the series "The Gilded Age," came through looking smart in a pantsuit. I wanted to catch her eye and say, "What do you think? This is the real Gilded Age!" but she didn't look like she was open to chitchat. 

     The building was originally built as the home for the Frick family and then converted into a museum after family members died, per Henry Clay Frick's will. Now it was been renovated and expanded. The grand staircase, which used to be closed off with a velvet rope, is now open so one can happily ascend  to the second floor where the former family bedrooms are now gallery exhibition space. On the second floor there is also a a new gift shop and cafe. The whole thing feels much more opened up and the Frick seems like more of a substantive museum, a bigger destination. It's greatest pleasure is the art collection hanging on the walls. To enjoy the masterpieces purchased by Frick in this stunning setting is really a treat.

 

"Sargent and Paris"

In the Luxembourg Gardens

Paul Helleu Sketching with His Wife 

     A couple of weeks after the Frick reopened, the Metropolitan Museum of Art opened "Sargent and Paris," featuring the work of artist John Singer Sargent, also of the Gilded Age. Organized by curator Stephanie Herdrich, it examines the decade when the young 18-year-old painter arrived in Paris and began his career. His rise was quite meteoric as it ends with the renowned portrait of "Madame X", which, with her low cut dress, fallen shoulder strap, and arrogant attitude, was felt to be an unsuitable portrayal of a married woman. The painting scandalized Paris and prompted Sargent to move to England. 

   In England, Sargent painted some of my favorite works including the big, blowsy, gorgeous "Wyndham Sisters" and the simple, poetic garden scene "Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose," but here in this show based in Paris you see the beginning of his great taste and eye for elegance and style and color. Sargent had such a beautiful vision of the world and it's a great comfort to be in its presence.

"Amy Sherald: American Sublime"

    On a whole entire floor, The Whitney museum downtown in the Meatpacking District has mounted an exhibition of paintings by Amy Sherald, who famously did the portrait of First Lady Michelle Obama. Sherald, who was born in Columbus, Georgia, in 1973, did not see many people pictured who look like her in the annals of art history and so she set about painting portraits of every day Black Americans.

   After looking at a number of the portraits, I noticed that the artist renders the skin in gray, rather than natural skin tones. She did this, she has said, to draw attention to the individual rather than the shade of their skin color or race. Like John Singer Sargent, Sherald has a wonderful eye for clothes and details, and I loved the colors and prints and patterns in this show. I found it very uplifting in the current dark and disturbing political climate.

"Superfine: Tailoring Black Style"

Also centered on a Black theme, back uptown at the Met, the Costume Institute has just opened a new show celebrating the Black dandy, and how Black men have used clothing as self expression and protection since the 18th century. I have not seen this one yet but plan to soon! It of course opened with the Met Gala on the first Monday in May, organized by Anna Wintour and Vogue. Attended by musicians, movie starts, athletes and artists, the night raised $31 million. The Costume Institute has not mounted a menswear show in 22 years. The reviews have been great and I'm looking forward to it. There is always something wonderful new to see in New York City.

"Live With the Things You Love"

Carter and I at her book party at the Double RL store.

"Live With the Things You Love" on my mother's antique wood dining table from upstate New York.

 

   My great friend Mary Randolph Carter, who is called Carter, has written a new book entitled "Live With the Things You Love...And You'll Live Happily Ever After" (Rizzoli), and TD and I recently had the pleasure of attending her book party hosted at the Double RL store on West Broadway in Soho. While Carter has had a big creative director job at Ralph Lauren, she has also authored popular lifestyle books and this is her tenth. Carter's great passion is for antiques, vintage items, family heirlooms and fun finds she calls junk. She advocates for interiors that have meaning and warmth, and she has a great eye for mixing bright, cheerful colors like an artist. Everything goes back in time and shares a romantic aesthetic. When I worked at Ralph Lauren, I loved visiting her in her office which, though it was on Madison Avenue, felt like a trip to a house in the country with its wonderful antiques, soft textiles, piles of book and magazines, and vintage art on the walls. Not much is new and shiny in Carter's world. In one interview she recounted how her husband Howard was begging to replace creaky, wobbly porch chairs with something from Target that "no one will kill themselves on." Nothing suitable had yet been found. 

