Open Window

The Man Who Came To Dinner

In our household, Peter is known as "the man who came to dinner ... and never left". Twenty-two years ago, I invited Peter to come over for dinner and to watch the Oscars, and that was the beginning of what has been the most wonderful 22 years of my life. We have fit together like glove and hand since the very beginning, enjoying the same past times, like cooking and photography, sharing nearly boundless curiosity on subjects ranging from The Barnes Collection to gun collections, loving the thrill of travel in the U.S. and abroad, and basking in each other's companionship whether we're chatting up a storm or simply silent. We work and play well together, sharing similar values and perspectives on the world. We truly like each other ... still.

Tonight we get to celebrate once more the first of our two anniversaries. Our second anniversary celebrates our marriage, on a hot day in July, nearly five years after this fateful dinner. This evening, we'll share a favorite meal of lamb and asparagus, preceded by oysters and caviar, and our interest in movies. We'll light a fire and enjoy its warmth while we watch the awards being handed out. As I look across the room, even today, I smile - adoring the sight of this man that I love and feeling so very fortunate that I was smart enough to have invited him to dinner twenty-two years ago "today". 

 

 

Open Window's Second Year

It's official, Open-Window is now two years old. I can hardly believe I began this blog on a cold January day, sitting at the island in my kitchen, 730 days ago. In the past two years, Open-Window has focused my days on creating stories, snippits, and photographs that I hoped you would find entertaining, sometimes informative, and maybe even amusing. We've covered a lot of ground and many diverse topics over this time ranging from Hawaii to Paris, Hamburger Relish to Caviar, Horse Racing to Airshow Acrobatics. As time has passed, we increasingly focused on the images and slide shows that would accompany a post, and have worked diligently to improve the quality of all that we delivered. Peter has continued to emphasize wide-angle HDR (high dynamic range) photography whether on his DSLR (digital single lens reflex-camera) or his, ever-handy, iPhone, and I have continued with my love of all-things-macro, although we each dabbled in the other's specialty just to keep it interesting.

Mexican Train Tiles and Turtles
Photo © 2011 Claudia Ward 

Over the past twenty four months, we've made 388 postings to Open-Window which is an average of almost 4 per week, nearly every one containing at least one photograph and 60 of which included a slide show with music. When we embarked on this endeavor, we expected to focus on travel, food and photography. As it's turned out, the focus has been just that ... but in reverse - photography, food and travel. See, we'll photograph nearly anything - food that we eat, games that we play, children at the beach, machines of any sort, flowers and their residents, landmarks and landscapes, moon-rises and sunsets, and even light itself. 

The Outer Banks of North Caroline
Photo © 2011 Claudia Ward taken with the iPhone using the Pro HDR App

This year has been quite a journey photographically as well as geographically. Peter and I traveled over 14, 500 miles. We drove the entire east coast from the east end of Long Island to Orlando, Florida, traversing Florida, and turning north to reach Memphis Tennessee. We crossed the states of Tennessee and North Carolina end-to-end (west to east), photographing some of this country's most beautiful scenery in the Great Smoky Mountains. When we reached the Atlantic Ocean, it felt like we'd returned home, for tidal waters are in our veins, and the days on the Outer Banks are now cherished memories. Early morning sunrises over the ocean, wild horses on the beaches, hang gliding from the dunes, and fish tacos are just a few of the things we captured in-frame. With tornadoes nipping at our heels from western Florida, to Memphis and eventually to eastern North Carolina, we headed home just hours before their destruction hit the locales we'd come to know and love. Atlantic City was our refuge from the storms, before returning to the calm, untouched East End.

