Making it in Toledo

 

The clock talked loud. I threw it away, it scared me what it talked. ~Tillie Olsen, Tell Me a Riddle

There are a lot of ways of measuring time,  and I’m using some now that I never could have imagined.  Not infrequently in the morning I know what day it is by the label on my pill container (mostly vitamins) before I come anywhere near a calendar.  More happily, since I no longer spend time in a windowless office, often I ignore the clocks because I know what time it is by the angle and the intensity of the sunlight that I try to follow around the house all day.  I can measure the weeks since I’ve seen my granddaughter by the new things she can do and the new expressions on her face.

Today, coming home from an afternoon appointment, I stopped at Schorling’s for some orange juice.  I’ve known the store was up for sale, and I’ve even noticed that the shelves were getting barer.  But today all the groceries are 30% off and there was NO orange juice.  (I stocked up on ice cream and toilet paper.) I don’t need any more evidence that a LOT of years have gone by since we moved into this house and opened a charge account at our neighborhood grocery.   The whole family, including kids, could shop with a signature, and I’ve been writing a monthly check to Schorlings  for three decades.  They’re still running charges this afternoon, but I have a feeling the next statement I get may be the last.

I’m sad, but things run their course.  At the other side of Ottawa Hills, just west of the railroad tracks on Bancroft, I also used to shop at another grocery, Velmar, which closed a LONG time ago.  Now the space is occupied by a middle eastern market where in one visit last week I bought French feta cheese (my favorite), cumin cookies (really wonderful), and almond hair oil (still haven’t tried it).

Live is wonderful, isn’t it?

I’ve read with interest two articles this snowy Sunday.  The first details  recent research which urges ” a back-to-basics strategy: Invest in good schools and public safety, and don’t bet on the trendy stuff” like “casino gaming, programs to attract  creative-class workers, the stylish New Urbanism development projects and more.”  These, researchers found, while they may have been successful in themselves, “contributed little or nothing to overall regional economic growth.”  The authors argue for nuance, and I agree with the article’s conclusion:  “Yet researchers … are on to something here. It may not be sexy. And it’s not short term. But in urban economic development, as in life, if you take care of the basics, the frills tend to take care of themselves.”  I hope Toledo’s decision makers are paying attention.  We need a comprehensive and holistic approach to development.  Without basics like clean water and safe (and paved) streets, it’s hard to see how anything else will work.

(The back to basics approach reminds me of  Milwaukee’s “sewer socialists”  and makes me want think more about the Bernie Sanders phenomenon.  I’m not a fan of Sanders as a presidential candidate, but I admire what he was able to accomplish as mayor of Burlington. )

The second article was much less fun to read.  It’s painful for me to admit that I agree with much of what Keith Burris has to say about “the “good old boy” network in Toledo government” in this morning’s Blade.  Especially this:  “This spoils system has always been a part of city politics in America, from Boston to L.A. But the question of competence has not always been so totally irrelevant: Can the persons filling these jobs do them well and serve the public?”  When Toledoans voted to adopt a strong-mayor system in 1992 , they chose politics over professionalism.  Ironically, that choice was not just supported but driven by Mr. Burris’ employer.  As a non-resident of the city, I didn’t have a vote, but even then it was clear to me that the big labor, big business, and our big newspaper all saw this as a chance to gain power, and nothing I’ve seen since the first strong mayor election in 1993 has changed my mind.  As one labor  leader (no longer in the area) explained it to me, “There’s nothing wrong with the good old boy system as long as you’re one of the good old boys.”   Or girls, I suppose.

Burris criticizes Mayor Paula Hicks-Hudson for showing “zero capacity for reform and zero interest in professionalizing city government, which we need desperately.”  I don’t know enought about the specifics he details to have an opinion, but I do know that she is operating within a system that will make it tough to prioritize competence.  I trust that she will try, and I wish her the best of luck in doing it.

