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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 04/19/11 at 11:07 AM • Permalink

Wandering Eye: A Sight for Sore Eyes, Ears, Noses & Throats

Our blogger, interior designer Carey Maloney, and his partner Hermes Mallea, an architect, are principals in the M (Group).
 
I don’t know about the rest of you out there, but me, I am interested in SUN and HEAT right now.  It might be bright outside, but it’s cold.  Very “Cool White” florescent…when what we need is Warm Incandescence.

For me, Bright + Hot = Cuba, my current frame of reference after our multiple trips there to work on Hermes’s (damn) book.  Right now, it is pleasantly warm and sunny—peak season!

My ramblings on Cuba tend to become too rambling…on and on, a subject I can/will wax eloquent about at length.  I needed a short and sweet topic without all the socio-political baggage that comes with Cuban subjects.

Swimming Pools!! 

I culled a bunch of nice bright ‘hot’ pictures of Havana’s pools from the thousands of pictures we have.  Not all the pools are in the best working order, but each is pretty great in its own way.

Let the Games Begin!

 
 
 
“Our” pool is this huge kidney at the Hotel Nacional de Cuba.  It’s a scene in high season.  Lots of old, very white men with caliente Cuban ‘dates.’  In summer, the looooow season, Havana is so hot you can’t even sit by a pool.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
If this pool could tell tales, I shudder to think…
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
And why is it only now, via the InterWeb, I discover the Nacional has synchronized swimmers as part of the (lame) floorshow??!!  Damn.
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
This 1950’s house in El Country Club (the best neighborhood in town) , is now a Casa Protocolo for diplomatic visitors.  The sculpture spilling water into the pool is by Cuban artist Rita Longa.  Note the great vine covered columns supporting the terrace.  There are wonderful photos of this house in party mode – dinner for the King of Belgium, Christmas fiestas…  The owner collected the palettes of great artists (!).
 
 
 
 
 

This pool is behind my favorite house, now a fabric warehouse.  The loo for the ‘companeras’ was designed by Jansen.  (It’s never Senor or Senora..Always companero and companera—Spanish for Comrade). The steps and the platforms make for my kind of pool – plenty of places to lie or stand and read - and still be submerged. Both sets of stairs are great…This pool and the previous one were designed by the same firm.  Look at the edge details and paving. 

 
 
The Best Pool in Havana, hands down, is this turn of the century Roman pavilion at the residence of the British ambassador.  The addition to the main house was designed by the American architect John Duncan (he did Grant’s Tomb). It is elegant and so completely ‘classical’ it’s exotic. 

 
 
 
 
I am no great fan of ‘endless pools’ – they only work when, like this one, they ‘magically’ shoot out into more blue water.  The red slats/steps are very cool.  The mid century modern house you aren’t seeing is now a paladar – a family run restaurant.  I could move in…

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
The Swiss ambassador’s house was designed by Richard Neutra – and the pool(s) is huge and chic.  As is the house… 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
This pool and pool house, with their simple neo-Colonial lines, won awards in the ‘50’s.  Another Casa Protocolo in ‘El Country,’ hence the water…
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
The ‘cement pond’ at the United States Head of Special Interests’s (i.e. ambassador’s) residence.  It’s what I imagine your better class of Officer’s Club looks like.  Very “American,” isn’t it?
 
 

 
 
 
 
This is the entrance to a public salt water pool.  We weren’t allowed in.  Prior to Fidel, the Cuban’s excelled at resort/recreational architecture.  The idea was for the designer to have fun so the place looked fun… Cubans, then and now, know how to have FUN.
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
In general, the ocean crashes onto rocky shore in Havana, not beach.  You have to drive maybe 20 minutes outside the city to the closest nice beaches, and two hours to Varadero, their Hamptons. The only beach we saw in Havana proper is at the (former) Biltmore Yacht Club.  I can’t find the (super) cute photo of Baby Hermes on the beach there (he will be relieved..)
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
  
This little number is another Casa Protocolo.  The house is a Roman-style villa called La Mansion.  And that name is not an exaggeration…a marble palace.
 
