Graceland and West!

As the great Paul Simon wrote and sang:

"The Mississippi Delta, was shining

Like a National Guitar.

I am following the river

Down the highway

Through the cradle of the Civil War.

I'm going to Graceland, Graceland

in Memphis, Tennessee.

I'm going to Graceland.

Poorboys and Pilgrims with families

We are going to Graceland. . ."

OK so we toured Elvis' home, Graceland, in Memphis.

I honestly didn't know what to expect. I was never a huge Elvis fan to begin with. He came on the world music scene when I was a little too young to get it, and in the 60s, when I became aware and interested in music, the Beatles overtook the fifties genre of Rock and Roll. And of course in the seventies, he was doing most of his entertaining in Vegas and became sadly addicted to prescription drugs, dying much too young.

We got up and checked out of our room at the Heartbreak Hotel early in order to be the first group to go through the mansion. The people who sold us the tickets tried to talk us into a "package" which includes touring two, yes two, airplanes that sit on the grounds. One is the "Lisa Marie", a Boeing 707, and the other is "The King" a large twin engine corporate jet. We declined, our reasoning being that the "Mansion" was enough.

We boarded a shuttle bus along with dozens of "seniors on a spree" to make the short journey across the street.

The house sits up on a hill, it's large, but not overly enormous. Honestly, not ostentatious from the outside, a large colonial style. It was purchased in 1957, when Elvis was 22, for something like $125,000.

The interior is decorated in the early seventies look. Not the best decade for style. Lots of mirrors, dark colors, shag carpet, glitz. Every modern convenience of the day, such as stereo systems, TVs, a huge pool table, a jungle room. Elvis had his parents living with him and they had a whole wing to themselves.

There are lots of photos of Pricilla, and Lisa Marie. There is a very large display of his clothes, including the elaborate costumes he wore in his Vegas days.

My favorite section of Graceland was the very extensive display of his early career and record of how he got his start in the music business. Old films of a very young man on the Ed Sullivan Show and the Steve Allen Show. Then there is a very long hallway with his gold and platinum records, numbering well into the two hundreds. And that is just in the States. Also on display are his Emmy awards and countless plaques and testimonials.

I was struck by how much of a philanthropist Elvis was and how generous he was with family and friends, giving them money, cars and homes as needed.

Was it worth it? Yes, I'm happy to have seen Graceland. It's a slice of American music history.

After that, we hit the road across Tennessee, into Arkansas, Oklahoma and Texas. Whew!

Next stop: Santa Fe NM.

Heartbreak Hotel

What a hoot and a half! Here we are in Memphis at the Heartbreak Hotel.

The whole place is a throwback to 1957.

The lobby is all dark and purple and filled with Elvis fans from all walks of life and all countries.

Our room is decorated with blown up photos of Elvis and the pool is in the shape of an enormous heart.

In the parking lot there was a huge old pink Cadillac which I tried to get a photo of, but the man drove away before I got there. Apparently, he runs a shuttle to a restaurant nearby, all in the Elvis theme-natch. I hope to get a ride in that baby.

Tonight we'll dine on Beale Street and enjoy some of those famous Memphis dry ribs!

Tomorrow we will tour Graceland before we hit the road again.

(I eventually got a photo of my pink Cadillac when it came back for another pickup.)

From my roommate:

Driving opens one to the wonderful history and landscape of this great land. Our adventure began with purpose as a great American road trip. After spending much of my corporate career outside this wonderful country, with numerous trips together to the great capitals of Europe, we decided to set out on one of our bucket list trips to visit our Western National Parks and to spend spend more time with actor Jay who is LA based.

So many people we know think that there's nothing between the Hudson River and LA, except Vail or Park City. Hopefully this blog will help them understand how vast, varied and beautiful this country truly is.

We cruised past the Gettysburg battlefield onto the beautiful Shenandoah Valley, site of so many historic Civil War battles. With the Blue Ridge mountains on one side and the Appalachians on the other. At one point Sarah heard me exclaim, "OMG, Hungry Mother State Park"! This park nests off the Blue Ridge Parkway and is the earliest of my memories of the many family vacation's that followed. We literally camped in surplus Army tents in the early 1950's as my Dad served his post PhD. internship at the Veterans Memorial Hospital in Roanoke, VA. My first taste of roasted marsh mellows over a campfire, the old Studebaker overheating on the Blue Ridge Parkway, a miscast diaper out the front window landing in the back seat. Anyway, you get the point, none of this would have happened if we'd elected a "fly-over".