 

 

 

 

 

One of my first dreams of 2016 was familiar:  I was exploring a house which may or may not have been mine but in which I was completely comfortable.  It seemed utterly natural when I discovered several new rooms, all attractive and appealing but mostly in need of an update (picture a dusty-gray lace-trimmed pillow).  Hmmmm.  Not too subtle.  A quick google search reveals general agreement that dreams about houses are common and that one’s dream house symbolize one’s life.  Newly-discovered rooms suggest, alternatively, neglected parts of one’s self or as-yet-unrealized opportunities.  I think I’ll go with the latter.

 Finding hidden rooms, or rooms that you were unaware of in your present house can indicate a new potential for your life that you are just now realizing. destinydreamz.com

As my blog title suggests, I’m making it in Toledo.  I’m a happy woman and not ready to crowd-source life decisions.  I love having the time to bake and otherwise home-make.  I enjoy my husband and my kids. It’s great being free to play with my grandchild whenever she’s available.  I value the opportunity to help lead our local community action agency as board chair. Entertaining my friends of all ages is a delight.  But maybe it’s not such a good thing that I have time to clean my computer keyboard.  Maybe it would be good to be more selective about what books I read.  Maybe I could make more of a difference in the world.

This is not a resolution.  It’s a hope.  I want to find new pursuits. I don’t want to pursue busy-ness.  I want to focus on new opportunities. I want to preserve the privilege of being accountable mainly to myself, but I think it may be time to hold myself more accountable.  Comments and suggestions welcome.

 

 

 

When we returned after our recent trip out west, an unpleasant smell we had noticed in our coat closet had become unbearable.  After fruitless attempts to air it out, today I found the cause:  a very small mouse had crawled into an infrequently-used snow boot and met its end.   At least that problem was easily solved, although now I’m contemplating a trip to DSW.  The mouse who has been haunting our kitchen since winter arrived was luckier:  although it was caught in a snap trap it took off running into the back yard when I released it.  I wish it well.

At the personal level, I’m grateful that pretty much all of my problems are easy.  I have a hard time writing that, since I know it could change.  But i hope that acknowledging my good fortune and my privilege helps me to remember the responsibilties that come with it.  And to rid myself of the vague sense of guilt that I carry wherever I go.  In a community, a country, a world, a planet with so many problems, it’s probably impossible to do enough, ever.  But we try.  Perhaps we will be lucky too.

After a week of traveling, it’s good to be home.  Although its tempting to dive right into holiday preparations, baking, and tackling the suddenly-more-noticeable accumulation of magazines and junk mail, I want to spend some time reflecting on the excess extravagance of Las Vegas.  I want to think about that in the context of what preceded it, about the perhaps equally excessive asceticism imposed by the desert on those who lived there in the centuries before it became Sin City.

In the state and federal parks we visited, there was invariably the story of Native Americans. Voices of the Nuwuvi, the People, were featured in our last road trip, to the Pahranagat Valley.  The area is on the Pacific flyway.  Kind of like Maumee Bay, but in the middle of the desert. We saw several dozen tundra swans and a bald eagle. The Nuwuvi believe they were put on the earth to keep it in balance, a balance which mostly ended sometime in the 19th century when cattle-rustlers brought their stolen herds to this remote area where warm springs create a mile-wide band of fertility surrounded by nothing but high desert and mountain ranges (and, today, an aspirational development featuring an unlikely golf course and mostly-imaginary community).  

Technology, epitomized by the Hoover Dam, was certainly one key to how the goats and tortoises gave way to the glitz of the Strip.  But it wouldn’t have happened without the ruthless ambition and ingenuity of humans, some of whose stories we read about at the  Mob Museum.  The story of the last 150 years of Las Vegas seems like the story of western civilization in an exaggerated microcosm.  Nature is tamed and destroyed, culture is created and corrupted.  I would not want to live anywhere near the Las Vegas strip.  But I would also not want to live as the Nuwuvi lived.

So I want to think about it all while enjoying my life of (relative) moderation.