 
 
 
 

We did a house in Acapulco years ago.  Quite a house.  Two pools.  One huge amorphic one with a 40’ waterfall and a grass ‘hut’ that seated 60 for dinner (right).  And a smaller, more discrete, rectangular one (below), closer to the main house.  The first night, the client turned to me, and over the roar of the waterfall, yelled, “Mira!  This way is Beverly Hills and that way is Bel Air.  Perfect!!”  I had to agree…

 
 
One day the client said something about the pools, implying I must have tried one out.  I replied, “Oh,  I’ve never been in your pools!”  He was stunned.  It never occurred to me; I’m a Worker Bee.  I silently wondered if he knew he was paying for our hotel ‘casita’ a few hundred yards away, with a private pool? 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Me at my Acapulco desk…
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
If you want to go to Cuba, drop me a line.  I’ll tell you what room to get at the Nacional and how to cadge a guest pass at the Biltmore YC.
  
 
 
 
 
 

Stay warm! —Carey Maloney
 
For the complete archive of past Wandering Eye blogs, click here. 

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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 01/31/11 at 08:11 PM • Permalink

The Wandering Eye: Christmas Decorations

Our blogger, interior designer Carey Maloney, and his partner Hermes Mallea, an architect, are principals in the M (Group).
 
My Rural Intelligence buddy Marilyn (think Rumpole’s She Who Must Be Obeyed) suggested a blog on Christmas decorations.  She knows we have decorated The New York Public Library for years and figured this was a good direction to point me in…

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Astor Hall with the tree
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
So –  Indeed we volunteer decorate the Library every year, and we love it. What better space to tackle than Astor Hall?  When they asked us to help back in 1996, we were renting a house up here a few houses north of where we are now.  I looked out the window, and there was a huge spruce with birds flying around it..  Hmm.  Natural.  That could work! 

 
 
 
 
 
 
Little families crowd the tree
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
We hit the collections for inspiration and fell upon the Library’s huge trove of Christmas cards.  There it was—a mid-19th-century German card with a snowy fir tree full of little birds.  We found more cards with trees and birds, especially the 1960’s UNICEF cards.  So we had a theme and it was connected to the Library (the vast scope of the Library has always allowed us to work backwards. You name the theme, the Library has the materials to back it up.)

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Circa 1949 author and librarian Emma Brock was on the same track.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
We needed pine cones, so I mention this to my mother.  Off and running, and a month later, she had collected, via Cub Scout troops, her garden clubbers, and even a group of nuns, 14 huge boxes of beautiful East Texas pine cones, sorted by size (!) for her contribution to the effort.  So these get shipped up.

Meanwhile, I am wondering/worrying—how will we hang them?  Well.  They don’t need to be hung. They just stick to that artificial tree (fire code) like Velcro.  Magic.  Given how rich we were in pine cones, we covered that tree densely and used them as a skirt projecting 5’ around the tree. 

And damned if those pine cones haven’t lasted—with minimal refreshing—year after year… Amazing and unexpected.  Sort of a water to wine-ish-y miracle!  I use them everywhere—in bowls, in the huge Pyrex containers by our fireplace, on the table in my elevator vestibule… Pine cones rock.

Then I shopped for lots of fake birds, as natural looking and forest-y as we could find.  No tucans.  Also lots of little nests to hang, sit, and perch.  Wooden cranberry garlands add a bit of color.  Some snow brightens it all up.

The final product is big and bold from a distance but detailed and ‘lively’ up close.  Children seem to enjoy it—we have Harry Potter-inspired owls that evoke gasps.  And the adults stop to look too.  The librarians set up a large glass case with holiday-theme items from the stacks (such as Charles Dicken’s personal copy of “A Christmas Carol” and a daggeurotype of the real Tiny Tim)—every opportunity is a learning experience at the NYPL!

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Upstairs in the very grand Trustees’ Room, we garland it up and focus on pine cones and gilded ribbon, with just a few escapee birds around.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
Here the Trustees’ Room set up for a lunch we hosted for six potential donors.
 