Spanish Mustang on the Outer Banks
Photo © 2011 Claudia Ward

Thirty days and thirty nights, and 4,000 miles on the road gave us a tremendous, renewed appreciation for the beauty and diversity of this country we live in. A couple of hundred more miles were covered seeking out horses at Saratoga Springs in August. For one who isn't known as an animal lover, I do love photographing them. Whether in their stance or stride, they speak volumes to me and hopefully that is being captured by the lens. Finally, the balance of those miles (nearly 10,000) were accomplished by a trip to The Big Island of Hawaii, where we were able to photograph the incredible diversity of this island's landscape and all of its beauty from a helicopter. 

Antique Hood Ornament
Photo © 2011 Claudia Ward 

More locally, we visited Belmont Park just a week before the Stakes were run and attended the Hampton Classic Horse Show every single day it was held over Labor Day weekend. There were at least three Antique Auto Shows, one Road Rallye and a Mini Cooper Scavenger Hunt that we shot as well. Our beaches on the east end of Long Island are some of the most breathtaking in the country (right up there with North Carolina's) and we spent many happy hours either hip deep in snow in January or ankle deep in sand in August, capturing the undulating shapes of their dunes draped in snow or the power of their seas after a storm.

Light Painting for New Year's
Photo © 2011 Peter Tooker 

The holidays that dot our calendars were also not ignored. Memorial Day is always an homage to the "Opening" of the Hamptons season. Flag Day, the 4th of July, Labor Day, Thanksgiving and the Christmas season were all duly noted and celebrated with photographs too.   

Meaty Tomato painted by Barbara Andolsek

Let me also add, ever so humbly, that I have once again been thrilled that Barbara Andolsek continues to make paintings based on some of my photographs. Barbara and I have yet to meet but feel a friendship beyond pen-pals. Nearly 3,000 miles apart but with a shared appreciation for the beauty of the world around us, Barbara and I have forged a friendship that could only occur in this wonderful 21st century. It still astounds me at how incredibly open and selfless so many people are using the internet to connect, communicate, and share. I feel incredibly fortunate to be able to be a part of it.

The word "blog" is derived from the expression "web log", which originally was an online journal of sorts and has morphed, over time, into a platform for communicating and exchanging information and ideas. I want to thank you all for your enthusiasm and support over the last two years but more importantly for your participation - "communication and exchange" are exactly what has occurred when you've left comments for us, and you've made it just that much more fun and interesting.

So here is a slide show which represents a snapshot of Open-Window's second year. It's shorter than last year's and yet still longer than most at just under 10 minutes. Perhaps you can set aside a little time next Sunday morning. We've made this for you, to enjoy and remember a year that we shared, and for that I want to say with great sincerity "Thanks for the memories". 

  

Photos & Slide Show by Claudia Ward & Peter Tooker © 2011
Music: Concerto in E-flat Major for Trumpet & Orchestra: 1. Allegro Con Spirito by Wynton Marsalis, National Philharmonic Orchestra & Raymond Leppard 

 

P.S. Please feel free to leave a comment and let us know what you thought of year two and if there is something you'd like to see more of in the coming months.

 

 

Poached Chicken Breasts

My mother was not a cook. Having grown up in residential hotels, she never spent any length of time in a kitchen, let alone cooking in one. When she married after the war (WWII that is), it allegedly took her several months before she dared to make jello ... or so the family story goes, and keep in mind she entered the kitchen to cook in earnest in the 1950s - enough said?

Mother's method for cooking nearly everything was on a cookie sheet. Baked chicken breasts? Place chicken on a cookie sheet, cook in a 350℉ oven for one hour - serve. Pork chops? Brown the pork chops in a hot skillet, place chops on a cookie sheet and bake in a 350℉ oven for one hour and serve, preferably with lots of applesauce. Carrots came in a bag from the freezer, peas, green beans, and corn came from a can, and potatoes and fish were nearly always in the shape of a stick.

When dinner was a steak or hamburgers, Mother used the broiler to near disastrous results. Almost without fail, they would catch fire - one which she would extinguish by smothering it with a liberal amount of table salt. This is probably the source of one of the only cooking lessons I remember getting from my mother and that was - always listen to what's cooking! It may also be the reason why my father placed a small hibachi-like grill in the fireplace where he would charcoal grill these meats to tasty perfection. 