So, we're ready to board the bus to Beale Street after several interesting detours on I-40 (thanks Navigator Sarah and GPS "Gertrude"). This is a down side of road travel. You don't control the idiots on the road or the construction people in Nashville who decide to take I-40 from three lanes to one for three days.

But as typical American's, we're resilient and resourceful.

And speaking of that, our Sirius radio has been tuned to the 9/11 Memorial Services for two days. Never forget!

The View Hits The Road

Here it is, already Labor Day 2011.

Time just seems to fly by at an astonishing pace these days.

We spent a wonderful summer on Long Island Sound aboard Cinnamon Girl, enjoying the sea breeze, stunning sunsets, family and friends.

Until the last week in August, when we experienced an earthquake and hurricane Irene, the weather was pretty darn perfect. There is hardly anything more relaxing than being on the water, picking up a mooring in a lovely harbor, settling with a cool drink, and listening to Sinatra on the iPOD. Heaven.

Now that September is here, it's time to think about putting the boat away for the cooler weather we know is to follow. Time to think of our next adventure.

The View is hitting the road.

When I was growing up, our family didn't do much traveling. My parents traveled to Europe and New York, but we didn't as a family. Who would take all those kids on a big trip? We traveled to Luna Pier in June and stayed until Labor Day.

John and I are getting in the car this coming weekend and driving across the country. We plan to visit our son Jay in Los Angeles, in fact we've rented an apartment in LA for two weeks. After that we plan on visiting our country's National Parks.

This journey has been on our "bucket list" for several years and we decided that this is the time to do it. After all:

• we have the time
• it's the best season to travel by car because the weather is non threatening
• we have traveled extensively to other countries, but why not see the USA?

Stay tuned for updates and a travelogue.

Now I have to think about packing.

Thanksgiving and the Remains of the Day

Time marches on.
It's fall 2010 and the View has moved to Ohio for the start of school, colder weather and the run up to seasonal holidays. My mind is spinning with memories. I totally missed posting about Halloween. Oh well, there's always next year.
Next week is Thanksgiving. My family and I will celebrate this lovely, unique American holiday together here in Connecticut. We will start the day with our first annual Gillespie Turkey Trot at the beach on Long Island Sound. One of us is a marathoner and she will take her daily run while the rest of us walk, talk, people watch and enjoy the playground.
After that, it's home for brunch. Think waffles, maple syrup, eggs, sausages, perhaps a cinnamon roll-we may need to take another walk after all that food.
Dinner at our house is traditional fare with roast turkey and all the trimmings.
Here's one of my favorite, easy recipes to share:
Spiced Cranberry Sauce
1 12 0z. bag fresh cranberries
1 cup sugar
1 cup water
2 1/4 tsp. finely grated orange peel
1/2 tsp. kosher salt
Add 1/2 t. ground cinnamon, 1/8 t. ground allspice, 1/8 t. ground cloves, and 1/8 t. ground nutmeg.
Bring all ingredients to a boil in heavy medium saucepan, stirring often. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer until most of the cranberries burst, stirring occasionally, about ten minutes. Transfer sauce to medium bowl. Cool, cover and refrigerate. May be made up to one week ahead.
The warm spices in this version are the very essence of the holiday.
Now for the memories.
One of the things I will always remember about Thanksgiving on Scottwood, is that Dad would get up very early on Monday that week, and go to the local farmers' market to buy the biggest turkey he could find. I recall that it was often over twenty pounds, more like twenty-two or twenty four pounds. Dad was very proud of the size of our turkey and would be back from "market" as he called it, while we were preparing to leave for school. He would announce with a big smile, how large a bird he had found. We cheered and went to school carrying this piece of family news.
The turkey would be stuffed and put into an enormous electric roaster the night before Thanksgiving.
My parents would stay up late, chopping onions and celery and mixing stale bread cubes with herbs and butter. It took the two of them to wrangle all of that filling into the bird and place it into the roaster to slowly cook for several hours. We would wake up to the smell of roasting turkey. Heavenly.
We always had a big breakfast because the next meal was the Thanksgiving Feast, there was no scheduled "lunch" that day.
In the middle of the day Dad would load us into the car and take us to the zoo. This gave Mom time for herself and time to add the finishing touches on any of the menu that needed tending. We loved this outing. Dad could be very childlike at the zoo. We had to travel trough a tunnel under the road to enter and Dad joined us when we all yelled and screeched loudly in order to hear our echos. He loved the lion house and would lift each of us up high in order to get a better look at the beasts. Afterwards on the way home we sang and tried to imitate the elephants, tigers, and lions by mimicking their cries. We arrived home hungry, happy and ready for Thanksgiving dinner.
One of my jobs was to help set the table. We had a smallish dining room table and in order to seat and feed up to twenty or so for dinner, Dad had a table top custom made to be placed over our regular table. It was made of heavy wood and cut into two demi lunes, or half circles, then joined by hinges so that it could be folded in half. My brothers would go into the basement and carry it upstairs where it was laid over the table. We then covered the wood surface with newspapers, followed by white sheets and topped with an enormous, circular, white damask tablecloth. Finally we set out china, silver, crystal and linen napkins at each place. Place cards were always handmade. I remember one year, my sister Anne, (always creative) made up a little rhyme for each of us, without ever using our names. We had to guess who she meant by the rhyme. I loved mine and saved it for years, thrilled by what she wrote about me. "Small, blonde, with skin so light, in school this girl is very bright". I was eight years old.
That table was only for the adults and older brothers and sisters. The "little kids" had to sit at the dreaded Kids Table. I think I was there until I went to college! However, there were a few advantages of sitting with this elite group of children. If I had been allowed to sit at the big table, I would have had to clean my plate. As a child, I hated stuffing, and those vegetables and cranberry sauce and mince pie. At the kids table, no one noticed if I only ate a roll and two bites of turkey. Also, we could wreck havoc all we wanted and our parents were too occupied to notice.
Then came the daunting task of doing the dishes. There was no automatic dishwasher. Some of us simply made ourselves scarce, hoping nobody noticed we weren't helping, others stood in the kitchen with a towel over one shoulder, chatting but never lifting a dish, others just complained about the drudgery of it all. Everyone always tried to get out of helping, but somehow we all did our share and things were cleaned up in the end. Teamwork!
Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. (No gifts) With all the effort that goes into this one, special dinner, it's a wonder Americans still go through with it the last Thursday in November year after year. Yet I remind myself every day how thankful I am to have such a great family, many friends, my health, and to be a citizen of the USA. So all the preparation that goes into making the dinner and celebrating Thanksgiving is pure pleasure.
Here's something to think about. I read about a woman in Jamestown, RI, (where my late brother Fritz once owned a home) who for the last ten years has held a Thanksgiving leftovers potluck on the Saturday after the holiday. It could also be called Save the Best for Last. Some guests bring leftovers, some use leftovers to make something new, and some begin from scratch. She declined from the start to give food assignments. She decided she wasn't going to try to control it. It's what's in the refrigerator, why worry about weather people have a balanced meal or not? The range of what turns up is vast, her guest list tops sixty-five, and is one of the most sought out invitations of the season.
I love the idea. Think I'll try it next year.
Happy Thanksgiving!

