Yampa Valley Recycles "Green Bags"

Back in Steamboat Springs we found  lots of snow on the ground with piles sometimes taller than either one of us.  We have enjoyed some sunny 50 degree days and beautiful walks along the Yampa River. 

A highlight for us is to see people shopping with the Yampa Valley Recycles "Green Bags". Back in December before we left on our winter journey JoAnne created a simple design for Yampa Valley Recyckes which they decided to use on one side of the bag.  This is the first time she had ever tried her hand at creating a graphic for use on an item such as a bag or T-Shirt.  When she was director of the Avodah Dance Ensemble she edited a photo for use on a T-Shirt but never before had she simply created something from scrath.  

Yampa Valley Recycles ordered 5,000 and they have nearly sold out.  The few left can be found at the health food stores in town at $1.00.  The design was a donation.   The goal is to get as many people as possible to use fabric bags when they go shopping to help the environment.  JoAnne is delighted to be a part of this project.   

In doing this project JoAnne learned about copyrighting a design, photographing an image done in pastels for printing purposes, and letting someone else determine the final look of the product.

Panama Canal Transit

Movie of Container Vessel Moving through Miraflores Lock on the Canal

Panama City and the Canal

The old city has a New Orleans flair. Here renewed and to-be renewed, side by side

Our day in Panama City

In contrast to the rural nature of Boquete with its hills, winds and moderate temperatures, Panama City is urban, hot and humid. The city is very commercial. The largest bank is the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank (HSBC). Its mere presence beginning with the acquisition of Grupo Banistmo in 2006 signaled the coming of age of Panama and its capital. Once dirty barrios have been replaced with high-rise apartments and office buildings. Panama City has become an expensive place to live and like all urban renewal has driven many of its residents to desperate measures.

Flying into Gelabert (also known as Albrook), the local airport located on the former American base, one may be lucky to see the ships lined for transit through the Canal. The cab ride to the hotel was a short distance, but the traffic was such that Los Angeles would have envied. For the two of us the ride was $5 (the tourist center at the airport said that it should be $3.25, but considering the traffic, we did not quibble). Manuel, the driver, spoke some English, and offered to pick us up at the hotel for the trip to Tocumen Airport when we were scheduled to leave, two days later.

Our decision to stay at the Panama Marriott was the result of having a free night certificate and enough points for a second night. The hotel is all American, except for the casino located in a connected building.

The shower was especially welcomed since mid afternoon was hot and humid. We did our email and other Internet things at a nearby Internet only shop, there are several. Before returning we passed a 24-hour restaurant, Café Azul, and decided to partake in the local fare. The food was moderately good, but the price was extremely right, especially when compared to the hotel’s menu.

For our second day in Panama City, we wanted to do something we normally avoid, a City Tour. JoAnne had located a relatively new tour operation and had had email correspondence with the owner when we were in Boquete.

The owner of Panama Tourism & Travel, Marina Ehrman, met us in the lobby of the hotel at 9:30. The guide, Adolfo drove up a few moments later, and we were off. Our first stop was the Miraflores locks of the Panama Canal. The operation of the canal is handled by experts and is among the highest paid work on the Isthmus.

See Movie of ship moving through locks

Ships from the south (Pacific side) were moving into the locks where the water level in the first lock was raised 27 feet. They then moved into a second lock for another 27-foot increase. From there, they went into the Miraflores Lake on their way to the northern locks. The feat of moving a cargo vessel that has about one foot of clearance through the locks is worth seeing. The ship is under its own power, commanded by a Pilot supplied by the Canal Authority.

After witnessing the transit of one container vessel, we moved into the four-story display of the building of the Canal to a five screen view of what the pilot of a container ship sees as the vessel moves through the locks. Since movement is something like watching water boiling, it is sped up ten fold.

After the Canal we toured the residential area near the Canal and proceeded to three islands that are connected by a causeway. The last island has a shopping area, hotels and highly rated restaurants. Along the Causeway were many views of the Ciudad Panama.

Lunch was included in the tour. We journeyed back to town and were seated at a table. We were told that our lunch was limited to one of three pasta choices (the cheapest on the menu). The meal was pretty bad. At the start, I was told that if I wanted a beer, I had to pay extra. No problem. Coca Cola came with the meal. Murray ordered a beer knowing he had to pay extra. When his bill arrived, he was informed that Coca Cola Light (that JoAnne ordered), was extra. Both of us found this extra charge to be "cheap" and the lunch not to be up to the standard of the rest of the tour.

Our tour continued to the Ancient City of Panama, the archeological area that was first settled by the Spanish. It was destroyed by the pirate, Henry Morgan, who thought that Panama City was rich with gold. The only gold treasure was the altar, removed by the citizens, hidden, and then carried to the new city and placed in the San Jose Church. (picture). A museum provides both relics from the ancient city, a model of it, and various boards that detail the city’s history.

We wandered about the ruins, culminating in a climb to the top of the watch-tower that provides a panoramic view of the area out to the Pacific. The last stop was the old town, the area of the city to which the population moved when the ancient city was destroyed. This rundown area is being renewed. It has a certain charm, much of which reminds one of New Orleans.