If and when we needed poached chicken for chicken salad and casseroles, the process was simple. Drop chicken breasts into boiling salted water and let them simmer for nearly an hour. Allow them to cool, remove the skin and bones, cut the meat into bite-size pieces and dress liberally with anything moist because the result was what one should have expected - dry, rubbery chicken meat. Please don't get me wrong, we didn't ever starve but let's just say the cuisine was simple. The result of this culinary experience? All of her daughters can cook - some liking it more than others.

These days, as most of you know, I have an extensive library of cookbooks, which are the sources of my ongoing culinary education and many a wonderful meal. I do have favorite authors and teachers including Patricia Wells, Ina Garten and Bobby Flay. Patricia came out with a new cookbook last spring called Salad As A Meal in which there's a divine recipe for Poached Chicken Breasts. Peter and I both reveled in how moist and flavorful the meat was and added it to many of our summer salads. One batch I kept covered in the stock in the refrigerator for several days before using and when I removed it I just had to take this picture ... to me, it looked like art.

Poached Chicken Breasts Covered with Stock

1 quart Homemade Chicken Stock
1 onion, quartered (do not peel)
Several fresh tarragon leaves
Several fresh thyme sprigs 
1 celery rib or several celery leaves, chopped
2 fresh or dry bay leaves
6 whole peppercorns
4 plump, moist garlic cloves, peeled and halved
6 fresh parsley sprigs
2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts (each about 8 ounces)
======================================

• In a medium saucepan, combine all the ingredients except the chicken. Cover, bring to a simmer; simmer uncovered for 5 minutes.
• Carefully slip the chicken breasts into the stock, making sure they are fully covered by the liquid. Cover and simmer for 7 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat (keeping it covered), and let the chick cool in the stock for 1 hour.
• The chicken can be used immediately or refrigerated, covered in stock. The stock can be strained and used to prepare chicken soup or reduced to use for a sauce. (Store the chicken in an airtight container in the stock in the refrigerator for up to 3 days.) 

Try this, I think you'll adopt this as your recipe of choice for poached chicken going forward.

 

Fathers

Yesterday was Father's Day, the day we celebrate these special men in our lives - the ones who have led the way, taught us how to face our fears, and, by example, showed us invaluable skills such as boogy-boarding and fishing. Always taller, apparently stronger, and with a firm hand to hold - one with the unspoken promise never to lose us. These are the men who have built families and lives with us, generation to generation - let's celebrate how special they are.

 

Happy Father's Day (one day late) to each and every Dad.

 

For Mother's Day

Sunday is Mother's Day and I've been thinking about mothers a lot lately. In the beginning, we all have one and she fills a spot in our hearts like no other human being in our lives, after all she gave us life (with a little help from her friend). She protects us fiercely, nurtures us constantly, and guides us along our path with a true determination unmatched by others. She would move mountains to help us, if that's in her power. She's the proudest when we succeed, the most dashed when we are disappointed, and the first to pick us up and dust us off when we fail. She is the living embodiment of unconditional love. She is the one we take for granted the most, as she's always there ... until she isn't, when a hole is created in our lives, never to be filled again. 

My own mother died 39 years ago when I was only 20 years old, and to this day, I wonder what she would think of the life I've lived. I can still hear her voice and the sound of her laughter, her words of caution and encouragement, and her proclamations of right and wrong. These I've held tightly to over the years and used as a rudder to maintain my course, and as long as I was listening, they've never failed me. So despite having been gone for decades now, this woman lives on in me through the lessons I learned so many years ago. 

So to all of you mothers out there, wherever you are on the time continuum, know that the lessons you teach to us become a part of our fabric, even if you thought we weren't listening. We are inexorably tied together forever, and beyond, and we truly couldn't live without you, though it seems we spend a lifetime trying to be free of those binds.