Water Sports

No one in the family was very athletic in terms of participating in organized team sports. By that I mean that we were not members of teams like the swim team, the football team, baseball, tennis, track, or basketball teams. We played sports as a family. We raced back and forth in the lake, we went sailing, we held relay races in the yard, we shot baskets in the driveway behind our house in Toledo, we played baseball on Acklin Ave. We rode our bikes all over the place, played endless games of hide and seek, and we ice skated for hours on neighborhood ponds and a frozen Lake Erie.

In the summer we swam every day. Non of us had lessons, we just learned by doing. Dad loved the water and would coax us to duck our heads under the cool, green lake at an early age. Then he would teach us how to kick our feet and use our arms to stroke through the water with swift movements. We loved it and always felt safe and comfortable in the lake.

Sometimes we would take one of the motor boats out during the week on a hot, windless day. We would speed out to deep water, drop an anchor and jump off the boat into twelve feet of wonderfulness, so cool and fresh that it was like a shot of sun, wind and freedom all rolled into one plunge. We would laugh and do cannonballs, trying to see which of us could make the biggest splash. We would dive, and then swim under the boat and hide from each other. It was exciting, innocent and just plain fun. We simply called this activity "deep swimming".

When Dad bought the Anderson (mentioned in an earlier post), we took up water skiing.
This boat had only a fifteen horse power motor on it, so it couldn't pull much weight. Lucky for me, I was a skin flint of a girl, perfect for skiing behind the Anderson. This was living!
Chris would drive the boat, up I went and off I skied. I also learned to cut the wake, my favorite part of the whole experience. I got to be pretty fair, and years and years later, well into my forties, I skied again behind our Boston Whaler. I was shocked and thrilled when I was able to stand up on skis again after about thirty five years. Proof that once a skill is learned, it is always with you.