We returned to the hotel at 6PM, a full day seeing the city and learning about much of its fabled history. Giving in to fatigue, we decided to have a small dinner in the hotel. The food and service were excellent as was our stay. The next morning Manuel met us at the appointed time and whisked us to the international airport in plenty of time to catch our return flight.

Boquete Restaurants

JoAnne and Ricco in front of his restaurant, the best based on food, service and price

There still are abundant restaurants that can be dubbed "local" in Boquete, although their numbers are diminishing. However, we decided to dine at the restaurants frequented by ex-pats and visitors. We had agreed to have one large meal a day, so we embarked on having at least one meal at almost every "upscale" restaurant in the center of the town.

At the center is Boquete Bistro. It is owned by an ex-pat from Aspen, CO who took over a former gathering place for locals. Lauretta Bonfiglio has decorated her place with her own abstract oil paintings that are pleasing to the eye.

Since Murray is alergic to shrimp, he had to stick with meat or poultry. He concentrated on the filet mignon. The dish is served with one of several sauces. His favorite was the carmelized onions with a mushroom sauce taking second place.

While the steak is advertized as tender, it was stringy and hard to cut. It was difficult explaining to the waiter how he wanted the steak cooked - he likes it medium-rare. The waiter took this to mean 'medio' which is one step removed from 'moo.' His second go round, the steer was even in more pain and the beef was returned for more cooking. When the platter returned, it was obvious that the meat had been nuked - not a pleasant thing to do to a steak.

On the third try, a friend suggested that Murray tell the waiter 'tres quartros.' This suggestion proved correct as the meat was just a warm pink and sliced appropriately.

Service, was appropriate. Bistro does have one beer that none of the others has - Panamanian brewed "Warsteiner."

There are two restaurants offering 'Peruvian' fair. The first, Delicias del Peru, has an excellent outdoor section overlooking a hillside and a garden. The service was slow - we had to find a waiter. The food was heavily salted. Because salt affects Murray's blood pressure and poor service adds to it, we did not return.

The second, Machu Picchu is excellent. The setting is formal-cloth table cloths and linen napkins. Murray's first dish - repeated on the second trip - was a steak cordon-bleu. Joanne fell in love with the cordon-bleu. To compare with Bistro, Murray had the filet mignon with mushroom gravy. Both meat dishes were prepared just right and served elegantly.

On our first and second stop we ordered slices of lemon pie. The taste reminded both of us of excellent key lime pie. On our third outing, the pie was bland and the crust partially burned. We did not try a fourth time, but friends of ours did and offered a taste - it was again bland
with a burnt crust.

On each of our first four forays, service was excellent. On the fifth we had to ask for bread, and when it came it was well below the quality of the first four times. Service was slow or non existant on the last time. Apparently we had a trainee who was concerned with serving the single male at the table behind us who arrived after us and was served before us.

We took one meal at Roxanne's. The food was good, but we sat (our fault) at a table next to a window where the sun created an uncomfortable climate, and we could not open the window that overlooked a creek because between the window and a screen were six flies.

Across from Roxanne's is a Mexican restaurant. JoAnne was "OK" with her vegetarian buritos. Murray found his cimichanga the best he had ever had.

The best of the restaurants is new and run by an ex-pat from Key West. "Papa Ricco" has consistently excellent Italian food. His lasagna is mouth watering as was a mahi-mahi and chicken parmigana. JoAnne loved the spaghetti with meat balls and our neighbors took home a large Sicilian style pizza that the family enjoyed.

But, frankly, no one makes a breaded eggplant rolatini like Ricco. Service is excellent as is the running commentary by the owner, a refugee from Brooklyn. The only desert, ocassionally available, is caneloni- well made, but we've had better. Also Hobson's choice of Atlas Beer (probably the worst of the Panamanian beers) was finally improved upon on our last visit.

All meals were reasonable by American Standards ranging from $6 pp at Ricco's to $12.50 for the steak at Bistro.

Comparative Rating
Bistro Boquete *
Delicias del Peru *
Machu Picchu ***
Papa Ricco's ***

Preliminary Rating
Roxanne's **
Mexican ***

Paradise Gardens

Baby Howler Monkey climbs on Murray's back

Paradise Gardens is the third and newest Boquete garden that we have visited. Not really a garden, it is a wild animal rescue and rehabilation center. Started just two years ago by a retired couple from England, their intent was to house their rare bird collection but it quickly grew as a place where locals brought hurt or abandoned animals.

Murray and I were met at the entrance by a volunteer guide who leisurely walked us around giving the history of the garden and introducing us to the various animals and birds. A butterfly house, beautifully landscaped is a bit short on butterflies right now as mice seem to be eating them.

Our guide shared that there is always something new that she discovers when she comes. Maybe it is a newly arrived animal or the absence of one that has been released back into the forest.

The highlight were two young monkeys that delighted visitors with playful interactions.

Following our tour we spent some time chatting with the owner, Jeannie. A ten month old howler monkey, named Macy, was nestled under her T - shirt with just her head showing. Shortly after Murray sat down, Macy decided to go over to him and explore his camera and his watch. Feeling right at home the young monkey nestled into Murray's lap resting her head on Murray's arm and gently playing with his watch. I took pictures which we will post later of the relaxed pair.