 
 
 
 
 
Once this installation is completed on Thanksgiving weekend, I am pretty much done with Christmas decorations for a few weeks. (In the interest of full disclosure, we have about 15 talented window dressers who do the work.  At this point, I just wander through and tweak a bird here or move a pine cone there…)

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
My junk store Santa on our front porch. He lights up of course…and he is on a dimmer!
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
I’ll admit to being consumed with how much trouble it is to set it all up and take it all down, so I opt for a few bold statements (to amuse me) and leave it at that.  Plus, I am loathe to completely change my environs.  I sort of like them the way they are and don’t need a month of twinkling lights and gilded pine cones to add forced sparkle to my already glitteringly glam life (note: insert irony…)

Which brings me to the timetable.  As noted above, I realize it takes time and effort to put all this junk up.  This is the price you pay.  But don’t use that as an excuse to put it up months in advance.  “The holiday season” has gotten longer and longer.  I won’t be pretentious and expound putting up the tree on Christmas Eve, but, really, you want that stuff around for a month or more?  Too much…  If you really “need” the buzz of all that tinsel, it may be nature’s way of telling you you should spend some dough on making your digs nice all year ‘round…

 
 
 
 
 
Sweet, right?  There are about 24 pieces and all are almost a foot tall.  Bought in Mexico maybe ten years ago.  This year was the first time it got unpacked.
 
 
 
 
 
 
I put up a few things at our house—a big Mexican crèche is lots of fun to play with, and my junk store Santa makes me happy.  Then we toss around the most useful decorations we have—shiny, plastic, expandable things bought in Puerto Rico to decorate a holiday rental. Love them.  Glittery and funny and they fold flat… 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
Antique Hermes with his Puerto Rican star
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
When in doubt, nothing works better than lots and lots of evergreens.  Pile it on.  Cheap, elegant, and PC.  When I am feeling ambitious, nothing works better for me than sticking the branches everywhere—jammed behind a painting frame, piled on top of a cabinet, laid flat on tables…You have to watch out for ‘sap’ damage – wrap the leaking stems.

When it comes to lights, we go two ways.  First choice are the old-fashioned BIG tree bulbs we grew up with—multi colored, but on dimmers.  The dimmer is key—it lowers to a wonderful,  evocative glow. Very cool.

If the lights are white we mix two sizes. Let’s say 70% small with 30% medium or large—you get great depth and more interesting results.  Ideally, the mix is virtually imperceptible. 

On the Christmas card front, we long ago opted for New Year’s cards.  The pressure is off!  They can be sent well into January, and they aren’t as likely to be missed in the mass of mailings running up to December 31.  We use the same template every year—a nice thick card with the year engraved in a color up top and our names in another color down low.  That blank page forces a handwritten note—which is the point, right?  Printing your name under “May your Seasons be Bright” is a cop out and not greatly appreciated around here.
 
Gifts can wait until New Year’s and are mainly books.  We find pens and ribbons in the same colors so everything ‘matches’.  We go for cheap white paper or brown butcher paper and use lots of nice satin ribbon.  As a source for ribbon, I swear by Jamali.

 
 
 
 
 
Many Christmases, we go to Palm Springs.  Our friend Barbara has a great house (1930’s Spanish, formerly owned by the Jack Warners, rented by Elvis—quintessential “Old Palm Springs”), and we park there for a few weeks.  I pull out her stuff and buy a little pine tree to stand on a table in the living room.  Simple and desert-y.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
We discovered Palm Springs’ “Most Decorated” house a few years ago. AMAZING. Nothin’ like this in Columbia County.. Five million lights and blow up things and moving things and reindeer sculpture with computer monitor heads. Thousands come. Can you imagine being the neighbors?? Kenny, the artist, started doing it when he was a teenager. And continues to this day (I hope).

Check it out on YouTube—which is longer than the actual tour, by the way. On and on and on and on, right? Kenny started to bum me out…So just Fast Forward ...

 
 
  
 
 
“Kenny Irwin Jr. is my birth name.” How “California” is this??!?
 
 
 
 
  
 
I was going to sign off with a cheery “Happy Holidays” but that reminds me… What is it with those people who “correct” others with “It’s Merry Christmas.”  I am not involved in the War Against Christmas.  I am simply including—for ease—many holidays crammed into one month.  On Christmas Eve, I will wish you a Merry Christmas, but the defensiveness of these zealots is nuts.  Christmas will continue to reign as America’s premier holiday—what with all that $$$ being spent, no one is out to kill Christmas.  How’s about we all just celebrate, each in our own way???

