Sunday, February 26, 2017

Sunday's photographic treasures

Today was another beautiful mild winter day in Oslo--sunshine, blue skies and a spring feeling in the air. Much of the snow from yesterday's snowstorm is melting. It was good to be outdoors. We took an hour's walk down and back along the Aker River (Akerselva) and stopped into one of the river cafes near Brenneriveien for coffee before heading home. Of course I had to take some photos along the way, and here they are--no particular rhyme or reason for taking them--just that the motifs caught my eye. It can be the play of sunlight on the water, or the shadows of the trees on the snow, or the rawness of street art. I'm also including a few photos from yesterday's snowstorm when I was out walking; then it was the trees and bushes covered in snow that attracted my photographic eye. It's very cool to be out walking right before twilight. Enjoy........


the beautiful Akerselva (Aker river)

Akerselva

Akerselva

Akerselva

unsigned street art, or is BT the artist?

unsigned street art


















Gamle Aker church


Kjærlighetsstien







Friday, February 24, 2017

Two songs by Gilberto Gil

Two just-about-perfect songs by Gilberto Gil--one of my favorite musicians.......I finally got to see him in concert some years ago here in Oslo, and it was such a great concert!

Touche pas à mon pote






Toda menina Bahiana

Tuesday, February 21, 2017

A new poem--Photo of you in a Manhattan café

This is a new poem that I wrote on the second anniversary of my brother's death. It is part of a new volume of poems that I am working on, in addition to my book about Tarrytown that I hope to be finished with this year. 
-----------------------------------------------

Photo of you in a Manhattan café  

And on this day, the second anniversary
Of your untimely death
A long-buried photo of you surfaced
Causing me to catch my breath

We had met for lunch in some downtown Manhattan café
That you frequented—eager to share with me your find
Proud that you were working there in that melee
Of New Yorkers milling about with their own kind

The contours of your face, your photogenic smile
Your youth that emanates from a decade ago
Your furtive smile, the one that could beguile
And persuade the most stubborn of us so

Your hidden secrets that remained unearthed
You did not give them willingly away
And those of us who tried to probe and came away
Unenlightened frustrated rather gone astray

If walls could talk, and photos likewise
Perhaps you would still walk upon this earth
And smile your stealthy smile for all to know
That happiness was yours, there was no dearth



copyright 2017 All rights reserved
Paula M. De Angelis 


Sunday, February 19, 2017

An icy river--Akerselva in winter

From last Sunday's walking tour along the beautiful Akerselva (Aker River)--some photos of the ice in the river, nearby where we live.......






Friday, February 17, 2017

Egeberglokka Parsellhage

Those of you who have followed this blog know that we became members of a nearby community garden (an allotment garden) in March of last year. The name of the garden is Egeberglokka Parsellhage and it has a website and a Facebook page. The website has recently been updated with new photos from garden members. The website has many lovely photos of this beautiful garden (some of mine are posted there as well: a butterfly and bee photo, pumpkins photo, hollyhocks photo, and a daisies photo).

Here is the website: https://www.egeberglokka.no/

And here is the Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/Egebergl%C3%B8kka-parsellhage-632798036735972/

I'm looking forward to a new gardening season--the days are getting longer and the sun is getting stronger (and warmer) for each day that passes........