The cheerful kitchen in Carter's country home.   (book photos by Carter Berg)

 

     I share Carter's love of antiques and vintage items. To me, they speak with a simplicity and a softness and a comfort. They have a history, they have a life that's more interesting than something new. Perhaps my favorite book by Carter is called "For the Love of Old." It gave me the courage to eschew the new and shiny for things that go back in time. The antique pieces that we have in the apartment are dear to my heart including our dark wood dining table that my mother found at the renowned Bouckville Antique Show in upstate New York when I was growing up and gave to me. At the end of our living room we have a beautifully shaped Empire table that was given to my great grandparents on their wedding day in Herkimer, New York, in 1886. Catty corner to that I have my great grandfather's very large and rustic wood tool box that he used while railroad engineer on the Adirondack Line railroad. In front of the couch is a small, green, slightly rusting metal coffee table which is actually a factory table that I found at the sorely missed Chelsea Antiques Garage. It cost $25. I thought it would be temporary but it has stayed because it is the perfect size and color. 

 Her colorful porch for summer time relaxing.

 

     Carter's new book continues to inspire with the homes of thirteen artist and friends who are similarly passionate about living with antiques and pieces that are rich with sentimental value. Her voice supports my love for the old. When I doubt myself and consider that an antique should be replaced by something new, I think, "No, Carter would approve."

A Lost Beloved Thing

Last summer, when TD and I took a memorable trip to Italy for my nephew's wedding on Lake Como, we flew from JFK airport on a Sunday night for an all-night flight to Milan. I find going through the airport TSA check point to be stressful -- it seems like you wait in a long slow line to get up to security and then suddenly it's a mad rush to get your belongings into a plastic bin -- and then what needs to come off? Your shoes, your belt, your jacket, your phone, your watch, your wallet? Sometimes it seems that the requirements are different. The guards were yelling to move along faster. I took off my things and as I approached the scanner, TD, who was behind me, said, "Do you have your cross on?"

   Ah, my cross.  When I was in high school, my father gave me a silver cross on a chain that I have loved these many years. My father, who passed away in 2017, didn't give me many personal gifts and this one was perfect so it was highly unusual. He had picked it out in a store in downtown Utica ­– a small silver asymmetrical medallion centered by a cross. On one side the medallion is cross-hatched and the other side has the texture of modeled clay. It was simple but interesting and modern but timeless, and I have cherished, and not lost it, for approximately 50 years. The only jewelry I wear is my wedding ring from TD, a watch that belonged to my brother Eric, and my father's cross.

   At the airport, I quickly slipped the chain and cross off my neck and threw it into the black plastic bin. On the other side of security, we hurriedly gathered our things and put them back on and continued to the gate for our flight.

     The next day around mid-day in the hotel in Milan, I felt my chest for my cross on the chain. It wasn't there. In a panic, I rifled through all my pockets and knapsack looking for it. Had I already taken it off and put it somewhere in the hotel room? I didn't think so but I searched the room and through my pockets again. I couldn't find it anywhere and I flashed back to Ted speaking to me at security and slipping it off my neck.

     I had left my cross in the plastic bin at JFK International Airport.

     My heart sank. I had managed to hold on to that cross for 50 years and now it was gone. And I felt terrible. Why hadn't I put it in a safe pocket in my knapsack where it wouldn't get lost? I was distraught and angry at myself. This had the potential to ruin the trip.

  After a while I opened my laptop to see how to report a missing item at JFK. I found an email address and rather hopelessly sent off an email to TSA describing what I lost and where and when I lost it. Three days later I received an email back that said TSA did not collect lost items for the particular terminal we were in. For that terminal, I had to submit a report on an app.

    Oh dear I thought, the black hole of an app. On the app I submitted a lost item report. It asked for a photo or drawing of the item so I got out a pad of paper and sketched my cross 

    I took a picture of it and uploaded it to the app and sent it off. 

   30 minutes later I received a message back from the app. 

   They had my cross. 

   I literally could not believe my eyes when I read it. I thought maybe it was a mistake but how could it be when my drawing was so specific. In that vast, cavernous airport terminal, someone had found and retrieved my little silver cross. And the emailing and app from my hotel room in Milan had worked. Honestly, it felt like a miracle. I was so happy and relieved. It said for $50, they would FedEx it to my home so a few days after we returned from Italy, I received my silver cross in the mail and slipped it on my neck. I really am so grateful to TSA for being organized, and amazed that when it works, technology really works. And thankful to have a small piece of my father back.

