Open Window

Appreciating the Ages

Working for an Historical Society, you might think I'm speaking about "the ages" ... Prehistory, Ancient, Middle, Modern, and Contemporary. But I'm not.

I've been living amongst the ages all my life. The contemporaries, the olders, and the elders.

To learn to "socialize", as contemporary toddlers we were placed together to learn how to "play well with one another". We learned from each other ... skills, words, behaviors, and possibilities.

But we were always taken care of by the olders ... parents, older siblings, cousins, teachers, and even neighbors. These olders taught us good behavior, principals, morals, standards, mechanical techniques, communication, and esthetics; and, they gave us nourishment with love, food, music and belief in our potential.

And if we were lucky, as I was, you spent time with the elders ... those I always thought the most interesting and entertaining when I was young. Granted, they had limited input into my behavior, but a single cross word from my grandmothers could bring me to a full stop, and I knew I'd crossed a line ... not to be done in the future. (Message received Gram!)

Claudia Danforth Ward

Helen Hardee Husted

One grandmother spoke French, the sound of which I have been in love with to this day. She opened my mind to a broader world. As I learned of my grandparents' lives, the canvas of life broadened and became so colorful. Visiting my grandmothers in their respective homes, they shared parts of their lives with me, in quiet conversations: challenges, heart breaks, and a few exhilarating moments. In the background was always the way the world had changed during the span of their lives ... governments around the globe became dictatorships and some democracies, economies climbed and crashed, and social behavior relaxed more and more. Through all the undulations, they held to the constants in their lives:  family and love and affection for those they held dear.  It made me look in awe at these elders with tremendous love and respect.

I have been appreciating the ages since I was very young. You learn from each one and can only hope to be a good example to the next ones to come.

God Bless All Ages

 

Happy Birthday Mom

I wrote this ten days ago.

Today is my mother's birthday ... the day before that was mine!
Yup, quite a birthday present don't you think and a breech-baby to boot, poor Mom!

Mom was born in '23 and I was born in '52; she would have been 95 this year and I am now 66. She died of cancer when she was only 49 and I was 20. She's been gone a long time, but I miss her to this day.

My memory of our mother is of a woman who was endlessly curious and apparently never bored - traits I believe I inherited from her. She was curious about what Alaska was like (not long after it became a state in 1959) and longed to travel there one day. She was fascinated by the U.S. space program and was convinced there would be passenger travel to the moon. Of course, she wanted to be among the first. And Mom was always teaching herself things. One year she taught herself how to make dandelion wine and, in another, she converted the laundry room into a photography lab and learned how to develop pictures. We rarely saw clothes on a clothesline but that year there were drying photographs hanging everywhere.

During the summers on Cape Cod, we were sent to sailing school and Mom and Dad bought us our own small sailboat which was kept just down the hill in the Oyster Pond. Mom thought it looked easy enough and wanted to learn, so one day, (somehow) she rigged the boat and took it out by herself. She was found on the far side of the Oyster Pond, sailing backwards and was rescued by my little sister in a row boat, and towed all the way home. (I wish I had a picture!) She may not have always succeeded at the things she tried but she made a real effort.

Mom had an artist's streak and would create lavish holiday displays in the windows at the family store, the Mayflower Shop. She outdid herself the year she created a 34-inch "gingerbread" house trimmed in dozens of different types of candy.

Having seen the work of Ralph Eno (1902-1962), an artist who carved and painted bird scenes on old boards, Mom decided to try her hand at it too and thus was born "Holly's Folly". Mom sold several pieces and gave away more, and to this day the pieces each of us have are among our most prized possessions.

We were told, Mom was raised for the most part in a residential hotel in the Midwest, so I expect that's where she developed her diverse palate.  She adored a "good steak", relished finnan haddie (smoked haddock), and treated herself to a lunch of caviar on buttered toast from time to time. And, she loved eating all kinds of shellfish and could be found, throughout the summer, shin-deep with her hoe in the Oyster Pond digging for her favorite quahogs.

Hotel living does not accommodate learning how to cook however, and when she married it's been said that it took her a month before she dared to make jello (or so the story goes). We never starved but we also had very basic meals prepared with little to no frills. Cooking chicken breasts? She placed unseasoned chicken breasts on a bare cookie sheet and cooked them in a 350℉ oven for one hour. Pork chops? She seared them in a dry frying pan to give them color and then placed the unseasoned pork chops on said cookie sheet and cooked them for one hour at 350℉. Pass the applesauce please!

I disliked tomatoes when I was young. For the most part, all we got on Cape Cod were TERRIBLE hothouse tomatoes that were rock hard, hardly red, and tasteless. One summer, when vine-fresh tomatoes were available at Phillips' Farm, Mom was determined to have me taste a real one. I vividly remember, she sliced it, sprinkled the slices with a little sugar, and then sat us both cross-legged on the living room floor (a real no, no), and had us eat them with our fingers! What a memory - learning and breaking the rules all at the same time, and to this day I long for tomato season on the East End.

Good behavior and following the rules were paramount in our household every day of the year ... almost. Christmastime was the exception which is probably why it's still so magical to me. Christmas Eve was the only day of the year we were allowed on the first floor in our pajamas and bathrobe, and in fact, outside. On Christmas Eve, just before we hung our stockings, Mom and Dad would bundle us up under blankets in the back of our station wagon and we'd drive around Chatham seeing the houses that were decked out in colorful Christmas lights. The pièce de résistance for rule breaking however was when Mom gave us our "Christmas cash" stuffed inside the biggest red Christmas tree balls we'd ever seen and then gave us each a hammer and told us to smash them. We couldn't believe our ears. We were always being told to "be careful", "don't run in the house", "don't break anything", and now this. What a memory!

Well Mom, Happy Birthday ... thanks for the life we've all had, we only wish you could have shared more of it with us ... making more of those warm memories.

 

A Cause to Celebrate

Talking to cousin in England the other day, I was reminded that I have been neglecting Open Window. It has not been my intent to close Open Window nor to neglect those of you who have so faithfully followed Open Window since 2010, but I can honestly say I have been flummoxed since January 20th. I read, I study, I ponder, and wonder but feel it better kept to myself for now. So focusing on small fun tidbits and recipes to share with you has been difficult to embrace.

All that said, I have found a reason for celebration: a sister's birthday and I've found some family photo treasures pulled together just to celebrate the day. Happy Birthday (tomorrow) Sally, here's a glimpse at your first 30 years (and 30 of ours).