Some of you have just become mothers for the first time - bask in the beginning because this is just the first chapter of a life-long novel with many and varied chapters ahead. Some of you are caring for elderly or ill mothers - remember, she helped you in to this world, you should help her out. Some of you have just lost your mothers - cherish the time you had together and the memories she created for you.

All of you mothers - know in your hearts that you are always in ours even when you've gone on ahead - just remember to leave a light on for us to follow.

Photo © 2011 Claudia Ward

Happy Mother's Day, one and all. 

A Simple Life - The Lesson from a Child

By now, you must have guessed that we have a new member to our family, a bouncing baby boy - the first of the next generation. When we visited recently, he captured our hearts as he does with everyone who meets him.

The world loves a newborn child. The simplicity of a newborn's existence and what entertains him is soothing and comforting to us, and in stark contrast to the, often times, chaotic hubbub of our daily grown-up lives. A newborn cannot communicate with words and yet he speaks volumes to anyone who is paying attention. His eyes, his tiny mouth, and those chubby arms all move in harmony to tell us of his joy and delight, confusion or dismay, discomfort and exhaustion, adoration, and wonderment with the world around him and everything in it.  

At once, a newborn can be an angel and an imp. The future rascal in him is revealed in his giggles; the future heart-throb is revealed in the adoration in those big "baby-blues"; and, the future man is revealed in his determination to reach out for what he wants. Laughter and tears come easily to this young soul and come forth with a directness and honesty that is at once startling and yet welcome. Life is simple and it takes only one child to show each of us the value of that.

I've compiled a brief slide show of this newborn to share with you the magic I observed as this young man takes in the world around him and let's us all know what he thinks about it.

 Photos and Slide Show ©2011 Claudia Ward

Music: Those Eyes, by Pamela Lillard

The Joy a Baby Brings

A newborn baby always seems so magical to those of us who have so many years under our belts. They are so small, so completely reliant upon us for everything they need - a heavy burden one might think ... and yet, the care and feeding come naturally and the joy received from the simplest of things seem boundless.

Watching parents, relatives and close friends with a newborn is also entertaining, because everyone finds a different part absolutely irresistible. I, for one, love to get lost in their eyes - so honest, and full of wonder and curiosity.

A friend of mine cannot refrain from "blowing kisses" on a newborn's tummy,

and I recently watched a mother play endlessly with her new son's toes, untried and soft for now.

A newborn is a bundle of joy and the aggregate of his or her parts fills us all with happiness and hope.

 

A Child's Eyes

Those eyes, those eyes, those magical eyes.

Is there anything quite as magical as watching the wonder of the world through a child's eyes? I don't think so. It's captivating and you know exactly how they feel at any point in time - pure pleasure, curiosity, perpexity, discomfort, exhaustion, and joy, they are all fully and honestly expressed in those eyes. That's why grown-ups can get lost in them so easily.

 

A Little Sister

A little sister is something to behold. For one thing, she's smaller than you at the start, she resembles a doll but one that moves, and she looks up to you with a curiosity and fascination that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. As she grows, she becomes a little playmate and the one who wears those hand-me-downs next; and, she's a guarantee that there's yet one more place to "pass the buck" when "trouble 's a-brewing" in the ranks.

Today is my little sister's birthday (and I won't tell which one). At the ripe old age of 25, my older sister wrote me and said, "The only reason I don't mind getting older is ... I know you're right behind me." Well, we're decades past 25 now little sis and "... you're right behind me" ... I find that very comforting.

When she was small, my little sister was adorable and also very shy, an attribute she's mastered over the years. In fact, she's grown into a confident, hard-working, energetic woman, and the mother of a well balanced and interesting son. One of the characteristics I respect the most about her, in part because I do not have this talent, is her ability to thoroughly research anything. If she selected a school for her son, chose a car for the family, or rented a house for vacation, her decision was informed because it was based on lots and lots of research. This has served her well over the years as she's rarely made a bad decision and thus spent her money wisely. But, I have to say, the attribute I love the most about her is her sense of humor and laughter. When something strikes her funny bone, there's no stopping her. She'll laugh until she literally cries, and to watch it brings me pure joy. Uncontrollable laughter, I only wish it was contagious.