 

Yesterday we dropped Craig and Sue at the airport, leaving us on our own for our last few days in Las Vegas.  I’m sorry they missed our first afternoon activity, an exhibition of Picasso prints and paintings at the Bellagio gallery.  The theme is the human form, with a focus on three of Picasso’s muses:  Dora Maar, Francoise Gilot, and Jacqueline Roque.  For many of the print series, the original plates are on display as well.  I’m looking forward to learning more about this period (1930s to 1960s) of Picasso’s incredible, excessive (fits in Las Vegas) life and work.

We wondered on down the Strip to take in Zarkana, my first Cirque de Soleil experience.  Again, I enjoyed it a lot, I am glad I did it, but I probably don’t need to do it again.  That seems to be the theme of my Las Vegas trip.

The experience I do want to repeat,  not surprisingly, is exceptional food.  We wrapped up the night at Sage, whose tagline is “simply indulgent.”  We started with Wagyu beef tartare, which featured “crispy chocolate” and a tiny egg.  Indulgent indeed.

Since we don’t plan to return to the Strip, I’m glad that our experience ended with a bonus.  We shared a dessert (chocolate panna cotta) and were ready to leave when we were presented with a final course:  chocolate soup in a tiny cup.

So from art to entertainment to food, today was about appreciating those who are making it in Las Vegas.

We’re planning one more road trip today before we come home, where I’ll be making simple food for at least a few days, but I think that I will have soaked up at least a bit of inspiration to enjoy the occasional excess.

For all its glorious excess, and despite the worn spots on the edges, Las Vegas is, well, new.  Yesterday afternoon we visited the Valley of Fire.

Fifty miles from the Strip we saw 3000-year old petroglyphs and rock formations whose sandstone layers were laid down in the time of the dinosaurs, 150 million years ago. Early Basket Makers people, as Michael Pollan described in Cooked, made grain-seed-small animal and fish porridges in water-filled baskets by dropping in hot stones. Goats and even tortoises were other sources of food.

 

 The Anasazi lived here for a time but eventually moved on, leaving the Paiutes who remain today. Earlier this week we visited a ranch originally owned by a settler who married a Paiute woman and adopted her children, a very confused family tree.

Only in the 20th century did invaders enter the valley.  Mormon settlers kept going because there were so few resources. Aside from the road and a visitor center, even today it’s not hard to imagine you’re sharing the space only with Gila monsters and tarantulas.

I usually avoid the the “pano” setting on my i-Pad, but everywhere I looked there was a panorama:

We arrived fairly late, after dropping my daughter at the airport, and as a result of that happy accident we were in the park as the sun set.

Finally (reluctantly) we headed back to downtown Las Vegas, where the light show at the Fremont Experience was a bit of an anticlimax.  I won a few dollars in the slot machines at the Four Queens and we watched rodeo on the televisions over dinner at the Golden Nugget, but it is the Valley of Fire I will remember forever.

This trip has made me think about excess.  Can excess be a good thing?  If excess means more than the usual or necessary amount, then it depends, doesn’t it? There is no doubt in my mind that the Hoover Dam exists because of an excess:  an excess of ambition, of money, of everything it took to dam up the Colorado and pour so much concrete that they had to invent a way of cooling it, without which the concrete poured in 1935 would still be giving off heat.   But it’s not the engineering that I find most fascinating, it’s the people who decided that it was not just okay to intervene in nature but that it was necessary.  The money people and the political people and the 16,000 people who actually built it.  What gave them such nerve?

Most people like seem to like the result, whatever the cause.  That’s certainly not universally true of the excess of the Las Vegas Stip; many seem to find it depressing.  During the day, I couldnt agree more, and I suspect that this one-week visit will be enough for me.  But at night there’s something irresistable about all that light, all tht motion, all that energy, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to eperience it.  Last night’s trip was especially strange.  When we got on the resort-provided  shuttle, the driver explained that he couldn’t drop us at the usual point, Caesar’s Palace, because they had “a jumper.” Lots of bad jokes followed, from the driver and a fellow passenger, and I had an unsettling sense of how they and hundreds of thousands of others felt no connection to “the other,” whether it be a depressed guy who lost all his money, got drunk, and inconvenienced our evening or a refugee or immigrant whose religious beliefs are not our own.  But Love Trumps Hate, right? I hope so, excessively perhaps.