 
Speaking of zealots:  On December 15 at 7 p.m. in its South Court, The New York Public Library will host a program with the curators of “Hide/Seek,” a show of portraiture by gay artists at the National Portrait Gallery.  One work, a video by AIDS activist David Wojnarowicz, was deemed by the Catholic League—a grand name for a tiny lobbying org (oh, and What’s-his-name Boehner weighed in with some vitriol)—as “anti-Christian” and “an attack on Christmas.”

For 11 seconds, ants crawl on a wooden crucifix.  This is a threat!?!?  Talk about insecure. The museum sadly bowed to demands to censor itself and the poop has, rightfully, hit the fan…Come to the Library that night and hear what the curators, in their only NYC gig, have to say.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Whoa!
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Naughty….
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Nice….
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Hermes at Christmas in Texas with his in-laws.  Fun!
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
—Carey Maloney
 
For the complete archive of past Wandering Eye blogs, click here. 

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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 12/09/10 at 07:52 AM • Permalink

Wandering Eye: Credit Where Credit is Due

Our blogger, interior designer Carey Maloney, and his partner Hermes Mallea, an architect, are principals in the M (Group).
 
Disclaimer: This blog is not advice about refinancing your mortgage.

I’m wondering what to write about… I’m not crazy about ‘assignments’ (I don’t think I take instruction well…).  But left to my own devices, nada much happens…

So I go to a favorite blog, An Aesthete’s Lament, for inspiration.  I see Louise Grunwald’s name so I click—and there she is, in all her 1960’s glory, when she was Louise Savitt (nee Liberman, later Melhado, now Grunwald) in her Billy Baldwin apartment.  Me, for many, many years I have worshipped at the altar of Mrs. Grunwald.  From her, I first heard a cocktail party described as “a rat fuck”—one of those rare gifts that has kept on giving.  Rat fuck, how vivid.

Then I think, who in our neck of the woods has the clout of a Louise?  Who is smart and involved, stylish and likeable?  It’s a no brainer – our friend and almost next door neighbor, Joan Kaplan Davidson.

When we first rented a house in Germantown, three houses north of Joan, the constant refrain from all and sundry who heard where we were, “You must know Joan”.  Well we didn’t know Joan. And the more persistent the refrain, the more we dug in our heels.  I’d bite my tongue – wanting to scream “We don’t know her and it’s OK.  OK?!?!?”.

Then we bought our house and underwent the instant metamorphosis from summer renters to homeowners.  (This is key.  Who knew?)  The first call we got, welcoming us to the ‘hood, was Joan inviting us to dinner at Midwood.  Suddenly, we knew her!  And there was no going back.  We were quickly worshipping at Joan’s altar.

In the maybe 20 years since she landed at Midwood, Joan has worked, talked, schemed and cajoled to make our town, our county, and our state better places to live.  She is vocal, opinionated, Liberal with a capital L, and relentless.  Since we agree with her 95% of the time, this works for us.  We’ve spotted her on the Taconic many Friday’s – her modest little wagon with about 30 bumper stickers on it.  Joan wears it on her sleeve

Her “Midwood” is a great Hudson Valley house.  Sprawling and organic, big but not grand or precious.  Sited close to the river and one of the very few houses with access to the Hudson – via an iron bridge over the tracks to a dock.  Very cool.  Midwood is a house for family and for friends.  When her grandchildren were little, she hosted Camp Midwood in the summer and included the Woods Road kids.  She is constantly opening her house and her garden to her favorite orgs – and trust me, this effort is a bigger/better gift than cold hard cash. (OK – maybe not better than cash… But a labor of love!)

On top of it (the rich get richer??), she is very Good Looking and has Great Style. It must be her good bones, because she looks better with age.  A few years ago, there was a laudatory piece in the Times with a pic.  I called her, “Save that picture.  It’s great.  Perfect obit material.”  I don’t think she took it as the serious advice it was—she seemed to quickly change the subject.  Since she’ll live to be 110, I guess there will be other photos that could work (but if she reads this—I am not wrong, great obit photo!)