Photos Curated and Slideshow Created By Claudia Ward
Music: "Joy of the Journey" (Reprise) by Kevin Kern

 

 

 

Soap Box Derby Sag Harbor, Sunday, June 26, 2016

June 26, 2016, the Soap Box Derby will be run on High Street in Sag Harbor for the fourth year in a row. I photographed the first one and can honestly say I hadn't had that much good clean fun in a very long time. Revisit my slide show of that event by clicking here if you want a "preview of coming attractions". The scouts, their families, the event's sponsors, and the entire community pull together and work hard to bring this event to everyone and anyone who will attend. They'll have a lot of fun and reap many rewards whether we're there or not, but I must tell you this is an event not to be missed.

Not many spectators will stay for all 40 plus runs, each of which only runs seconds, but catching just some of them brings joy to one's heart. The energies of all of these people with the organization and enthusiasm of Laurie Barone-Schaefer behind them create memories for everyone and bring them back for some of us.

Sunday at 1:00 p.m. on Main Street in Sag Harbor the parade begins, with the races to follow on High Street. Weather forecast is perfect for an event well worth watching.

Racing in Sag Harbor? Who ever heard of such a thing?

 

Christmas 2015

Christmas this year was quite remarkable and very unusual. Leslie, a very good friend, arrived two days before Christmas and would be with us through to the following Monday. Oh what plans we had. As most of you know we love to eat and I love to cook, so I naturally planned menus for everyday built upon requests from our guest. We also planned on showing her Montauk Lighthouse decked out for Christmas, taking her to the north fork to enjoy a meal at the oldest family-owned restaurant in the country - Claudio's, and showing her the latest endeavor that we're participating in - a pop-up gallery in Hampton Bays.

On the first night of her visit, we all went up stairs to admire the Christmas tree shining its lights out onto our balcony and coming down the stairs Les fell as she missed the last step. She was able to get herself up and with some help we got her to her room and bed, all of us believing that she was simply bruised. After a long painful night, the local fire department and rescue team carried her gingerly out to an ambulance that then whisked her off to Southampton Hospital around midday. An x-ray of her left wrist revealed a fracture and a CAT scan of her left leg showed a fracture in her tibia plateau. The hospital staff splinted her arm and braced her leg, sending her home with us on Christmas Eve. Thankfully, a nurse in the Emergency room had been able to contact the fire department and when we arrived at our front door, there were seven angels waiting for us who safely transported our guest to an office chair in the kitchen - a chair that would be her only source of mobility for the remainder of her stay. Pain pills made her injuries tolerable for the next several days, and plans now centered around keeping her comfortable, deciding when to make the journey home, and, of course, food.

As challenging and uncomfortable as this time was for Les, she kept her positive attitude and a healthy appetite. Salmon and lentils; arugula, pear & goat cheese salad with pomegranate vinaigrette; fennel, onion & mushroom galette; prime roast beef; coquilles St. Jacques; and, rack of lamb were all consumed with pleasure and appreciation. Knowing that cooking would be out of the question once she got home, we packed a cooler for her stocked with cream of tomato and turkey barley soups, ham & leek empanadas, leftover lamb, chicken pot pies, chili, and bite-sized apple muffins. For the trip across the sound on the ferry, we enjoyed a picnic of roast beef sandwiches, chips, and iced tea. Given her handicapped status we were allowed to stay in the car and they ushered us to the stern of the ferry so we'd be one of the first cars off and that provided us with a fantastic view of the crossing at water level. The skies were filled with incredible clouds and we all enjoyed our front-row seats.

Finally, at her home-base hospital, we learned that Leslie's leg would heal on its own with time and the wrist would likely require surgery but she'd need to consult with an orthopedic specialist. They released her into the care of her very good friends, and five nights after her fall, she found herself at home enjoying and sharing the meals we'd packed for her.

So this Christmas was all about food, love, and support - wonderful things to share.

 

Photos & Slide Show ©2016 Claudia Ward
Music: "Leaving Paris" by Alexandre Desplat from the soundtrack of "Julie & Julia"

Aging

As the years pass (more quickly now), it's natural to reflect on the past but also on the uncertain nature of the future. I recently attended a "Celebration of the Life" for a woman who was very dear to me. She'd had a long life of some 90 odd years and had been active for most of it, although that was greatly reduced with the onset of macular degeneration which left her legally blind for most of the last ten years. She needed live-in help and lamented her inability to do as much as she'd always done. She worked hard to be positive and in the last several years her memory went, so conversations were quite repetitive and often she wouldn't recognize friends that came to visit.

Death was introduced to my life at an early age and really hit home when my mother died when I was 20 after fighting cancer for several years. I mention that for no other reason than to add a perspective on my sensitivity on the subjects of illness, aging, and death.

Years after that, my uncle became very ill and it took his illness several years to finally take him, as was also the case with his brother, my father. It's natural for children to bury those in the generations preceding them, but it doesn't make it easy. Long illnesses are hard on the patient, but allow family members and friends to recognize and even accept what is coming. Sudden death may be easier on the patient but is abruptly agonizing for those left behind.

Recently, I've been observing several friends deal with aging and even the onset of dementia and alzheimer's in parents and/or a spouse. Day by day the person they knew gets further away, and they slowly appear to be taking on the role and responsibilities of a parent. This, to me, is the cruelest of ends as the challenges that have to be met by the patient and their loved ones cannot be foreseen or predicted, and often lead to the hardest decisions imaginable.

In this season of Hallmark holidays like Mother's Day (May 10), and Father's Day (June 21) we celebrate these heroes of our youth, those who taught us so much, and led the way, with unconditional love. As my generation of empty-nesters are now at the time when their parents need help, I want to share a letter that I came upon this morning from an aging mother to her beloved daughter. I recognize it isn't easy for those in the position of caring for a parent or spouse to embrace or hold on to their patience and understanding - but then all we can do is try ... they did. They helped us into this world, we need to help them out.

"My dear girl, the day you see I'm getting old, I ask you to please be patient, but most of all, try to understand what I'm going through. If when we talk, I repeat the same thing a thousand times, don't interrupt to say: "You said the same thing a minute ago"... Just listen, please. Try to remember the times when you were little and I would read the same story night after night until you would fall asleep.

When I don't want to take a bath, don't be mad and don't embarrass me. Remember when I had to run after you making excuses and trying to get you to take a shower when you were just a girl?

When you see how ignorant I am when it comes to new technology, give me the time to learn and don't look at me that way ... remember, honey, I patiently taught you how to do many things like eating appropriately, getting dressed, combing your hair and dealing with life's issues every day... the day you see I'm getting old, I ask you to please be patient, but most of all, try to understand what I'm going through.

If I occasionally lose track of what we're talking about, give me the time to remember, and if I can't, don't be nervous, impatient or arrogant. Just know in your heart that the most important thing for me is to be with you.

And when my old, tired legs don't let me move as quickly as before, give me your hand the same way that I offered mine to you when you first walked. When those days come, don't feel sad... just be with me, and understand me while I get to the end of my life with love. I'll cherish and thank you for the gift of time and joy we shared. With a big smile and the huge love I've always had for you, I just want to say, I love you ... my darling daughter."