Before we Ubered back to our condo (the jumper was in custory, but we wanted a quick ride home), we stood for a while to watch the “dancing fountains” of the Bellagio. While it certainly doesn’t deliver electricity  and water to millions, this water show, excessive that it is, is my favorite thing on the Las Vegas Strip, and I can’t imagine it happening anywhere else.  It takes a minute to load, but enjoy with me: IMG_3804

I am not surprised by the excess of Las Vegas; it’s what everyone told me to expect.  But there’s something kind of fun about seeing the levels of excess.  Each casino is excessive in its own way, maybe.  And it’s wonderful to see the contrast between Las Vegas “culture” and the nature that’s just a few miles away.  Yesterday we went to Red Rock Canyon, and it is spectacular!

We visited a ranch once owned (but apparently never visited) by Howard Hughes, and we were compelled to stop at virtually every pullout along the 13-mile scenic drive through the canyon.  Since we had previously read about the growth of Las Vegas and the (relatively) recent history of the city, learning about the area’s geographic origins and the early settlers who lived among the Paiute Indians gave me a new perspective.

We couldn’t resist a return visit to our new favorite Thai restaurant.  Instead of going back to the Strip, we stopped at an off-strip casino just down the street from our condo.  It’s National Rodeo Finals week in Vegas, and the Orleans promises “the best Rodeo after-parties.” I can’t vouch for that, but I will admit that the lure of penny slots pulled a few dollars out of my pocket (I came out ahead by $2.47) and the video clips of the day’s rodeo winners were compelling for a few minutes at least.

The aspect of Cooked, the book I read last week, which I like best was the continual reference to the cook as transforming nature into culture.  Here the transformation is less subtle.  And, so far, the culture is less, well, cultured.
Today we’re off to the Hoover Dam, which promises yet more excess.  And maybe a return visit to the Strip and the “high-end” casinos which probably won’t offer penny slots.

The first thing we did in Las Vegas was to pick up a car and drive the Strip.  It seemed dismal, and I was worried that this would be a verrrry long week.  Then we tried to check out the container park in the Arts District, which the travel guides promote as an up-and-coming hip area. I’m pretty sure we found it, and, unless I’m wrong about that, the Arts District must have a talented publicist – we couldn’t even find a place to have lunch!  So we spent a couple of hours in the pool and the hot tub at the off-strip resort where we are staying, which helped. I can imagine worse things than a week of mindless relaxation.  Then we found the off-strip restaurant I’d been eyeing on all the travel sites, and I revised upward my opinion and my expectations for the week.  Really good Thai food, an incredible wine list, great service and affordable prices.  I can imagine worse things than a week of dinners at Lotus of Siam.

Eight hours sleep on Saturday night was restorative, and on Sunday, after picking up my BIL and SIL at the airport, we went directly to the Mob Museum, located in the old post office/courthouse, and the site of at least one of the Kefauver hearings.  By the time  we left we were pretty mobbed-out and over-grislied, but it’s really a well-done project and comprehensively informative.  Then we made a quick turnaround, dropped the car at the resort, and returned to the strip via shuttle.  The Strip at night is a whole other experience!  We had no time for a real dinner, so ate at Chipotle in a food court before we went to Harrah’s for a show which re-created a legendary impromptu jam session at Sun Records in 1956.  I wasn’t listening to rockabilly as a six-year-old, but I did hear lots of it growing up in upstate NY, and the music of The Million Dollar Quartet brought back memories and had all of us on our feet more than once.

So we walked through two casinos – Harrah’s and Caesar’s Palace -without feeling the need to gamble, and walked the strip to gawk at the lights and the sights.  My SIL says that the dancing fountains at the Bellagio were worth the trip, and I’m inclined to agree with her, but I still want to see a few more of these extravaganzas.

Not sure I’ll be a return visitor to Las Vegas, but I’m glad I came.