The garden is so new that it isn't mentioned yet in guide books. We highly recommend it. The suggested donation is $5 but it is voluntary and there is no pressure to contribute.

Paradise Gardens is a short drive south from the center of town, turning right onto the road to Volcanito. A taxi ride is 75 cents per person and we had no problem hailing a taxi after our visit to return to town. In typical Panamian style, we shared the taxi with locals.

Finding a Jewel

Our Canadian friends, Connie and Chris, had to return their rental car by noon on Monday. Chris had seen something on a by road uphill from where we stay... Exploradora ... or something like that. Chris couldn´t remember the exact name. Connie found a short note in her travel book about it, and since it was on our (admittedly long) way to town we agreed that it might be worth a stop.

No matter which way you come from, the road is bumpy and care must be exercised not to hit rocks when driving a sedan. This passage - a shortcut through Jaramillo Central that avoids going the full circuit through Jaramillo Alto on a paved road that can take 30 minutes. It is winding with each lane only ten feet wide and no room for error.

We came to a refreshment stand in what might be termed the middle of nowhere. The sign read ¨Exploradora.¨ The stand was closed and we thought the park might also be closed. Connie spotted a unique switch, a picture with an electric light switch as its nose. She switched it on. There was no announce box, but when she did it a second time one could hear in the distance a faint buzzer.

A woman walkng the road smiled and said the owner would open it at ten. A few minutes later promptly at ten an elderly woman came dow the steep driveway and invited us to begin what turned out to be a fascnating trek through her 5-acre garden, highlighted by recylced everything.

What a jewel. The owner, a 75 year old native of Panama, spoke only Spanish. Since she spoke the idiom slowly, we could understand or get the sense of what she was saying. In addition to the tour, we were receiving a practicum in Spanish and an introduction to her philosophy of life.

Native plants of all kinds stretch aong the ¨Ruta.¨ The full tour took two hours - up and down, over a walking bridge and ultimately a bonsai garden. A discarded computer, its screen removed is labeled ¨computadora vitual.¨ Later we come across a similarly recyled television set that is set up against some plants. We label it ¨real reality TV.

Her family´s used shoes and boots and purses form pots for plants. Stones have painted faces. But more important are the sign posts - all in Spanish -- most easy to understand, a few that she explains, a couple that are not comprehended.

During the entire circuit we are transfixed by the nuances and talking almost entirely in Spanish. Each of us hugs our hostess for showing us a delightful adventure.

Cost is $2 per person.

Finding the Quetzal

There are two quetzals in the picture. Can you find them? (Hint at end)


Quetzal is the currency of Guatemala, it is the favorite pursuit of birders in Costa Rica´s Monteverde Bosque and scavenger adventure in adjacent Panama´s Chiriqui Province.

Outside of the town of Boquete where we are staying for a month we heard rumors that the famed amazingly colored bird had begun its seasonal nesting. From our experience in the Monteverde Rain Forest we knew that the guides knew where to look, and that we didn´t have a glue.

By some fortune, we encountered an English speaking guide escorting two ladies through the well manicured and excellent ´eye candy´available at the standout attraction ¨Mi jardin es su jardin¨that lies just outside the center of Boquete on the road to Bajo Mono and Alto Quiel.

Eduardo Serrano Quiel (phone 507-6601-6479) speaks acceptable (not perfect) English and has a wealth of knowledge of the Boquete vicinity. After a short discussion in which he suggested a hike - one of a package he offers - we decided to hire him.

On Thursday we met Eduardo at a local spot at 9 bringing along our neighbors, Chris and Connie Smith, a Canadian couple from near Toronto. After explaining what we would do for the next three to four hours, we bought water and climbed into the Smith´s rented car, heading for the start of the trail.

The trail begins on a jeep road at a fork where a sign indicates park land. We had to cross private property owned by Eduardo´s uncle, but which anyone can traverse.

The area starts off relatively open. After about 15 minutes on the road the vegetation produces more and more of a canopy. Pipes conveying high mountain water to Boquete run along the roadway.

We cross three bridges over what is now fairly easily forded streams. Eduardo explains that streams become rivers for a large part of the year as rain is a constant feature for 9 - 10 months of the year.

The road ends at a path that leads to the farm of Mario - an elderly gentleman, quite fit, whom we met carrying a machete.

Aside from the birds that we more hear than see, there is an abundance of flora. Eduardo explains that many of the plants are used medicinally. There are many varieties of bromeliades hanging on branches and tree trunks - some of them flowering. One or two orchids appear on the same branches with spray of flowers.

We walk. We keep asking ¨Where are the Quetzals?¨

Eduardo responds, ¨Sometimes we see them, sometimes we don´t.¨ We get the idea, they´re here, but they are elusive.

About two hours into the hike, Eduardo motions for us to stop and be quiet. He´s spotted a tall dead tree with no branches and plenty of holes. ¨That´s where a quetzal nested last year.¨ Then he puts his finger to his mouth again looks up and advises us to do the same.

First two, then three, then four of the birds are seen darting among the tops of the trees - their long tails a sure sign of their species, the loud almost laughing sound they make a distinctive indicator that we have been successful. But most important is to see this magnificant bird sitting astride a branch and getting a photo. Eduardo took our camera and swiftly obtained photos that will be posted here at a later date. The most valuable one shows a male at one part of the tree and a female at another.