Original text in Spanish; translation to English by Sergio Cadena. From AARP.

Tempus Fugit

Peter & Claudia Spring 1990

"Time flies" and it truly does, especially when you're happy. I can hardly believe that Peter and I have been together 25 years today - the day the Oscars are broadcast.

Peter & Claudia Vancouver 1996

We learned early on that we had a common interest in movies, so I invited Peter over for dinner and to watch the show, and ... as many of you know, Peter came for dinner and never left. In the subsequent days, months and years, we've learned we have a lot in common - a similar view on the world, politics,and religion; interests in photography, food, and travel; and, a deep devotion to each other and our relationship.  

 

 

 

 

             

 

 

 

Peter and Claudia Greece 2007

Our time together - all 25 years of it - have flown by and yet made wonderful, indelible memories, ones cherished by us both.

Today, as in many years, we'll celebrate with a little caviar and crab but this year there's no chill in the air or fire in the fireplace as we're in sunny Florida, convalescing from Peter's out-patient back surgery. We extended our stay here to help him improve but more importantly to await a three to four day window when the weather along the east coast would be conducive to travel with our heavily laden trailer (still full of art). Well an opening appears to be on the horizon, and we'll be heading out in the morning following our night "in" with the Oscars. 

Happy Anniversary Darlin'! Time does fly!

 

An Inspiration Has Passed

H. Dudley Thayer and Trit Johnson circa 1975

As a product of a girl's school and a women's college, I have been around and known some pretty remarkable women, but one in my life stood out amongst them all. Senior to me by about 30 years, Patricia Johnson was introduced to my life by my beloved step-father, Dudley Thayer. Known as Trit or Tritsel to most of us, she was unique in the truest sense of the word.

Trit never married but was the life-long companion of my step-father's best friend. She was a devoted companion and loyal friend to them both until their deaths many years ago. Never one to tolerate boredom or suffer fools, Trit surrounded them and herself with interesting, intelligent, and entertaining people, especially around cocktail hour, when she would invite a mixed group of people over for "a smile" before they all went their separate ways for dinner.

Trit owned several properties over the years around Pleasant Bay and each was given its own moniker, like The Mother Goose or The Barge which morphed from its original name L"Auberge. Her own property perched on the edge of Pleasant Bay had a Main House, a Boat House and the Treehouse, from which she could dive into the bay each summer morning for a long leisurely swim.

Her father had hoped for a son, or at least that's what I recall her saying, and the result was that Trit became quite capable at all manner of things including sports and home repairs. My memories of Trit in years past all involved motion whether she was painting a bedroom or scraping outside shutters, readying the skiff for the summer season, jumping onto the dock after a great sail, or returning home after figure skating (something she took up in her 60s). She also loved to dance and the vision of her on a dance floor, to me, was magical.

Trit loved the company of men, and they too enjoyed hers. I never knew her to be without a companion several of whom she'd known since she was young. She was interested in them and their interests, capable of matching their wit and energies, a devoted friend, and she was beautiful, all of which made many women envy and sometimes distrust her. She was her own person - independent, confident and full of life - something that some women found threatening. Having said that, Trit's friends who were women were generally a little like her - independent and intelligent, and she was equally as loyal to them as she was the men in her life.

Trit had beautiful water-blue eyes and a captivating smile that radiated her thorough enjoyment of life and those around her. Her face, weathered by her outdoor lifestyle, reflected the active life she'd led and was framed by naturally wavy, early-gray hair, and of course, with all that energy - she was athletically trim.

When Trit was a young woman, she worked as a stewardess, I think for TWA, and I loved hearing the stories of how friendly the skies were in those days and how she helped make them that way. Trit was one of the first women I ever knew who'd had a career which was quite inspiring to me. As my graduation from college approached, Trit was interested in what I thought I might do afterwards and I told her I was thinking of returning to the Cape - perhaps working at my father's store in Chatham - The Mayflower Shop. Trit questioned why I would do that at such a young age and encouraged me to go out into the world, saying "we'll be here when you come back". That single conversation had a material affect on my life as I took those words, from a woman I respected and admired as a role-model, to heart. Within a year, I was living in Manhattan embarking on what became a 27 year career in banking on Wall Street. I saw a lot of the world and met a great number of interesting people thanks to that affectionate nudge from Trit. 

Trit passed away this week after a long, amazing life of 90 plus years. I, as many, will miss her deeply but her remarkable spirit, character and joie de vivre will continue to be an inspiration for me for the rest of my days.

What A Wonderful Week

A good, long-time friend came to visit last week and we got to share and create new memories. We hiked around Camp Hero in Montauk, watched the sun rise over the ocean one morning, went to an art show at Ashawagh Hall in Springs, visited farmstands whenever we could, went furniture shopping in Hildreth's where prudence prevailed, and enjoyed copious amounts of really good food. Popovers and cinnamon puffs for breakfast; seafood, salads and homemade soups for lunch; and, prime rib roast, rack of lamb, and duck in various forms including roasted duck legs and duck confit for dinner. And all of this was enjoyed with lots and lots of good conversation. What a wonderful week it was.

  

Photos & Slide Show © 2014 Claudia Ward & Peter Tooker

Music: "Ratatouille" by Knightsbridge 

A Birthday Girl

Today is my older sister's birthday and as I recalled that in the wee hours of this morning, I recalled a post I did several years ago, about sisters and specifically my older sister. Not recalling all that I wrote at the time, I revisited that 2010 post and found the sentiment and story to be the same with one exception. This sister is now the grandmother of a wonderful little boy who adds light to all the lives he touches, and she is lucky enough to spend time with him every week of the year.

Little Man Wyatt

Over the years I have rarely, if ever, reposted an item I wrote before, so I won't now, but I do encourage you all to visit or revisit "Sisters" from July 31, 2010. In the meantime, Happy Birthday Pam, and many, many more.

 

A Birthday Homage

Happy years pass so quickly and the last 25 years have flown by - that's how many years my wagon has been hitched to this man's. We've been together 25 years and married 20, but that's not what I'm celebrating today, I'm celebrating his birthday which in fact was five days ago.

As I've been organizing my photography files (thanks to Lightroom), I added the keywood "Peter" to every image that he was in and at the end of the day I found I could quickly pull up a collection of nearly 700 images that showed him at one point or another during our life together. Some are humerous, some are handsome, and nearly every one shows him with a camera of one sort or another in hand - on the beaches in the Hamptons, New England, California, Puerto Rico, or Normandy; at events like a photography workshop in Venice, a cooking class in Provence, an antique car show in Water Mill, or a balloon festival in the Adirondacks; or simply walking the streets of the cities and villages of North America and Europe.