The down side of all this was that our boat was too small to pull my older siblings who had more height and weight than I. Enter Uncle Ray's nineteen foot Lyman. Our Aunt Betty was Dad's younger sister. She and her husband, Uncle Ray, had no children of their own and they loved our family with all it's boisterousness and they showered us with attention and gifts. One summer, I think 1957, Uncle Ray bought this big boat that had an in board motor and a steering wheel and cushions, luxuries we had never seen. It sped along the lake at top speed, but the best of it was that it pulled everyone on waterskis and often pulled two at once.

We all thought this was just too cool, and begged Uncle Ray to take us skiing every time he came to visit with his boat. I remember that the skis we used were heavy, wooden and painted a bright yellow. One sunny Sunday, my brother Joe decided that not only would there be double skiing that day, but that I was to get on his shoulders while he skied. I was the lucky chosen one because I was the smallest. I thought this was a capital idea until I climbed unto his shoulders in the water, waited while the boat pulled the tow tight and then blasted off, pulling Joe and me out of the water. Suddenly I was very high up in the air, (Joe was over six feet tall) shivering with cold and terrified. He kept telling me to stop shaking. I couldn't. The truth is that I was, and still am, a total chicken. I didn't admit this before we went out on the water. You guessed it, we fell. It was my fault. They wouldn't take me again. After that I skied behind the small, slow Anderson. Perfect.

Further adventures of the Pier coming soon. Stay tuned for Local Characters, The Farmer, Linda, Fishing, Fashion, Tomatoes and more.

Labor Day and a Special Birthday

The summer of 2010 has flown by, don't know how that happened, but it seems I feel that way every Labor Day.
In June, the long stretch of sunny days and balmy evenings lay before me like a string of pearls, waiting to be tried on and savored. Suddenly it's the fourth of July and then, just like that, the season ends, the air turns crisp with a hint of fall.
In those days, school always started on the Wednesday after Labor Day. That meant that on the holiday, we had to leave Luna Pier and move back to our city life in Toledo. It seemed like just a few short weeks ago, that we were cleaning and moving into the cottage, and now it was time to pack up our clothing and food items, load both cars till their sides could split and drive the fifteen or so miles to Scottwood Avenue. But before that sad event could happen, we always enjoyed ourselves up until the inevitable departure.
The weekend was filled with the usual swimming, boating, water skiing, popsicles, Coca Colas, and general fun. There were always lots of friends and relatives coming and going. My older brothers would invite their pals from Toledo to visit for a swim and cookout. I was thrilled to see them because they were very friendly to me as the little sister, and didn't seem to mind my annoying presence. Being in high school, they brought their girlfriends along, and I was even more interested in the girls, and what they wore and their adorable haircuts. I longed to be that age-sixteen or seventeen, able to drive and just be cool. I was mesmerized, and clung to them as long as they would let me, and hated it when, at the end of the evening, they would get into their convertibles and drive off into the summer night.
My parents put on the usual spread for all to enjoy. Grilled burgers and hot dogs, baked beans, corn on the cob, fried chicken, deviled eggs, slices of watermelon, and chocolate cake.
We always had music at the cottage. I clearly remember lots of Mitch Miller and his sing-along albums. There were also soundtracks of Broadway shows like "My Fair Lady" and "Camelot". And who could forget the lush music of Louis Armstrong and his wonderful "A Kiss to Build a Dream On"?
Often, after dinner, we would go out into the yard, sit in a circle and have our own sing-a- long. There were usually sparklers, always stars, and definitely mosquitoes. Under the Japanese lanterns that were strung across the lawn, we would sing "Shine on Harvest Moon" and a round or two of "Row, Row, Row Your Boat", also, the slow and romantic "Summertime", the lively "The Bells are ringing" or perhaps a satiric Tom Lehrer tune. It was wonderful fun and created great memories.
Labor Day was also Mom's birthday. September 5, to be exact. Her birthday didn't always fall on Labor Day itself, but it was always that weekend. We celebrated in our usual festive way with food, family, friends, music and cake. Our family had (and still does) a set of three birthday songs, and we sang all of them for her loudly and with gusto. She loved it, and even though the weekend, with all it's cooking and cleaning up, and with the move back to "town" ahead of her, she absorbed all this merriment with joy.
This weekend marks my mother's one hundredth birthday! Hard to believe, but true. She was born in 1910 and died at age ninety. I adored my mother and I miss her everyday. Her devout faith and amazing strength are still an inspiration for me. She was extremely smart, an avid reader, had a great sense of humor, a terrific positive attitude, was beautiful, elegant, and glamorous. My mother was always ladylike and gracious, a fabulous hostess and cook and somehow she made it all look effortless.
So Happy Birthday Josephine Cora Hill Wenzler! I'll toast you this weekend with love and happy memories. Love and kisses!