While our mission was accomplished, we continued to hike until all of us felt we had enough. We reached a small waterfall and were able to sit for a few moments and enjoy the site.

Eduardo had an additional mission. A friend of his knowing where he was going asked him to pick a bag full of watercress. For ten minutes Eduardo set about on his mission. Chris and Connie continued exploration and JoAnne and Murray decided that sitting was the preferred mode of the hour.

Returning to the city we stopped for a brief moment to witness the town´s claim to a petroglyph. There were indications of ancient drawings, but the entire stone was covered with moss and lichens. In town we bid adieu to Eduardo and headed for a grand meal at one of two restaurants offering Peruvian cooking.

Hint: One is at top left and the other is at bottom, right

Boquete touring

Taking local buses is both an inexpensive and interesting way to explore the environs. There are three buses that make circuits from town and return. The round trip for each is $2. You can leave the bus at any point and, knowing its schedule, can get back on. Each segment is $1.

On Friday we took the Alto Quitel or Mono bus. The leg room is not conducive for a big man and the bus, while not packed,was full. We did not get off but made the complete circuit. Passing waterfalls and trails we climbed to the heights overlooking Boquete from the west. We passed the Quetzal trail entrance and the entrance to a coffee plantation.

The locals load up their intown purchases and those picked up on the way load in their things like produce, etc.

On Sunday we road the bus to Jaramillo Alto. This bus was jammed when we got on and the driver made two children give us their seat by the door. The driver then made a circuit around the town center and picked up MORE people. By the time we started up the hill, we were loaded with familes, their purchases including a propane tank.

Going up the hill, we added still more, a trio of hikers. Sardines have more space.

As the bus continued its loop, it began to empty and space for knees became available. As Murray was in the front seat and had to get up for all who wanted to exit, he became the unofficial conductor, opening the door and collecting the fare. What fun!!??

Alto Jaramillo is VERY high and we felt as if we were climbing into the clouds. Our stop was near the end of the loop, so we called for the stop and the driver stopped right before our driveway.

We highly recommend that if you are in Boquete to take these rural circuit buses. It gives one the opportunity to see the very beautiful countryside and to experience how the people live at a very inexpensive cost.

Boquete Panama Crime

Thieves are having a field day in Boquete Panama. Anyone traveling to Panama should be very careful and probably avoid the country until authorities get serious about enforcement.

After a delightful and peaceful week here we were robbed of our laptop computers while we were sleeping. A bit creepy to have been broken into at 2 AM through a narrow bathroom window and then had our two laptops and some money from our wallets taken. We immediately notified the owner of our house who lives on the property who called the police. The police did respond quickly to take a report but the word around is that it will amount to nothing.

So we are reading more and determined not to let this stop us from enjoying the rest of our time here. We do want to caution other tourists that this has become a major problem since Christman and that one needs to be extra careful.

Retirement Travel-Panama

In order to catch our flight to Panama leaving at 6am, we had to get up at 2:45am. We had scouted out a parking lot that was 24 hours and had a monthly rate. For an international flight, the airlines said we had to be at the airport 2 hours in advance. We arrived just before 4, checked in without incident and moved through security. It’s almost worthwhile to take such an early flight- no crowds and the planes leave on time. Announcements for the plane were only in Spanish- no English- quite surprising.

Landing on time three hours later we had to wait almost an hour for our luggage. Of the crowded plane, only two other couples and a single woman were waiting for luggage- the rest, presumably, was “in transit.” Panama is a hub, particularly for Cuban-Americans traveling to Cuba. Points in South America were additional destinations.

After retrieving our bags, we sought a taxi to transport us to the other side of Panama City to the Allbrook Bus Station. The information desk told us the fare would be $30. Having heard that the City was a ‘hole,’ we were pleasantly surprised by the building. Skyscrapers are replacing the barrios, so long neglected. Half of the trip was over a newly constructed toll road that cuts off at least 30 minutes. The renewal reminded us of Singapore and how that hole turned into vital economy.

The bus station is somewhat confusing. We wanted to find the next bus to the second largest city, David. We found a young woman in a line marked “David.” She said that the next bus from this operator was at 3PM. It was now only 11am. In another line, the bus was an express that ran at night.

The third line was long, two or even three busloads. The next bus at 11:30 was closed. The bus after that was scheduled for 12:30, but if we were at the end of this line, we would not have been able to take a bus until 3:30. Seven plus hours would have put us in David after ten with another hour to get to Bocquette and find our house.

A woman in line who spoke English spotted our concern and offered to buy tickets for us. No one behind objected to us cutting in line even though it meant that someone immediately behind us would be forced to take a later bus. We agree that Panamanians are both helpful and used to waiting.

Well, the 11:30 bus did not leave until noon and we figured our bus (that had not arrived and would not until 12:30) would also be delayed. Turned out that we got underway at one o’clock. The first part of the bus trip was the most interesting. We crossed a bridge over the Canal and saw the ships in the wide expanse that makes Panama City a port. The road parallels the Canal for a short distance, and at one spot we were adjacent to one of the many locks. The bus ride is long and, while comfortable, we decided that our return to the City would be with an airline that takes only one hour.