Over the years Peter has photographed everything from air shows to horse shows, from orca whales to bumble bees, from national landmarks to local soap box derbies, and food - I must add food. As we've traveled around I've found I needed to some how explain to those sitting at tables next to us in restaurants why I haven't started eating when our food arrives. "Well, you see," I say, "It doesn't go in my mouth, until he's photographed it." It's true - "the proof is in the pudding" or so they say.

Loving to be outdoors, I have coaxed Peter out of many a warm, dry living room or hotel room to venture forth and see what we might capture. We've been hip high in snow drifts on the beach, battered by driving snow in Paris on Christmas Eve, pummeled by the rain and wind of numerous hurricanes, and warmed by the gentle sea breezes and sun in the Bahamas. No one, particularly me, could call Peter just a "fair weather friend".

This collection of images demonstrates Peter's fun nature, his insatiable curiosity, and his pure determination to capture the image he wants under any circumstances, whether it's facing the Atlantic's waves or on bended knees inside an architectural wonder. Always good company, this man is not only my husband but my very best friend.

So this is my homage to the man I love for his birthday this year. I hope you enjoy it too.

 

Photos and Slide Show © 2014 Claudia Ward
Music: "Someday My Prince Will Come" by Dave Brubeck

 

Spring Cleaning Unearths Family History

Doing Spring cleaning this year has revealed lots of little treasures that I didn't know I had. Some of these were family papers and photos, most of which revealed some interesting ancestors of whom I knew very little.

Most of us know everything about our siblings and much about our cousins, a great deal about our parents, some about our grand-parents, and little to nothing about the generations beyond, yet the fabric of our family trees can be some of the most interesting reading you can find. Years ago, as uncles and aunts passed away, my sisters and I inherited boxes of old photographs, letters, newspaper clippings, playbills, and even daguerreotypes (images on a silver-coated copper plate). My older sister has done the most with all of this material, organizing it in Family Tree Maker (software by Ancestry.com), hiring people in distant cities to photography family sights and headstones, researching snippits of information revealed slightly in an article or document, and scanning everything she can get her hands on. She's built quite an organized picture of our family tree back through the generations.

This week I stumbled across a small leaflet entitled "William Hardee - 1845-1922". "Doing the math", I've concluded that this would have been my great-grandfather on my mother's side. I always knew this side of the family had had strong ties to Toledo, Ohio - I'd heard the city's name mentioned quite often and we buried my grandmother their in 1974, but beyond that I knew little to nothing. Well this leaflet revealed an interesting man - one I think I would have liked to know. I'm sharing the contents of that leaflet below not because it talks of a prominent, successful leader and philanthropist whom anyone might like to find in their family tree, but because of what is said about the man. Anyone who has followed this blog for a time, knows that I have a love for words and expression, and I found myself reading and re-reading this leaflet numerous times enjoying how it was written, the words selected, and what the authors and society considered valued human characteristics at that time. Sadly, I believe what is valued in a person today is far different than what was valued at the turn of the 20th century.

"He was conscious of his shortcomings, and knew that in being celebrated there was only hollow advantage in being known by a lot of people who did not really know him."

"Truth, justice and clean business were his three graces ..."

I hope, if you read on that you will find this interesting reading and maybe even "food for thought" ... to me it's a small glimpse into "from whence we came".

 

William Hardee
1845-1922

On May 1st, 1922, William Hardee, one of the founders of The National Supply Company, passed away at the age of seventy-six years. For fifty-two years he was a resident of Toledo.

At an early age he entered the employ of the Wabash Railroad as assistant to the Purchasing Agent. In 1873 the elements of leadership and command began to assert themselves, and he gave expression to his ambition by entering into a partnership with Daniel C. Shaw and Cornelius Kendall, under the firm name of Shaw, Kendall & Company. Out of this venture grew his business career which has been one of national interest.

Shortly after this date, the firm of Wolcott, Rowe & Company, and Joseph L. Wolcott became an active partner in the latter concern. Shaw, Kendall & Company was primarily engaged in the heating, plumbing and mill supply business, but in a small way had become interested in furnishing equipment for oil country uses. In 1887 active drilling for oil began in northern Ohio, and W.C. Hillman, through a chance acquaintance, interested Shaw, Kendall & Company in the oil well supply business, which resulted in the formation of a partnership and the opening of a store at Cygnet, Ohio, under the name of The Buckeye Oil Well Supply Company.

The wonderful possibilities of the oil well supply department led the partners to seek broader fields, and about 1896 an organization similarly engaged in Pittsburgh was approved and the negotiations terminated in the consolidation of The Buckeye Oil Well Supply Company with The National Supply Company, in which Mr. Hardee became officially interested. He exhibited unusual business acumen and, through his wise counsel, rare financial and executive ability, he contributed much to the deep rooting of this expanding enterprise, and later on became its Treasurer, then its President, and then Chairman of the Board of Directors.

Although the affairs of The National Supply Company were exacting and burdensome, Mr. Hardee did not keep himself aloof from other activities. He had Constructive ideas about banking and the duty of banks to a community, and it was quite natural in the course of events, that his financial sagacity would be recognized. From 1915 to 1918 he was President of The Ohio Savings Bank & Trust Company, Toledo, Ohio, which, under his administration, greatly prospered and occupied a prominent place among the banking institutions of the city.

It would seem that these business callings would have consumed all of his time, but he had several praiseworthy avocations, and among them was the upbuilding of the Toledo Museum of Art, of which he was one of the founders and First Vice-President when he passed away. He realized the tremendous beneficial influence an organization of this kind would be to the city, and in addition to giving the Museum the benefit of his wonderful executive ability, he went still further and contributed largely to its financial support, to its collection of pictures and to the establishment of prizes to encourage the youth of the city in the development of their artistic talents.

Beyond the limits of his own city, he went into the hills of Kentucky, to give his support to Berea College, and as a trustee and a generous patron, he was able to carry out his idea of serving those best who were not able to help themselves.

William Hardee left a real heritage to posterity and particularly to his associates and friends. He had high ideals of business, and, in the pursuit of success, carried out those ideals which made him and outstanding figure among his business associates as a man of keen business judgement, strong integrity and an ennobling example which younger generations might well endeavor to follow. He did not crave celebrity or greatness. He was conscious of his shortcomings, and knew that in being celebrated there was only a hollow advantage in being known by a lot of people who did not really know him. He was a plain, straightforward, honest and just man; a man who typified the art of mastery; a benevolent Christian; a forceful, uplifting citizen.