Fourth of July at the Pier

I can't believe it's July first already. I have always thought of the July fourth holiday as being in the middle of the summer. Here in the Northeast, summer is just beginning. The local schools just ended their terms last Friday. So it really is the beginning of the summer of 2010. Tomorrow night at 9:00p.m. we will attend our local fireworks display under the stars over Long Island Sound aboard our boat, Cinnamon Girl. Always a fun evening with family, good friends and good food.
When I was a young girl, the Independence Day celebration was always fun filled with firecrackers, water activities, sparklers, ice cream, and wonderful summer food.
It seems to me that the weather was always hot and humid-perfect for the swimming and boating we would partake in as early in the day as we could.
My sister and I would dress all in red, white and blue. We each had new "keds" for our summer shoes. I always had navy blue and Emilie always had red. We'd wear red or blue shorts and contrasting blouses. Tshirts weren't as common as they are now. We wore sleeveless blouses that Mom ironed. And we would top it all off with colorful matching barrettes or bows at the end of our "pig tails".
Our family had a giant, and I mean GIANT, American flag. The dear old thing had 48 stars, and my dad and brothers would hang it from a wire strung between two huge old trees at the entrance of our yard. I loved the way it was always the backdrop in all the photographs taken on the 4th. I wonder what ever happened to it.
Dad loved firecrackers. He always had them around and would toss them out intermittently all during the day. This always startled us because he never gave us any warning as to when to expect a loud bang. Mom would get so annoyed at him for this. She was also worried that someone would get injured by one of his stunts. She'd be in the kitchen and we'd hear her scolding him about his lack of safety. He would laugh while she sputtered, and tell her not to worry so much and that he was being careful. I think he got a big kick out of this juvenile behavior.
My parents would be very busy getting ready for visiting family and friends. They always got distracted by their chores. This was good for little kids like me because no one was keeping a close watch on us. We could eat potato chips for lunch and they wouldn't notice.
We had an aunt and uncle (Dad's sister) who always came for the day and they would bring cases of soda pop in flavors the color of the rainbow. Red, orange, green, root beer, creme soda and coke. They also arrived with several gallons of ice cream, boxes of Popsicles, fudgesicles, drum sticks and ice cream bars, all packed in dry ice. We all thought we were in absolute heaven. we would spend the whole day just drinking cokes and eating junk food. It was the best.
Finally, it would be dinner time. Out came the trays of watermelon slices, ears of corn, fried chicken, grilled hamburgers and hot dogs, potato salad, sliced tomatoes, cucumbers, deviled eggs cherry pie, brownies and blondies. (recipe below)
Without ever sounding a dinner bell, we kids and friends would appear in the yard in late afternoon, after being on the water for hours. There we would gather around an old tree stump for appetisers and refreshments, then we would enter the main room of the cottage, the dining room, and load our plates high from the bountiful spread.
My parents always waited to eat until we dove into the food like "a pack of wolves". They would sit in the living room with Aunt Betty and Uncle Ray drinking martinis and relaxing, knowing they had finished the task of feeding everybody. When we were finished, they would dine while we headed to the lakefront to prepare our own neighborhood fireworks display.
Dad was sort of a good will ambassador at Luna Pier. I wrote about the raft we owned that was for all to enjoy, but he also built a dock at the end of our street for the neighbors to share. And he put on a fireworks display on that dock for the everyone to enjoy.
He would buy all kinds of colorful fireworks, sparklers, Chinese firecrackers, roman candles and shoot them off at sunset on the fourth of July. We would sit by the water, in the dark, holding sparklers and watching with wonder at the beautiful show. This was one of the few nights I remember being aloud to stay up so late.
I loved the fourth of July, still do.
Happy Birthday USA.
Enjoy this recipe:
JO'S BLONDIES
2 C. flour
1 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
1/2 c. butter
2 c. brown sugar
2 TBS hot water
2 tsp. vanilla
2 beaten eggs
Blend flour, baking powder, soda and salt. Set aside. Melt butter, add 2 cups brown sugar, water and vanilla. Blend in eggs and add flour mixture. Mix well. Pour into a greased 9x13x2" baking dish. Sprinkle with one 12 oz. package chocolate chips. Bake at 350 for 35 minutes.