The woman who had helped us in Panama City, led us to the bus to Bocquette. It was just pulling out, but stopped to allow us to board. It was the last one for the night and was supposed to leave at 9, but was pulling out at 8:45. As we moved the sky seemed to open-up and millions of stars were visible in clear, crisp night sky, undiminished by urban light.

We arrived in Bocquette at 9:30. There was no phone at the station, so Murray ventured to the terminal office; “?Donde esta un telefon?”

“Huh?” replied the woman at the desk.

“Telefon?”

“”Afuera en medio de las puertas”

“Gracias,” I responded, noting that my Spanish needed some work.

We called the residence of our hosts, and Sunshine, who speaks acceptable English, said that Jerry, her husband would pick us up in front of the major Supermarket. Having fifteen minutes before he would arrive, we bought several items we felt essential for the next day.

Jerry found us in the market. While we were both exhausted having traveled for 18 hours, we were delighted with Jerry’s attitude. He spoke English with a Dutch accent, and, while not perfect, was completely understandable. In his Pontiac, we drove up a steep hill to an electronic gate. passing through the gate, we were inside a yet to be discovered treasure of foliage and fauna. Inside the house we rented, we were introduced to the workings of various appliances. The house has three bedrooms, although we only needed one. There is a large living room and an eat-in kitchen. Upstairs, awaits another bedroom. The stairs are more like a ladder. We decided that we would keep that room off-limits.

The most important feature of the evening- wi-fi silently beckoned. Having addressed our emails, we looked forward to a long nights rest.

Morse Museum and Visit to Orlando

In order to fly nonstop from Florida to Panama we had to go to Orlando. Everyone knows that this city as the home of Disney World and many other family attractions. On arriving, we spent two hours wandering the City Walk of Universal Studios. We both had visited the Western counterpart in LA several years ago, so had no desire to partake the amusements (a day would have cost us $150). The stroll around the lake, suggested by our son-in-law, David, was pleasant, and we decided to use a deli take-out in the park that we could later have for supper.

The next day we took a short trip to Winter Park. The approach to this town leaves something to be desired. The railroad runs through the center and some of the trains are quite large. There are no underpasses or overpasses.

Dead-ending into Rollins College is a strip that is perhaps a half-mile of shops, restaurants and galleries. We had lunch at a restaurant that just missed in taste appeal.

The owner of the very first gallery we entered suggested that we visit the Morse Museum that is at the very end of the strip. His sincerity was sufficient for us to ‘give it a go.’

The Charles Hosmer Morse Museum houses the most extensive collection of the work of Louis Comfort Tiffany, famed designer of Tiffany Glass, and son of the founder of the famed Jewelry store.

What a treat! L.C. was an artist first and a manufacturer of stained glass, second. Every piece had his indelible stamp, even those put together by craftsmen in his New York plant.

His most famous construct was a chapel of stained glass that he created for the Columbia Exposition in Chicago (the so-called ‘White City” because it was the first example of a city of Edison’s lights). The Morse Museum painstakingly recreated the chapel under the tutelage of Hugh F. McKean who, with his wife, Jeanette, were the driving force in the preservation of Tiffany’s work. www.morsemuseum.org/home.htm

If you are in the Orlando area, be sure to visit this gem. The cost of admission is only $3.

The next day we prepared for Murray's book signing of Screamer: The Forgotten Voice of the Pittsburgh Steelers at Barnes and Noble. It was fun talking to people as they entered the store and, most importantly, selling books.

She Paints Sea Shells by the Sea Shore

Earlier this month I wrote about the beauty of Sarasota’s beach and the delight of “shelling.” Finding treasures on the beach fascinated me as a child and I can remember having great fun walking the beaches of Sarasota back in the 70’s shelling with our two daughters even learning the names of many of the shells!! On this trip the first shell picture I painted using pastels was inspired by a bucket of shells that my two grandson’s collected with their aunt along Crescent Beach in Sarasota. The shelling was OK but not nearly what I had remembered from the 70’s along Longboat Key’s Beach.

Wanting to explore some of the other beaches, we drove to the southern most shore on Siesta Key. Much to our surprise we found outstanding shelling on Turtle Beach. It seems that the Hurricane two years ago had wiped out most of the beach and that reclaiming the beach has resulted in shelling better than ever. Before the beach had been quite rocky. Now it is very sandy, and as we wandered we can upon piles of shells. Fishing was also good along the beach. We watched a flounder and a small domed shark being caught!

I found using the shells as subject a good exercise in painting shapes, color composition and shading. All my work was done with pastels working directly from actual shells, sometimes placed in a still life arrangement and other times the shell held in my hand and studied closely.

This pastel is called "Still Life Shells on a Plate"

This pastel I call "Beautifully Broken"

To see more of the paintings I did in Sarasota, please check out my website.

http://www.joannetuckerart.com/still_life_painting.html

Art Runs in the Family

In a December Blog I shared the work of my Mom, Janet Klineman. In this blog I am pleased to share the work of my sister, Peggy Klineman. Working in her studio in New York City she creates dynamic abstract compositions. Featured here is "Winter 2008 - 59th Street Entrance to Central Park" completed this month. Oil on paper, it is 22” by 30.”