William Hardee was not a man who would subscribe to a doleful memorial. He did not live that way. He saw the good things in life and always maintained an interest in youthful pleasures and enthusiasm. To think, he well knew was the hardest thing in the world to do, but he was undaunted in this procedure. He was a thinker and a doer. To him moments were precious and he husbanded them as he thoroughly realized that the substance opf each man's mastery was contracted into a brief period, so he condensed his thoughts and this was reflected in a style of speech that was direct and conclusive. Truth, justice and clean business were his three graces and these have unmistakably left their imprint upon the entire organization of The National Supply Company, upon the citizenship of Toledo and upon his business acquaintances abroad.

In compliance with a resolution of the Board of Directors, a copy of this appreciation of Mr. Hardee was ordered placed upon the minutes of the Company, and a copy sent to members of the organization of The National Supply Companies and to intimate friends of Mr. Hardee.

            The National Supply Company,

                                        James H. Barr,
                                                                      President.

Charles R. Clapp,
                            Secretary.

                                                                        Toledo, Ohio
                                                                                         June 2, 1922 

 

Note: When I was the manager of the Endowments, Foundations & Nonprofit Group at the bank I worked at in New York, Berea College was one of our clients. Who knew our "paths" would cross in such a way.

 

Making Memories

One year ago this month, several memorable events happened in our family. First and foremost, my younger sister's son married a wonderful young woman he'd met during his academic tenure at the University of Indiana. Wanting a comfortable location for her "base-camp" and the rehearsal dinner she would be hosting, my sister (Sally) rented a house on a steep wooded hill over looking beautiful Lake Monroe in Bloomington Indiana. The house was perfectly laid out for a party, with a broad, deep porch spanning the entire lake-side of the house, a beautiful living room and den with windows overlooking the lake, and a separate, hillside-dining room and kitchen.

If you've followed this blog for any time, you know that Peter and I love to cook and have many years of restaurant experience between us, so we offered to help Sally cater the party. We began by providing "the kids" with a list of what could be offered for appetizers, main courses, sides, and desserts and asked them to pick three from each category. Once those decisions were made and we felt fairly certain we knew how many people would be coming (about 35), the real work began.

Sally and I "proportionalized" each and every recipe, figuring whether we'd have to make 2, 3 or 4 times the original recipe. Once that was done, one cloudy Sunday morning, over a large cup of coffee, I totalled up the ingredients across all of those recipes, even down to the salt. Believe it or not, that told me we were going to need roughly twelve pounds of fresh tomatoes, four filet mignons, three turkey breasts, seven pounds of sugar, three pounds of apples, and a modicum of several spices .... amongst other things.

During her summer visit, with the menu finalized, Sally and I opened the china and storage closets to identify which platters, bowls, and serving instruments we might need for the buffet table. Once one was decided upon, she applied a "stickie note" to it identifying what it would be serving that evening. Between Sally's cabinets and mine, we assigned each dish to a carrier with a specific serving spoon or fork. See we've all been around rental properties and know how they tend to provide only the basics. For this event, we couldn't fall short so we agreed that it would be best to "bring it from home".

Now - we had to ask -  "From what will the guests be drinking their sweet tea?", and "Upon what and with what would they be eating their dinner?" My sister is amazingly resourceful and economical while maintaining very good taste, and having researched renting versus buying, she bought flatware, glassware, and dinner and dessert plates to serve the entire party. Packing all of this, in addition to the necessary pots, pans, roasting pans, spatulas, collanders, carving knives, and several kitchen appliances in our separate cars - one departing from the east end of Long Island, the other from Memphis, Tennessee, we set out for Bloomington, Indiana.

We arrived at the house on Monday, unpacked, acquainted ourselves with the kitchen and local stores, and set about planning the party in this special house. The forecast for Friday night was good, so Sally smartly decided to rent some round tables, chairs, and table cloths for the outside deck. There was a large bookcase in the living room at the end of the entry hall, the perfect location for beverages and hors d'oeuvres. The dining room table was the exact size to hold the buffet, and plates, napkins and flatware could be set out on the sideboard.

Prep and cooking for the party began in earnest on Wednesday and was nearly done by early Friday afternoon except for roasting the turkeys and grilling the steaks -  "AND THEN IT HAPPENED" ... As Peter was draining the shrimp, I felt water on the floor and thought he'd accidentally spilled, but then we both noticed a small flood flowing from under the sink. It was very quickly and painfully clear that there was a serious problem just four hours before the first guests were to arrive for the pre-wedding party. Contacting the owner's voice mail, resulted in two "handymen" showing up, who surveyed the situation and very smartly said they'd consult with a real plumber and return the next day, which they never did. We found it alarmingly unentertaining that they departed right after noting that there was an electrical outlet in the same cabinet where water flowed from the hole in the pipe everytime we turned on the water.

The first guests who arrived were some very industrious friends of the bride and groom and they were no more able to fix our issues than the handymen had been. So .... we all decided "the show must go on", thanked our lucky stars that we'd prepared so much in advance, put on big smiles, placed a sign on the sink that said "Do NOT Use This Sink For ANY Reason", and went about enjoying the guests and the party.

The kitchen snafus didn't go completely unnoticed by the guests, but it didn't become the center of attention either, that was rightly reserved for the bride and groom. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves, each other, the beautiful view and sunset over Lake Monroe.

Dishes were simply scraped and stacked in neat piles as they returned to the kitchen. When the evening was over, we quickly confirmed that the dish washer ... attached to that leaking sink had been rendered useless as well, so "What to do with all of those dishes, flatware and glasses, to say nothing of the greasy roasting pans and utensils?" The only things in sight were the coolers we'd brought so much of the food in, so that's what we did ... we neatly packed as much as we could into all of our coolers, turned on the garden hose and filled them to the brim with cold water. They spent the next 36 hours soaking ... outside ....in the carport ...

With the happy couple wed, we awoke Sunday morning perplexed at best. What were we going to do with all of the dirty dishes and pans - you know the ones we'd brought from home. By now the only drain that worked was in the upstairs bathroom and that was in the bathtub. Pam, our older sister, and her husband Bill arrived around eight as we were packing everything in sight, still trying to determine what could and should be done about those coolers and their contents. Thus was created "the summer kitchen".

Pam and Bill rolled up their sleeves, grabbed a big jug of Dawn (the grease cutting dish-washing liquid), turned on the garden hose and began ... washing dish after dish, plate after plate, fork after fork, etc. laying them out on the asphalt driveway to air dry. As this was happening outside, Peter (my husband) was washing the roasting pans and large serving platters in the bathtub, and Sally and I were packing boxes of glasses, spices, scales and juicers, as well as our sheets, towels, cameras, and music. That last day was one of real team work and a herculean effort on everyone's part. Do you know that expression "You can't make this stuff up"? Well you can't. 

When everything was degreased, dried and packed for the journey home, the five of us sat on the deck enjoying the view, the late summer breeze, and the warm feelings working together toward a specific end always seems to create. The party and wedding were each a great success, and at the end of the day everything and everyone came together for the happy couple. Now this is the stuff that memories are made of! 