I've often told my sister, that we're such different people that we probably wouldn't know each other if we weren't related. She doesn't like it when I say that but truly our interests and energies have always been very different. Well, sis, I'm here to say, I'm very glad I know you and I'm proud to call you my little sister. Happy, happy birthday, and many, many more.

 

Generations

"We live, not by things, but by the meanings
of things. It is needful to transmit the passwords
from generation to generation."

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Families grow, generation to generation, one replacing another; it's the wonderful regenerative nature of a family.

In 1976, the year of our country's bicentennial, my nephew Doug was born - the first of the "next generation" in our family. I remember holding him when he was only five days old, thinking just that, "here's the next generation" - being both amazed and humbled by that simple fact.

This photograph represents the spectrum of the generations in our family in 1978. Claudia Danforth Ward, Doug's great-grandmother, is celebrating her 90th birthday, enjoying the company of her great-grandson, Douglas Ward Dickerman, age 2. 

Well the family tree has the first branch of the "next generation" now and this time Doug's the father. Wyatt Roberds Dickerman, a healthy baby boy, was born to Doug and his lovely wife Sarah two days after Christmas. 

Generations replacing those that have gone on before, an unbroken continuum, with much in common and yet distinctly different at the same time. I find that very comforting.

The following is a poem on the topic of generations by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, who is also the author of one of my favorite books Le Petit Prince.

Generation to Generation

In a house which becomes a home,
one hands down and another takes up
the heritage of mind and heart,
laughter and tears, musings and deeds.
Love, like a carefully loaded ship,
crosses the gulf between the generations.
Therefore, we do not neglect the ceremonies
of our passage: when we wed, when we die,
and when we are blessed with a child;
When we depart and when we return;
When we plant and when we harvest.
Let us bring up our children. It is not
the place of some official to hand to them
their heritage.
If others impart to our children our knowledge
and ideals, they will lose all of us that is
wordless and full of wonder.
Let us build memories in our children,
lest they drag out joyless lives,
lest they allow treasures to be lost because
they have not been given the keys.
We live, not by things, but by the meanings
of things. It is needful to transmit the passwords
from generation to generation.

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry 

The Mayflower - Chatham, MA

 

At the cross roads Main Street and Chatham Bars Avenue in Chatham, Massachusetts on Cape Cod, you will find The Mayflower Shop. Established originally in 1885, "the store", as we affectionately call it, has been in our family for 57 years. Summering on the Cape as a child, my father became acquainted with this retail gift store and when he was a young man, he told the owner that he'd be interested if he ever wanted to sell. A while later, the call came, and my mother and grandmother pooled their monies and bought my father the store. 

The Mayflower is not just a gift shop, it also sells magazines and newspapers, greeting cards, toys and hobby materials, cigarettes and candy, batteries (of course), and it's the largest supplier of office supplies on the lower Cape. If only the stores creaky wooden floors could speak, what tales they could tell of Chatham over the last 125 years.

"The store" is open 365 days a year and has been the backdrop for lots of drama in our family and lots of learning over the years. My sisters and I learned how to count and make change at the store, standing on a step stool behind the cash register, which was half as tall as we were. We learned about inventory and pricing by counting every item in the store each year, and pricing new inventory as it came in from Dad's suppliers. We learned about customer service and that "the customer is always right (even when they're wrong)". We learned to work and be dependable by the behavior we observed. And we learned patience which was sorely tested every Christmas Day, when Dad worked from 7:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. so presents under the tree were never touched until after lunch.