Joan Davidson vintage: she’s been doing this stuff since black and white days!

I always laugh when I see the plaque at Clermont (State Historic Site) listing Chancellor Robert Livingston’s accomplishments—drafter of the Declaration of Independence, Secretary of State, ambassador to France, chancellor of New York, yadda dadda yadda.  That guy was a Type A. I don’t know what Type A really means, but I’ve assumed I’m not one, since I like naps and puppies. Now, two minutes later… Damn Wikipedia!—I was happier in the dark:  Type A =  “impatient, time-conscious, controlling, concerned about their status, highly competitive, ambitious, business-like, aggressive, having difficulty relaxing.”  Which would make Type B = Boring and slow?  Oh well.. I think the damn A shoe fits.

Joan’s CV is almost as celestial as the Chancellor’s.  For years, she ran the J.M.Kaplan Fund, created by her father Jacob Kaplan.  She was Commissioner of New York State Parks, Recreation and Historic Preservation under Governor Mario Cuomo.  She runs Furthermore, a division of Kaplan that gives grants for publishing books on art, architecture, and design; conservation; cultural history; and public issues.  In 2009, when New York needed a Chairperson for the Hudson-Fulton-Champlain Quadricentennial Commission, who stepped up?  Joan.  Get it?

So – Kudos to Joan—a Type A—for Altruist.  She sees something needs to be done, and she works to do it, with grace, charm, and those excellent cheek bones.

One of the MOST FUN parts of doing these blogs are the photos I get to cull from the InterWeb.  Googling “Joan Davidson” got me lots of stuff—though little of use.  Love that…

Pictures that are Not our Joan Davidson…

 
 
 
 
Harry Potter Joan Davidson, store manager at Haggen Food & Pharmacy in Marysville
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
Scary Ass Joan Davidson
 
 
 

 
Smiley Joan Davidson; courtesy of the West Aukland Dental Practice
 
 

 
 
Jazzercise Joan Davidson or Scary Ass Joan II
 
 
 
 
—Carey Maloney

For the complete archive of past Wandering Eye blogs, click here.

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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 11/08/10 at 08:01 PM • Permalink

Cuban Photographer Adrian Fernandez at Carrie Haddad

Our blogger, interior designer Carey Maloney, and his partner Hermes Mallea, an architect, are principals in the M (Group).
 
We have spent a fair amount of time in Cuba these past three years…lots of time, in fact, as Hermes is working on a book, so we (legally) return every few months.
 

We’ve made lots of discoveries, but the best so far is ‘discovering’ Adrian Fernandez, a very talented young photographer who has been invaluable to our project. We bought Adrian’s still lifes in Havana, loved them even more when we got them back here and hung them, and wanted to bring the series to the States, where our brilliant buddy and gallery owner, Carrie Haddad, in Hudson, agreed to show his work.
 

 
 
So Adrian Fernandez is having an exhibition at the Carrie Haddad Photographs. Hermes and I will be there on Saturday evening, July 17, insuring that the Cuba Libres are flowing to get those red dots glowing…
 
 
 
Young Adrian (as we call him) is talented.  He’s just completed the very competitive master of fine art program at the Instituto Superior de Arte in Havana.  The work he sent to Carrie Haddad is his newest—a group of still lifes using objects from the homes of the ‘bourgeoisie’ of Havana.  Treasured antique vases and containers hold plastic fruit or fake flowers—very Cuban.  Every flight I’ve been on has featured armfuls of fake flowers among the tons of luggage everyone schleps—one guy last time was checking four tires.  Big tires.  Before you judge them on their taste, cut ‘em some slack—a real apple hasn’t been seen on that island in 51 years, decades before Young Adrian was born.
 
Adrian started out with the exteriors of the houses, and the ubiquitous fencing, as his subjects.  He moved inside to do room portraits, and then tightened his vision to the omnipresent centerpieces.  We love them—modern and bright, fake and real—very Cuban. 
 
I hope you’ll stop in and see the show.  If you can’t see it in person, check out his work at Carrie Haddad’s website or at Adrian’s website.
 