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Rehearsal Dinner Menu:

Deviled Eggs
Bite-size HomemadeLeek Tarts
Chilled Tomato Basil Soup
Chilled Shrimp with Cocktail Sauce
Spiced Nuts

Filet Mignon
Herb-roasted Turkey Breast
Pasta Salad with Sun Dried Tomatoes
Green Beans with Dried Cherries and Toasted Walnuts
Israeli Couscous

Fruit and Cheese
Homemade Lemon Bars
Homemade Brownies
Homemade Ginger Snaps

Homemade lemonade
Sweet Tea
Wine 

Sag Harbor Scouts Soap Box Derby - The Video

The Sag Harbor Scouts Soap Box Derby was the event this 4th of July week and thousands of pictures and probably hours of video were shot by professional and amateur photographers alike. In our house, my husband is the videographer and he compiled the video attached below from three different cameras.

Two GoPros, attached either to the helmut of Andy Schaefer and the running board of his car, or attached to Charlie Schaefer's horn, showed the teeth-rattling perspective of the drivers, and a regular video camera filled in with the spectators' perspectives.

Peter spent most of his time at the starting ramp which also shows how much hard work and organization went into pulling this competition off. Three cheers to Jim Stewart for keeping things running like a clock and to Laurie Barone-Schaefer for organizing it all! Enjoy the video!

  

See you next year!

Sag Harbor Scouts Soap Box Derby

This past, pre-4th of July, Sunday, if you were in Sag Harbor, NY you were treated to a very special slice of Americana, thanks to the scouts of Sag Harbor and their supporters from Sag Harbor and villages nearby.

In years past, a soap box derby was traditionally held on High Street in Sag Harbor, where it was once again today, following a parade down Main Street.

The parade was the "Pied Piper", drawing people from shops and their seats in restaurants along the way to come to see what this was all about. The girls and boys of the scout troops of Sag Harbor built over 30 different cars in all different shapes and colors. Some were boxy, some were round, and some were angular. Many were made of wood, some of pressed wood, and one of half a garbage can.

Emily Glass, one of the Most Creative Car Winners in Sag Harbor's Soap Box Derby

Some had spoilers, most had none, and all had brakes. Most were painted with trains, planes, and even stars, and everyone proudly displayed its local sponsors' logos and emblems. It was so evident that this was a community event from top to bottom. From the sponsor's names on the banner high above the finish line to the running boards on some of the flyers.

The races began after 2:00 p.m. and finished just before 5:00 p.m. and the core of the crowd stayed true to the racers. I haven't been to an event like this since I was young, a few decades ago.

Charlie Schaefer Winner in his class Sag Harbor Soap Box Derby 2013

On this slightly overcast, humid day, hundreds of people - local, weekenders, and summer-timers - lined High Street to cheer on these scouts, competing whole-heartedly for "the win". Each racer ran two races, and after that would run more depending on their wins. Dozens of races were run in an incredibly well organized system, thanks to Jim Stewart, who kept these racers poised to run the next race as soon as the track was clear. There were no tragic accidents, a few errant cars, and lots of fast (and slow) moving cars "barreling" along High Street.

At the end of the day, children of all sizes, competitors and spectators alike, had a memorable day, and it could be seen in their playful actions between races and during them as well.

We certainly saw the thrill of winning and the agony of defeat.

"Best In Show" Chad Federico in the Sag Harbor Soap Box Derby

We saw determined competitive spirits exalt in victory and grapple with the lessons that must be learned from losing. Friendship, family, comraderie, and community ... this was an incredibly special day and it was not staged by Hollywood or some theatrical group. This was organized  by the scouts of a little town on the east end of Long Island called Sag Harbor, a community that supports them, and one incredibly energetic organizer named Laurie. Three cheers to you all, for a day that made lots of memories for so many.

That's not easily done. Thanks for those memories! I sincerely hope you enjoy this slide show of this really fun day.

  

Photos and Slide Show © 2013 Claudia Ward
Music: Stephen Foster Medley by The President's Own United States Marine Band and Timothy Foley 

 

Mischievous Eyes

Cleaning out the basement recently unearthed some treasures we didn't even know we had - some vintage costume jewelry, lots of antique tools, and some old family photographs - from Peter's family and this little treasure was amongst the lot. I adore this picture of Peter and have it prominantly on display in the living room where I can see it all the time, right next to one of his parents that we found. I keep telling Peter that if I'd seen him when he was that age, I would have fallen in love with him and hoped he would wait! It's true! Who wouldn't fall in love with that face, that smile and those mischievous eyes. AND, they've only gotten better with time - full of love, full of fun, and still full of mischief.

This weekend marks the beginning of our 24th year together and trust me our smiles are full of love, fun, and .... mischief!

Thanksgiving - Our Way

For the last several years we've had unconventional Thanksgiving dinners and this year was no exception - except that I think we outdid ourselves. A relative from New England joined us, so we decided on a seafood theme for our feast, and what a feast it was.

We started with an oyster shooter each, and then the appetizers began: chilled raw oysters with mignonette, oysters rockefeller (Peter's way), shrimp with remoulade and cocktail sauce, local bay scallops wrapped in bacon with a pineapple mustard dipping sauce, and deviled eggs (don't ask me how they snuck in). These were all accompanied by a lovely chilled chardonnay.

The main course was set out on the island so everyone could help themselves to: steamed lobster with melted butter, sweet potato fries with smoked chile cream, roasted asparagus and mushroom salad with toasted pecans, blue cheese and red chile-mustard vinaigrette, and Yorkshire pudding (go figure!)

If that all wasn't enough, dessert was the pièce de résistance - a homemade French apple tart with the thinnest crust I've ever made topped with .... drum roll please ... brown sugar-bourbon ice cream, enjoyed with a Sicilian Malvasia. I can honestly (and not so humbly) say this is the best dessert I've ever had. The evening was finished with a grappa and espresso.

I hope you all had a wonderful holiday with family and friends.

The Reception

Following a wonderful ceremony in the garden, the guests at my nephew's wedding entered Deer Park Manor for a Swing Dance lesson and the bride and groom retreated to some unknown private corner for a few moments of solitude and bliss. The bride and bridal party also took this time to change their shoes from the delicate silver heels they'd worn for the wedding to their dancing shoes!

This reception was all about family, friends, and dance, and Bill and Jennifer wanted everyone to have the opportunity to truly enjoy the swing band - The Stardusters.

When the lesson was over, the entire bridal party paraded on to the dance floor and found their seats at select tables. At last, the married couple would appear - and, of course they did it in their distinctly personal and humorous style - my nephew carried his bride in over his shoulder - to the delight and laughter of us all.

After taking a bow, the two of them had their first dance as a married couple to The Passion Song.