 

Some Christmas Memories

 

Christmas at 611- in the back row, my great aunt May, my father, and great aunt Zibby. In the front row, my brother Thom, me with my brother Eric on my lap, and my sister Cynthia. 

 

Christmas Eve a few years ago - Thom, me, Ted, and Eric.

 

    With my parents gone and my brother Eric too, holidays are very poignant now and filled with memories. Between Thanksgiving and Christmas are also my birthday, Eric's birthday and Ted's birthday. And there was my mother's birthday and my grandmother's birthday. Eric loved Christmas and Christmas Eve. So it's a period that's filled with remembrances. During this time, I get flashes of people and bits of memories. We were always together at the holidays. I have a longing to be together again.

     Christmas especially was a big occasion when I was growing up. My mother loved holidays and loved celebrating. I grew up in a little Cape Cod house in New Hartford, New York, until we moved to a bigger house across town. My mother made the house pretty at Christmas and there was always a lot of art on the walls. On Christmas Eve, my father's parents, Nanny and Grandpa, and his sister Betty came for dinner. My father's parents did not come to our house a lot, even though they lived close by in Utica, so it was an event. Every year in the living room we children put on a little musical skit, set to "The Little Drummer Boy," for instance. We had costumes and props, and as the oldest of four, I was the bossy director. Then dinner. My mother was not a cook and did not like to cook. You couldn't eat meat on Christmas Eve, and every year she served a dreadful crab meat casserole. She said, "Oh, the children are too excited to eat anyway." This was accompanied by green beans with almonds, for some green color. Dessert was a treat -- half a coconut-covered snow ball with a little piece of plastic ivy on top and a little candle. 

    After dinner, the lights were turned off and we sat around the colorfully illuminated Christmas tree and sang carols. Some years, during this time, the phone would ring and it would be Santa Claus calling. Singing around the tree in the darkened room was so peaceful and serene. "Silent Night" was my aunt Betty's favorite. 

     Christmas morning, Thom and I rose at the crack of dawn and rushed downstairs and tore through all our presents like little banshees. My mother would get us clothes and later in the morning we would try on the new clothes and they never fit - too big, too small, etc. "Jesus Christ, none of these clothes fit," my mother would cry in frustration. "Donna!" my father said. "Do not talk like that on Christmas Day!" 

    We got dressed for Christmas and the six of us piled into the station wagon to go to church to the gigantic, modern, cold St. John's the Evangelist in New Hartford. And after church we went to visit my great aunts at 611 West German Street, in nearby Herkimer, New York. 

   We didn't take the Thruway there, we took the back roads, so it was literally over the river and through the woods. I've written about 611 a lot so forgive if this is repetition.  My mother's four aunts, Zibby, Milly, May and Kay, lived in the big Victorian house that they and their siblings, including my mother's mother Foffy, had grown up in. My great grandfather Dan O'Donnell, had emigrated with County Sligo in Ireland and worked as a railroad engineer on the Adirondack line. A trip to 611 was always a treat for me and the house had a big influence on me with it's high, high ceilings, antique furniture, marble fireplaces with a wood fire burning, piles of books and magazines and the Sunday New York Times (which was rare in upstate New York), and wonderful stories from my great aunts, particularly Milly who had gone to Cornell, lived in the Philippines, and loved to read. At Christmas, there was a tall tree covered with silver tinsel and a cocktail hour. Milly carried a shaker of a Whiskey Sours with her and she was always smoking a cigarette. Christmas dinner was around the big dining table in the dining room, and Milly sat at the head and directed the conversation. For me it was all dreamy. My great aunts adored us. There was never a word of criticism. They thought we were the best. It was unconditional love at 611, and everybody needs that.

     At the end of the night, the six of us piled back into the station wagon and my father drove home. In the back, we children would pretend that we were asleep so that my father would carry us into the house. 

     I am lucky to have these memories, and to have been with both my father's family and my mother's family. My parents really did a good job at Christmas. And I'm lucky today to celebrate holidays with my spouse Ted and siblings Thom and Cynthia and family and friends. A season of gratitude. And remembering loved ones who I miss.