Peggy has an MFA degree in ceramics from Rochester Institute of Technology. Following graduation she taught and exhibited in the Rochester area until moving to New York City where she spent 25 years in the business world.

The need for self-expression became overwhelming. She began taking classes at Cooper Union and the Art Student League and for six years she polished her drawing skills and gaining proficiency in the use of oils. Now spending full time in her own studio she has created several vibrant abstract series. You can check them out by visiting her art space page.

I am enjoying being able to talk “art” with both my Mom and Sister! While we each have our own approach, medium, and style it is fun to share what we are doing and appreciate the work of each other.

Village of the Arts/Bradenton, Florida

We are now settled into a five-week stay in Sarasota having successfully escaped the Colorado winter storms and the cross-country drive. While we have spent time in Sarasota before, this was the first time we visited Village of the Arts in Bradenton. Our visit was for a book signing of “Screamer: The Forgotten Voice of the Pittsburgh Steelers” at The Village Book Store by Murray.

What a delight. The ArtWalk Guide, published quarterly, describes how the village began.

In the Summer of 1999, the Artists Guild of Manatee, Inc. was formed to establish the Village of the Arts in Bradenton. The dream was a community where artists of all disciplines could live, work and prosper. From just a handful of artists, there is now a community of studios and galleries, many of whom are open to the public during the Friday evening and Saturday afternoon ArtWalks.

What really impressed me as I explored the area and talked to some of the artists was the warmth and enthusiasm they conveyed. I loved the variety of different art forms and styles. There are also several fun places to have a bite to eat or a coffee, as well as the delightful independent bookstore that has a huge collection of books of local poets, and sponsors a writer’s group.

One of my favorite stops was to the Rose/Giles Studio. Herbie Rose was my Mom’s first art teacher and it was fun for my Mom to share with him how his classes had started her in watercolor, and how much she was enjoying painting. The gallery features his “vibrant watercolors” along with those of his wife, Graciela Giles.

The Village is adjacent to an industrial area and run down section of Bradenton. It is an effort to add new life to a depressed urban area. It reminded me of downtown Jersey City that we moved to in 1986. We watched the explosive renovations and gentrification that occurred over the eighteen years that we lived there. Village of the Arts also has this potential. The idea of being able to live, paint and exhibit in the same space certainly has its appeal.

Book signing in Sarasota Jan 17

I will be signing books at Circle Books, St. Armands Circle, Longboat Key, Sarasota Florida, Jan 17 2008. To get the media interested I wrote the following cover letter for the publicity.

Screamer: The Forgotten Voice of the Pittsburgh Steelers is a book that had to be written. The subject should have written it, but he past away in 1986 leaving notes for me, his son, to parcel through to a coherent tome. I chose to write the book in the first person as this is the way he would have written it. It is to you, the reader, to determine if this approach is appropriate.

I had a lot of fun delving into my late father’s closet and coming up with what others have referred to as “extraordinary,” “fascinating,” “fantastic,” “read it with great pleasure.” In the first 45 days that the book has been available nearly 200 books have been sold. (Go to the website, www.murraytuckerwriter.com, to see what others have said).

Aside from the early and mostly unknown stories behind the generally lackluster Pittsburgh sports teams chronicled in the book, there is humor, romance and a little bit of R-rated material. Sales have gone to people scattered throughout the U.S., Canada, and even to Hong Kong.

While chock full of interesting anecdotes, you will find the story of Joe Tucker’s life an easy read. I dare say, several people, mainly women, have written to tell me that they could not put it down. One decided to read under the hairdryer and became so engrossed that she nearly burned off her coiffure.

The humor begins with several stories of legendary clown, Bill Cullen. My father “discovered” Bill working in his father’s garage. The stories with renowned Pirate announcer, Bob Prince, continue the saga. Then there are those tales of how do you take care of nature when there is no bathroom handy.

But Screamer is the story of a man, a man who persisted against overwhelming odds to become the dean of pro football announcers, only to be thrown on the dung heap of celebrity and forgotten with the passage of time. His fans endure to this day, although most are over 60.

If you have an interest in reviewing my work, or in discussing (interviewing) me, you can contact me at (phone #) or email murtuc2@juno.com. I will be in Sarasota during the month of January and the above numbers are for our cell phones.

Sincerely,

Murray Tucker

Art Runs in the Family

I hunch that art runs in my veins. My grandfather painted and my sister is an artist. I treated myself to my first formal art class five years ago at age 60 and now am serious about painting and pleased to have been accepted in six juried shows.

My mom, Janet Klineman, had some interest in art when she was growing up. It wasn’t until she was visiting four and a half years ago that she got back into art. Seeing a still life set up that I was working on she became very interested. I suggested that she join me and gave her some charcoal and paper. She enjoyed drawing and began taking lessons when she returned to her home in Sarasota. She now is very serious, taking watercolor classes on a regular basis and exhibiting her work.

This fall she had two pieces on display at the Gulf Gate Branch, Selby Library as part of the Sarasota Adult and Community Education Center’s advanced watercolor class taught by Mary Lou Ringers. Here’s a photo of Mom and her painting of a sheep.