Like I said, above, El Jefe—as I call him in his Cubano mode—is writing a big fancy coffee table book, Great Houses of Havana: A Century of Cuban Style (Monacelli Press, 2011).  So we’ve been back and forth to Cuba mucho times over the past few years.  Mucho mucho times (and anyone who hablas Espanol will know from my misuse of mucho that I am not mucho help, language wise…) In my mind, my role is Yanki Eye Candy; in Hermes’s mind, I’m more the petulant Idiot Savant.  “Who was that odd woman and what was she droning on about in Spanish for two hours?”  “The Minister of Culture…”  “Oh.”

Or the time a friend introduced me to a man, “Yadda Spanish yadda yadda Spanish yadda vice president yadda” “Encantado. Please tell me, what are you ‘vice president’ of?”  Stunned pause. “Cuba.”  If looks could kill, that host woulda done me in.  Hey, it was a little lesson in humility for the guy because I’ll bet most people he meets know what he is vice president of…

The book will be mucho interesting.  Because of friends of friends (thereby proving my mother’s refrain to me, in my post-college job search, “It’s not what you know, it’s who you know”), we have gotten unprecedented access to lots of very swell houses that very, very few people see.  Only one place was almost denied us—La Finca de los Monos—the Monkey Farm.  We were told by the secretary to #3 (after #1 Fidel and #2 Raul) that “only Fidel can give permission.” As I was backing out of the room muttering, “Oh, please, don‘t bother him,” El Jefe was still badgering away.  And damned if we didn’t get in…
 
FYI, the Monkey Farm was owned by a primitologist lady who kept 180 primates (aka monkeys) at this Venetian style villa.  She was way rich and personally funded the revolution of 1898.  (There were lots of revolutions in Cuba—practicing for 1959?) There is a subtle war/revolution motif throughout the house—very cool.  Later in life, she took the veil (but not a vow of poverty).  After she was maligned by a society lady for having holes in her nun’s stockings, she had $1 million strewn on the floor of the ballroom, invited the unsuspecting woman over, and announced her stockings might have holes but she walked on money. Urban lore?  Probably, but where there’s smoke, there’s fire.
 
Bear in mind, nothing was torn down in Cuba post 1959 because there was no money to rebuild.  Everything was recycled.  Grand mansions (ok—trust me—palaces isn’t overstating it…) are now schools, ministries, diplomatic residences, museums, day-care centers, multi-family squats, or official Casas Protocolos—and in the case of the grand country house at right, an old folks home. Some are still private homes—beautiful relics lived in by the same families for hundreds of years (FYI, if you stayed in Cuba, you could keep your house and a weekend place.  We have friends with lovely, albeit decrepit, houses in town and fun beach houses in Varadero.  If you left it, you lost it.)
 

 
 
 
Most books on Cuban architecture focus on the exteriors and leave it at that.  Hermes is writing about the people who created the houses – the patrons, the architects, the decorators – and the lives they lived before the Triumph of the Revolution and the lives of the houses in the post 1959 years.  Lots of vintage photos and lots of new photos.  This house was built by an American socialite who broke her leg jumping from her bedroom window to tryst with Papa Hemingway.  It is now the Canadian ambassador’s residence.
 
 
 
 
 
 

Havana was hugely wealthy and important for 400 years.  The rich used French decorators (Jansen had an office there) and American architects (my favorite house was done by Carrère and Hasting of The New York Public Library fame).  The modern gem below was designed by Swiss master, Richard Neutra.  The Cubans spent with abandon—don’t you love that?  And they had fun.  I really love that!

Don’t worry (you were worried, right?) there will be lots of warning before ‘The Book’ comes out.  It’s gonna be huge.

BOOKS, ETC.

 
 
 
 
 
Mayra Montero is Hermes’s favorite contemporary Cuban novelist (he reads her in Spanish—I opt for English).  Her most recent book, Dancing to Almendra is a page turner and an education about pre-Revolutionary, Mafioso-run Havana.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

 
 
 
 
 
I thought Isabelle Allende’s new “Island Beneath the Sea” was a treat.  It starts in Haiti, before the Revolution of 1781 and follows the French nationals and Haitians as they escape to Cuba and on to New Orleans.  A great tale and lots of very interesting social and political history about slavery in the Caribbean. 
 