Their dance was a delight to watch as the two of them fit perfectly together in rhythm and step - their happiness and comfort with one another apparent to one and all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                     

Then the father of the bride took his daughter's hand, and my nephew took his mother's and a waltz was danced to Moon River.  

With traditions satisfied, the floor now filled with eager members of the bridal party who really did "swing" - pent up energy and enthusiasm was poured in to their dance and those of us on the sidelines simply smiled. As dances slowed and different partners were selected, the non-dancers mingled with one another - soaking up all of the positive energy in the room.

When evening came to a close, everyone gathered around as Jennifer and Bill cut the cake - once again satisfying an age-old tradition.

  

Photos & Slde Show © 2012 Claudia Ward & Peter Tooker
Music: Sing, Sing, Sing by the BBC Big Band Orchestra 

This slide show shows to me the warmth that surrounds these two young people from family and friends and the fun time that was had by one and all.

 

Twins

Twins .. fraternal or maternal? That's what I was led to believe when I was young, the daughter of a twin father. I was told that my father and uncle were fraternal twins, meaning they were not identical, as opposed to maternal twins who would be identical. Spending a little time with my beloved encyclopedia (the hard copy kind that sits on a book shelf), I learned something new. For the most part, there are two types of twins, fraternal and identical - there's no such thing as maternal twins, technically speaking. Fraternal twins are created by two separate sperm fertilizing two separate ova, the result of which can be any combination of a boy and girl, who would not resemble each other any more than any other siblings. Identical twins are always the same sex, have the same blood type, and are created from a single fertilized ovum that divides to form two complete individuals. Now I found that interesting. Enough about the biology.

As you can see in the attached photos, these twin brothers were far from identical - my father resembled my grandmother, and my uncle had many of the features of his father. But, this is not where the dis-similarity ended. These boys could not have been more different. 

As young boys, my father loved sports, especially those that involved a ball, like baseball. My uncle was happy to walk along the beach and loved horses. Dad grew into a young man who enjoyed the company of people he knew well, but he didn't seek out the companionship of new acquaintances. My uncle was a gregarious sort, loving conversation and thrilled to meet anyone new.

Both did enjoy the theater, but my father was the one who inherited a bit of the theatrical gene that has been passed through the generations, and he acted in plays well into his 40s in our community theater. John was a avid theater-goer, thrilled by others' performances.

During the war, my father was sent to the Pacific and fought at Guadalcanal, my uncle was sent to Europe and fought in the Battle of the Bulge. I expect that was by design of the War Department. The good news is they both came home safely.

Dad chose to settle down to a simple life as a shopkeeper on Cape Cod, and my uncle worked in publishing and then real estate in New York City. I always found this ironic and just a little entertaining. The one who sought out a private life lived in the fishbowl of a small town; the one who thrived on getting to know other people well lived in a city with millions of strangers.

My father declared his disinterest in others' opinions many times; my uncle listened to all points of views and was excited to debate the differences with his own. Dad thought there was one right way to do anything; my uncle was just happy if things got done. One became a family man, the other was a life-long bachelor.

Despite all of these differences and more, these two brothers were devoted to one another.

Today would be their 91st birthday. Despite the fact that neither is still with us, they both hold very special places in our hearts and minds - and they are as different and cherished as they were.

Happy birthday "Boys"!

 

 

The Wedding

Weddings are always festive events. Everyone is happy with the promise of a bright future for the new couple and eager to share goodwill with one and all. Such was the case on a beautiful late summer day in Bloomington Indiana when my nephew married his beautiful bride.

The flowers were bright like the day and the dresses of the bridesmaids were striking in a color called spice.

The outdoor service was in the garden on an expansive green lawn under the embracing arms of an old oak tree, and harp music filled the air as guests congregated and took their seats.  The ceremony was simple and wonderfully inclusive - even to those who could not be there. Families and friends shared prayers of support and love for the couple who are quite obviously in love and devoted to one another.

Here's a slide show created for family and friends to remember this wonderful day.

  

Photos & Slide Show © 2012 Claudia Ward & Peter Tooker 
Music: Concerto in E-flat Major for Trumpet & Orchestra: 1. Allegro Con Spirito by Wynton Marsalis, National Philharmonic Orchestra& Raymond Leppard from the album Hayden, Hummel, L. Mozart: Trumpet Concertos 

 

Dancing at the Wedding

There was lots of dancing at my nephew's wedding recently, this is one of the many things he and his bride have in common. They love music and they really love to dance. Maybe I should rephrase that - they really like to swing ...... -dance that is.

If I'd closed my eyes and listened to the music from the band I would have sworn I'd been transported back in time to the 1940's (before I was born!). When I opened my eyes, I would have expected to see young gals and guys dressed conservatively in simple colors like gray, beige or dark blue.

The gals would be in slender shirt-waist dresses with hemlines just below the knee, with collars and shoulder pads, their hair styled in victory rolls or perhaps finger waves, and their lips would be painted fire-engine red. The guys would be in slim-cut cuffless suits with ties tucked in, donning combed back hair or buzz cuts. Instead I saw young gals in bright colored dresses of varying lengths, sleeved and sleeveless, fitted and fluid, with hair styles from long flowing locks to short stylish bobs, wearing limited amounts of make-up and no lipstick at all. The guys were dressed in dark suits or sports coats, light colored button down shirts and ties, and their hair was either styled as it grew or non-existent (there were several shaved heads in this crowd of young men), and a couple sported snappy blacks fedoras. As the evening progressed and the music heated up, ties were loosened, shirt buttons undone, and hats parked on the sidelines.

Here we were in Indiana over 50 years after "swing" originated, the styles were different but the passion for this type of dance has never been more fervent, and boy do these young people know how to swing. They even teach it and there was a lesson for those of us who might be rusty between the wedding and the reception.

I should also note that in the spirit of true tradition, the reception began with a beautiful waltz to which the bride and her father, and the groom and his mother danced.

A fun time was had by one and all, and all accompanied by that big-band sound so familiar to the grand-parents in the crowd. Bet there were lots of smiles in heaven that day!

  

Wedding Bells No Blues

Eighteen years ago today, Peter got me to the alter, after asking me to marry him every year for the previous three. Well it wasn't really an alter, it was a trellis erected in his mother's back yard under the pine and maple trees. The minister from the Presbyterian church presided over the ceremony, one that was attended by only 20 people, ten friends of ours who lived nearby and ten of his mother's friends - small, just as we had wanted. The day was a scorcher and only got hotter as the afternoon progressed - the wind usually dies in the late afternoon on the east end and on this day it didn't disappoint.

Both Peter and I had been married previously, once for Peter and twice for me, so I was a very reticent bride. We had been happily together for the previous five years and I saw no real reason to "rock-the-boat". If it wasn't broke ....