Mom’s portrait of her niece was accepted into the Arts Center Sarasota juried members’ exhibition. All works are “Twelve Inch by Twelve Inch.” This show is currently running until December 29^th

Mom particularly enjoys painting animals and is often commissioned to paint watercolor portraits of pets. You can see more of her artistry by visiting: http://www.joannetuckerart.com/galleryjanet_klineman.html

Book signing

My biography of my father, Screamer: The Forgotten Voice of the Pittsburgh Steelers, literally flew off the shelf at Off the Beaten Path, a small independent bookstore in Steamboat Springs, Colorado on Thursday. Steamboat is a town of 10,000 permanent residents, and many skiers. Weather was threatening, but a group of over twenty braved the potential of heavy snow to listen to my presentation and to have me sign their books. Surprising to me was the number of twenty and thirty-somethings who never lived in Pittsburgh who bought the book.

I talked for thirty-minutes using excerpts from the book along with a discussion of my father’s philosophy a full version of which can be found by visiting: www.staatalent.com/Pages-News/Tucker.htm

I focused on the subject of early sports broadcasting, some of the people my father worked with such as Bob Prince, Rosey Rosewell, Bill Cullen and his philosophy of being prepared based on his first experience interviewing. You can hear a reading on Bill Cullen by visiting: www.youtube.com/watch?v=FjPVP-6hcC8.

Read more about the book, including excerpts by visiting my website: www.murraytuckerwriter.com

Recent paintings

Yesterday we went snowshoeing on a trail across the street from our home in Steamboat Springs. The fresh snow, referred to here as powder, decorated the trees creating a winter wonderland. Six weeks ago, when we had the a similar snow, I painted a view of the trees from my studio window. It is now in a Holiday exhibit at the Mountain Leisure Gallery in Yampa, Colorado. I call it First Snow – 2007! It is a soft pastel, 12” by 16”.

On Saturday I finished an oil painting that I had been working on for several weeks. It was inspired by a picture taken by Murray at the Steamboat Botanic Garden. I am fascinated by the amazing uniqueness of each rose and strive to find the rhythmic pattern of the petals! This piece is 30” by 30” on 1 ½” wrapped canvas. To see more of my art work and to contact me if you are interested in buying any of my work please visit www.joannetuckerart.com!

Las Vegas

The road out is the same distance as the road in, the same 60-mile road. Then we continued on Route 66 to Kingman, Arizona where we spent the night. So far, there had been no real shockers.

The drive from Kingman, northwest towards Nevada, was more interesting- barren hills, mountains and canyons exotic and fascinating. The road into Nevada crosses the Hoover Dam. The approach requires a vehicle security inspection. The U.S. Government is currently building a bypass that will allow the ever-increasing traffic to flow more smoothly between the two states without the security threat. Fortunately, traffic was not heavy from our side, and we made a stop at an overlook to see this marvel of engineering.

Anxious to move on, we did not stop to take the tour of the facility that others said is most interesting. The approach to Las Vegas goes through places dotted with casinos. Each hotel is a casino. The road into the city is a broad six-lane boulevard that never seemed congested. The city that grew from nothing to one of the largest metropolitan areas in the country is well planned, and the air in late fall at midday was crisp and clear.

It isn’t until one approaches Las Vegas Boulevard, “The Strip,” that you sense the difference, tall spires, flashing signs, glitz, and a slight amount of congestion. Turning into Caesar’s Palace, efficient aides took our bags and handed us a card for our car that was whisked away to free valet parking. Walking into the hotel we are greeted immediately by the Casino. Continuing through the Casino, we arrived at the Registration Desk where we were told that our room was ready and we could call the Bell Desk to send up our luggage when we were ready. This was the first element of culture shock, an efficient operation.

We had no idea how to play the games or machines, so we wandered around, somewhat in a daze. Most of the gamblers at the “slots,” in an hypnotic trance, were pounding a key, watching, then pounding again within seconds, the machines gobbling up one or five dollars at a hit. Coming from an area where interior smoking is prohibited, the second hand smoke was noxious.

We retreated to our room and awaited the arrival of our family while doing what we came to Las Vegas to do- our email. For us, working on the Internet was a cultural norm needed to allow us to believe that all was well with our world.

Our older daughter, Julie, arrived from New York City. She is not into the casinos, but does have an appreciation of the various motifs that exist in Las Vegas. Next to Caesar’s is the Bellagio. We had a late afternoon lunch for, I do not know how much since she picked up the tab, and wandered through the exquisite floral display set up in a conservatory. It was not until the next morning that sticker shock hit. I picked up the breakfast tab, $75+tip for three people, and the pancakes at the Havasupai café for $3 per plate, were much better, as was the coffee for $1.50.

Culture shock continued. We had just been in an area of poverty where money meant something. In Las Vegas, money has lost its relevance except as a means to delight in the artificial splendor of the various motifs: Italian, French, New York, etc. They all exist within a square mile.

But this was a place where our entire family could meet. Getting to our Colorado mountain home from virtually anywhere is difficult in the best of times. As our younger daughter’s in-laws live in Las Vegas, even Julie could attend, although iphone was always on, ready to receive email, and a second cell phone was on to receive calls. Our son-in-law had his newest toy, a cell phone that carries TV programs in those limited areas of the country in which Verizon TV is available.