Well Dad died several years ago now and his wife is going to retire, so the family business is up for sale. The store is special, not only to us, but to so many families who have grown up and old with this landmark - locals and tourists alike. "It's just always been there." Longstanding businesses on Main Street in Chatham do not come up for sale very often, so this truly is a "once in a lifetime" opportunity.

Do you long for a simpler way of life, the life style of a simple New England town, and a really short commute? Do you want to be your own boss, be an integral part of a thriving community, and know nearly everyone in town?
Would you like to call one of the prettiest Main Streets in America your office? The time is now. Check out this unique business/real estate opportunity, because it won't be around for long. What a Christmas present this could be!

 

Veterans Day

President Woodrow Wilson proclaimed November 11th an Armistice Day in 1919, a day to be filled with proud reflections of "the heroism of those who died in the country's service ..." during World War I.  In the early 1950s, the sentiments of the country were that veterans from all wars should be honored and therefore a campaign was launched to pass a bill to turn Armistice Day into Veterans Day.  President Dwight Eisenhower signed the bill into law in May of 1954.

My father and his twin brother are the only veterans I've been familiar with in our family and they both fought during World War II.  My father was in the Pacific and my uncle was in Europe. 

Neither one spoke very often of his experiences during the war and now they are both gone so there's no ability to query them on their personal experiences and/or their opinions of more recent wars. Having said that, I can say that one of the most painfully precious memories I have of my favorite uncle is of our trip to France in June of 1987. 

John was already ill, fighting a battle for his life, but we'd spoken so often of going to France together and when his doctor said he could certainly go, John mustered all of his courage and agreed to the trip.  John knew France quite well as he'd traveled there with his family when he was young, in addition to his marching across the country on his way to the Battle of the Bulge, in Belgium, during WWII. France, in fact, was part of his family fabric: his great-grandfather had had a farm in Charnay, near Lyons, where his mother summered as a child, and his parents met in Yvetot during the first World War.

Our objective, however, was Normandy where John had landed on Omaha Beach with the 3rd Armored Division in late June of 1944.  Now, on a gray, damp spring day, almost 43 years later to the day, John asked to be left alone - standing on the beach - seeing and feeling I know not what. He lingered despite the damp chill which surely was going through to his bones. He was visibly exhausted when he returned to the car.

The American Cemetery in Normandy overlooks Omaha Beach and when we arrived I pulled out the "portable chair", the kind that looks like a cane but can expand to a "perch". John declined and with determination I've never seen since, he walked into the cemetery to pay his respects to those who'd fallen - perhaps even at his side.

John taught me a great deal about WWII during this trip, though most of it was fact and very little of it was personal. Pointe du Hoc, Sainte-Mère-Église and Caen - I learned something about each of these and their days during the war. However, he did tell me about being on watch one night with a buddy and as the sun began to rise, the buddy asked, "What is that?" "That's Mont-Saint-Michel", John said and with his natural enthusiasm he proceeded to explain everything he knew about this rocky tidal island to his buddy.

As we were talking over supper in our rooms in Avranches one night, John told me that his time in the service - during the war - was when he had felt the most valuable in his life; he felt he'd contributed the most during that time and, in fact, he said he'd wanted to stay on to help rebuild but felt the loving pull of family at home and complied.

Before we left New York, John asked me to promise not to take any photographs of him and of course, I agreed.  The trip was taxing for John and tiring for both of us, and our last stop before returning to Paris and then New York was Chartres.  John wanted to see the stained-glass windows in the cathedral.  We needed to rent a wheelchair to get him there but he saw the cathedral on a gloriously bright sunny day.  As he entered the cathedral, John became uncharacteristically quiet - drinking in the beauty and majesty, and praying I'm sure.  God forgive me, this is when I broke my promise and took this picture of my beloved uncle basking in the colored light streaming through the stained-glass windows.

This former soldier, this veteran, had returned to his battle fields, grateful for having been able to serve.  He died a month after returning to New York, telling the family that the trip had been "wonderful".