Sunday, February 12, 2017

Remembering and becoming

When I started out in the work world over thirty-five years ago, I was fortunate enough to meet some very special people who became life-long friends. One of them was Edith, who was already in her mid-50s when I met her. She was the head secretary for the department I worked in at the Public Health Research Institute of the City of New York, and we became friends immediately. She was a friendly and outgoing woman who made everyone she met feel welcome and at home. I would say she was one of the most hospitable people I have ever known. She was a born and bred New Yorker who lived in Manhattan most of her life. She married and raised two children in a spacious apartment in the Stuyvesant Town–Peter Cooper Village, a large, post-World War II development of residential apartments on the east side of Manhattan. That apartment is where I visited her many times on my annual trips to New York, and it is where she suffered the stroke that eventually took her life at the age of 91. She had many opportunities to leave Manhattan, to move to the suburbs to be with her daughter and her daughter’s husband, but she chose not to. She remained independent until the day she died. I remember my last visit with her a few months before she passed away; she was waiting for me at the door of her apartment as I got off the elevator, and although she was very unsteady on her feet, she insisted on serving coffee and some pastries. And when I left her apartment a few hours later, she held onto my arm as we walked toward the door. Sometimes, before it got too difficult for her to walk, we would leave her apartment and walk to the nearby diner to have lunch--one of her favorite places because it made veggie burgers that were out of this world. And then we would walk slowly home again. It was always a bittersweet moment to say goodbye, much like when I said goodbye to my mother after one of my annual visits, not knowing if I would see them again, but hoping against hope that I would. Edith was a truly generous soul, who helped a lot of newcomers at work, who helped her children and grandchildren, and who took care of her husband who was afflicted with Alzheimer’s until she could no longer manage his care by herself. My memories of her are very pleasant; she and Virginia, another secretary at the institute and one of Edith’s close friends, both taught me how to make an apple-cranberry pie for the first Thanksgiving I ever prepared food for. It was the first such pie I had ever made; we made it at work during our lunch hour one dreary day in November, and I carried it home with me on the subway that evening. Unfortunately, I dropped the pie onto the subway platform and the glass pie plate shattered, and I ended up having to make the pie again when I got home. But at least I had learned how to do it. In return, I taught her how to use the newest word-processing program on her work computer. She was open to most new developments, was interested in the world around her, and very well-read. She loved to go to Shakespeare in the Park and to the opera and ballet. She and Virginia came to the church when I married for the first time (very young); when I later got divorced, she told me that it was no surprise to her, as she had not had a good feeling about my marriage from day one. She was honest that way, and it was good to hear it. If you asked for advice, you got it. I asked for advice when I needed it, because I knew it would be reasonable and smart.

I thought about Edith recently because I realized in one of those moments when certain insights make themselves known, that I have overtaken her role for some of the younger people I know, some of whom are at least twenty-five years younger than I am. The age difference between me and Edith was much larger, over thirty-five years, but it never bothered me. I hardly thought about it. That was the way I was raised. I had older parents and my relationship with the both of them was very good. They were my parents first, and then my friends. I assume that the younger people I know feel the same about me as I did about Edith; the age difference does not matter. Why should it? We are able to discuss books, music, movies and so many other things that interest us. I like a lot of the current music and literature; they like a lot of the music I grew up with, as well they should since it is really amazing music and an amazing era in which to grow up. We need role models to show us how to grow older. I had them, and I hope that I can be one for the younger people with whom I have become friends.

Tuesday, February 7, 2017

A New Yorker in Oslo was quoted on a Tarrytown NY website

So happy to see that something I wrote about the Tarrytown Lakes on A New Yorker in Oslo was actually used on the My Tarrytown Bike It! website, which by the way is a very interesting website. You can bet that I want to do some of the bike trips listed here! Check it out......

http://www.mytarrytown.com/t-town-lakes-extension/



Monday, February 6, 2017

Cookie man

I made hermit cookies last night (raisin spice cookies) and discovered one cookie on the cooling rack that definitely didn't look like the rest of them! Definitely not planned......but cute.


Wednesday, February 1, 2017

A favorite photo of my brother

Today is the second anniversary of my brother Ray's death. I was looking through old photos during this past weekend and came across a few of him from November 2005 (he had just turned 45 in August of that year). I had met Ray for lunch in Manhattan; that was something we often did when I came to NY to visit. I would meet him for lunch for a couple of hours as his 'business client', and then we would join the whole family in the evening of the same day or on a separate day. It was always nice to have some alone time with him; we always had some interesting conversations about how he enjoyed being a father to two children, our family, the work world, politics and history. He was an avid history buff and a real font of knowledge when it came to American history. He would have made a good history teacher. This photo is one of my favorites; he was happy and smiling (my mother would have said--look at his dimples) and relaxed. It wasn't often that he had the chance to relax.

On Monday of this week, a woman from our old neighborhood in Tarrytown (Tappan Landing Road), Bridget, passed away from cancer. She was the sweet daughter of the older woman, Philomena, who used to care for my mother in her later years. Just like my brother, Bridget was 54 when she passed away. They died two days and two years apart, but at the same age. I'd like to think that they're both in heaven now, happy and at peace.



Living a small life

I read a short reflection today that made me think about several things. It said that we cannot shut ourselves away from the problems in the...