Rachel’s father-in-law, an escapee from Queens, led us on an expedition into that part of Las Vegas that was totally different, The Red Rock Canyon. If for no other reason than to preserve your sanity (and your lungs), you should get out to this marvelous nature area when you are in Las Vegas. It is a very short drive to the outskirts of the city. There are several other inviting places, but we did not have the time to explore.

Our sojourn in the Canyon had to be short in that Thanksgiving turkey awaited us at the home of our son-in-law’s mother and her friend (his mother and father are divorced, but remain friends). A giant 60-inch screen projected football in high definition, and we all subjected ourselves to the exploits of Bret Favre and the Packers, at least for a few minutes.

The house sits on the first tee of a beautiful green golf course. It is a spacious two bedroom one level with a circular design permitting easy passage from living room to kitchen to dining room and back. The bedrooms are off this passage way.

Finished with eating, we headed back to the “Strip.” I was not feeling well and went to our room. JoAnne again played her favorite group of slot machines, “Wheel of Fortune.” She was wise enough to stop when she was ahead and returned with a 20% return on her “play money.”

On Friday morning after a delightful breakfast with our family we began our return to Steamboat Springs, enjoying an easy and beautiful drive through Utah, with a night stop in Green River.

Moab to Supai - Culture Shock

If we needed culture shock, we got it this week. Journeying from our Colorado mountain home we paused in Moab, Utah where we went to the extreme end of the park-drive of the Arches National Park. As many times as we have visited Arches, there is always something new. But this wasn’t culture shock.

Continuing our drive south, we took a fantastic byway out of Blanding Utah to the Natural Bridges National Monument to see the natural wonders here. Coming out of the park and moving towards Arizona we descended one of the steepest roads in the U.S., a 10% grade with few guard- rails. This may have caused panic, but it, too, was not a culture shock.

Arriving at dusk in Flagstaff, we ventured onto Route 66 en route to our motel. If one wants to see poor road planning near a major interstate connection, go to the Forest Meadows mall in Flagstaff at the intersection of I-17 and I-40. If you like risks, make a left turn. But this is not culture shock, it’s Americana.

Now we faced west. The drive along I-40 past the turn-off to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, past endless miles of forest and dry sandy desert, we turned off onto Route 66 at Seligman, Arizona. There we found a motif of bygone years, a block long museum dedicated to Historic Route 66. If you have the chance and an hour, take this side trip and have an old fashion root beer float. It’s a culture shock for anyone under 55.

Continuing on Route 66, we stopped for the night at Grand Canyon Caverns. The highlight here is a dry cave of limestone 200 feet below the earth’s surface, a natural wonder, awesome, but not a culture shock.

The objective for our next day was an eight-mile descent into a side canyon of the Grand Canyon occupied by members of Havasupai Tribe. The trail is steep down a hillside, descending 1200 feet in about 1.5 miles. The canyon starts out wide with little vegetation. It progresses to a more narrow slot canyon with trees and bushes growing from the rocks. The trail is full of loose gravel and rocks. Both in the descent and during the entire walk pack mule and horse trains led by one or two natives pass us. Accompanying the train one or more dogs scamper along the trail, running up and down and apparently thoroughly enjoying their dog life.

Weary, we arrive at a bridge crossing a creek that indicates that we are within a mile of our destination. The ground becomes softer and a house appears once in a while. We enter the village past a museum, the post office, café and general store on our way to our destination, the Lodge.

The villagers are quite friendly, and a young girl expresses concern over the zombie-like appearance of Murray, his feet burning and his electrolytes are depleted. Other than the fact that the villagers are Native Americans and there are no cars, there is little on the surface to indicate a difference between this village and a remote village in any other area of the U.S.

As we proceeded with our stay, we begin to notice other differences. TV is a rare; there is no newspaper. We learned that a few years ago devoted teachers did not stay because the Council uses the money meant to pay them for other things. This situation has been corrected. We suspect the adults have little or no use for education, viewing it as a threat to their culture. Anyone achieving more than a high school equivalency moves away. This is not culture shock, but cultural difference.

The next day we hiked the two miles to the Havasu Falls, clear lime colored water surging over red rocks and plunging into a pool 50 feet below. Several other pools and cascades fill out the scene with a few swimmers frolicking in the 55 degree water that develops from underground springs throughout the valley. Having been to the second attraction, Mooney Falls, a half mile further on the path, we decided that we had seen what we came for. The hike to Mooney involves climbing on ladders and through holes, and on high ledges, not for the faint of heart.

On the following day most of the tourists were gone. A large contingent calling themselves Christian Veterinarians started to arrive. We thought it was great that a group of professionals would donate their time and money to improve the health of the animals in the valley. Then we talked to the leader. The emphasis of the group was on Christian. They had come with a turkey dinner for the villagers and overwhelming proselytizing.

We were stunned. In this scenic valley well-meaning zealots were challenging the culture of this native population, just as the Spaniards had, albeit forcefully, terminated the culture of the indigenous population they found in the Americas. To their credit, the villagers ate the missionary’s turkey and trimmings (outside of the church) and most walked home with bags. The main audience for the preaching was the contingent of Christians.

Our climb out of Havasu Canyon was easier than the descent! We did not even look haggard on our arrival at the parking lot that is at the head of the trail.