Well I agreed and we set a date for a summer weekend in 1994. Once again not wanting to jinx a thing, we invited only local friends knowing the logistics of getting to the Hamptons in the summer, on short notice, would be daunting. As it happened, a cousin was getting married in Massachusetts the same day, so my family was already committed elsewhere. Small, understated, more like a small celebration of five years together - this is what we wanted.

In fact, I wanted this so understated I was planning on just wearing something from my everyday closet, but a friend who lived nearby insisted that I couldn't go "everyday". One Saturday morning she picked me up at my front door and took me shopping, telling Peter we wouldn't come home "undefeated". We found an elegant, understated, frock with a beautiful scarf that could be worn again any day. It was not expensive and fit the bill.

Peter wore something summery, handsome, and that matched the color of his eyes - a striking cobalt blue blazer, pale yellow slacks and a matching tie - of course. He looked gorgeous to my eyes and just looking into them steadied me as the ceremony approached.

My soon-to-become mother-in-law kindly got my linen dress pressed and we all somehow persevered the heat in her un-airconditioned 1730s house. Guests arrived, as did my friend who helped me buy the dress I now wore, and we all gathered around the trellis. The minister then asked us who would be standing up with us ... I hadn't even thought about this; I hadn't even thought about thinking about this ... I asked the friend who'd helped me buy my dress and she agreed. To this day we laugh, as she wore black to this wedding because the outfit was light and cool compared to the rest of her wardrobe. If she'd known she was going to be my witness she would never have worn such a somber color. Peter planned better than me and had already asked one of his oldest friends, Jack, to be his best man, and he'd agreed ... a second time!

All went well; the ceremony went without a hitch, except the one that was meant to happen, and happily an old friend of Peter's brought a camera, because we hadn't planned that either. We are forever grateful to Laura for capturing a moment we are now so glad to remember through her pictures. It became a wonderful afternoon garden party. Andy, a very old friend of Peter's and a musician arrived with his keyboard and played several songs to which Peter and I danced! A former housemate of mine sent over a homemade chocolate cake with chocolate frosting with a very large sunflower on the top that sadly was forgotten and began to melt in the sun, but as the sun was heading toward the horizon, the cake was saved, the sunflower wasn't, and we all went off to a lovely dinner in the village of Wainscott.

Now 18 years later, I can hardly believe how foolish my worry had been, but then again two previous marriages made me pretty nervous about messing something up that seemed nearly perfect. I was nervous for the first 4-5 months of our marriage and then I simply forgot to be nervous, and here we are ... happily 18 years later.

On a recent trip to Venice to celebrate Peter's 65th, Peter and I met some wonderful people and one, in particular, asked about our "obvious" (his word not mine) success. We told him honesty, laughter, friendship, common interests and values, and .... "drum roll please", please and thank you .... never take the other one or the relationship you have for granted.

So eighteen years ago today, we made a commitment to each other, one that we both respect and cherish. I don't wake a day, when I'm not thrilled to see those beautiful blue eyes looking back at me asking what we'll do today.

My oh my, am I glad he dragged me to that trellis!

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".

 

Our Oscars Anniversary

Peter and I have two anniversaries: the anniversary of when we began our relationship and then our wedding anniversary - and these two dates are almost five years apart. Today happens to be the first anniversary, when Peter and I watched our first Oscars together. As the story goes, I invited Peter for dinner and he never left, and here we are happily celebrating 20 years later. My how time flies.

Peter and I generally create a celebration with food, which we'll have to do this year as there will be no Oscars, at least on television. I can hardly believe that ABC has been removed from our cable company (Cablevision), as of midnight last night. Money disputes they say. I say it's a clash of the titans - huge egos - and we the people are the pawns. I hate being held hostage in someone else's war and would seriously like to find another mode of receiving television services. This is the second time this has happened in the last several months. The earlier instance concerned the Food Network - one of our favorites of course. What did they say in that movie, "I'm mad as h... and I'm not going to take it any more." Enough sour grapes; this is our anniversary!

We'll have sweet grapes please ... Red Grapes - Oil Painting by Barbara Andolsek*, commissioned by her friend Ramona

with our lobsters, oysters, california caviar and Gewurztraminer, which we'll enjoy this evening at The American Hotel in Sag Harbor - where we met. Now that sounds like a proper celebration!

* Barbara kindly gave her permission to use this image. I love Barbara's paintings and think you will too. Please check out Barbara's blog as well as her website, Barbara Andolsek Fine Art. It's a great way to spend Sunday morning! 

Have you got anything to say? Let's hear it. Leave a comment.

Super Bowl Sunday

While all of you sports fans are feverishly preparing for your Super Bowl parties and the game itself, I'll be making french onion soup, walking on the beach and sitting by the fire in my den organizing the paper work of our lives. 

My poor father is probably shaking his head in continued disbelief. Known amongst family and friends, as "sports of all sorts", my father did indeed love to follow all sorts of sports, at least one if not two a season. To his dying day, he was forever dismayed that he could raise three daughters who "don't like sports". Granted I can only speak for myself, but it isn't that I don't like sports but rather I dislike watching them on television. My preference will always be to be outside on a gloriously sunny day walking the beach or finding new photography subjects, rather than sitting in front of a television watching others play out their lives and betting on them. That just strikes me as strange.

But another of those family expressions was "to each their own", and with that I wish you a great Super Bowl Sunday and I hope your team wins!

P.S. If you're interested in the Onion Soup recipe for the party or just lunch, here it is. 

French Onion Soup

2 1/2 Pounds Yellow Onions, halved and sliced 1/4 inch thick
1/4 Pound Unsalted Butter
1 Bay Leaf
1/2 Cup Medium-dry Sherry
1/2 Cup Brandy or Cognac
1 1/2 Cups Dry White Wine
4 Cups Beef Stock
4 Cups Chicken Stock
1 Tablespoon Kosher Salt
1/2 Teaspoon Freshly Ground White Pepper
English Muffins
Gruyere Cheese, Grated

================================================================

In a large stock pot, saute the onions with the butter and bay leaf on medium-high heat until the onions turn golden brown color - about 30 minutes.
Deglaze the pan with the sherry and brandy and simmer uncovered for 5 minutes.
Add the white wine and simmer uncovered for 15 minutes more.
Add the beef and chicken stocks along with the salt and pepper.
Bring to a boil, then simmer uncovered for 20 minutes.
Remove the bay leaf and test for salt & pepper.
Ladle soup into soup bowls.
Toast English Muffins.
Float a half an English Muffin in each soup bowl and sprinkle liberally with the cheese.  Place bowls on a sheet pan and the sheet pan under the broiler.
Broil until the cheese melts and is lightly browned.  Watch this closely with the door ajar.
Serve carefully and immediately.