 
 
 
 

If you want to go directly to the source, check out Granma, the official newspaper of Cuba’s Communist Party.  You can read Fidel’s latest screed (he calls them “reflections”) on Yanki imperialism.  Fun!

I love foreign papers and news – Link TV, Television without Borders, has a great nightly show called “Mosaic” that distills news from the Middle East.  You get to watch the actual newsreader from Iran or Kuwait or Israel.  The outfits!!!!  A weather girl ululating in a full burqa sort of thing in front of a map of Iran…Works for me.)  And of course, “Democracy Now,” the Lefty “Newshour” is on Link…

 
 
 
 
 
The Cuba Libre was ‘invented’ when Coke first arrived on the island in 1900 and American troops became mixologists.  Back then, Free Cuba” referred to centuries of Spanish rule.
1 part White rum
2 parts real Coke (Otto’s Market  in Germantown carries the true, Mexican sugary blend, not the American fructose stuff) over ice with a wedge of lime.
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Playboy’s Host and Bar Book from 1971 should fill in where this recipe leaves off—you’ll be blending Mojitos in no time.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
                  
July 15 - August 15
Carrie Haddad Photographs
318 Warren Street, Hudson
Opening reception, July 17; 6 - 8 p.m.
 
For the complete archive of past Wandering Eye blogs, click here.

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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 07/11/10 at 07:48 AM • Permalink

The Wandering Eye: Portraits, a Point of View

Our blogger, interior designer Carey Maloney, and his partner Hermes Mallea, an architect, are principals in the M (Group).
 
Portraits are a tricky thing.  They should be ‘art’—the first thing you should think is, “What a great painting / photograph / statue.”  Not “what a great (or terrible) ‘portrait’…”
 
So having a new puppy meant we had to call Valerie Shaff pronto to insure that Frankie, in all his youthful perfection, was saved for posterity.  Like children, dogs should be shot when they are young—they are cute, malleable, and they smile a lot.  And like children, close care must be given to their outfits, their hairdo’s, and their backgrounds.
 
A bit of background: Sixteen years ago, Hermes commissioned a portrait of Pancho when he was about a year old as a surprise gift for me.  How sweet is this portrait?  It captured him perfectly at that point.  Pancho was an Old Soul… This photo went on to be included in Val Shaff and Roy Blount Jr.’s first book, If Only You Knew How Much I Smell You.  Then it was on a Hallmark birthday card (with the really, really lame ‘greeting’ “I’m so excited I could pee”… Who sat around a table at Hallmark and thought, “That’s a winner!”?)  I have loved having this portrait from Day One.
 

 
 
OK—a quick opinion re: family photos.  Me?  I like them in the library, the bedroom, the dressing room—but never (I have seen this! I swear!) in a dining room.  Sure, if you have your signed snap of Elizabeth and Philip, it can go in the living room—in a vermeil frame with coronet.  Or the single wedding photo or family group shot.  But not tables full of cheap frames with redundant imagery.  I weigh in on the side of less-is-more and less public is better than more public. 

 
 
 
 
 
 
Since not many Texans are chummy with the Windsors, the Fiesta dress portrait remains the sign of Fine Lineage and Lone Star Royalty and holds pride-of-place on many a mahogany tea table.
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
This modern duchess has a rather fascist motif—I think Napoleonic.
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
In 1976, the Court of the Lone Star, mine was the Duchess of the Trans Pecos Vastness—her train covered in cacti and deer and antelope. “Neat but not gaudy,” as we say.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
We had a client early in our career for whom the first thing on my suggestion list was, “Fewer photos of the children on the piano. If you simply turn to your right, you will see both of them—in real life!—roller skating in the front hall…”  That went over like a lead balloon.  I learned two things from that woman—don’t criticize people’s Help (what difference does it make to you if they aren’t good cleaners or are drunk at 10 a.m.?) and the less said about the kids, the better.  “That Christopher (age 4) is the cutest little boy I’ve ever seen.  He just chatters away, but I can’t understand a word he says.”  “He’s in speech therapy three times a week—no one can understand a word he says…”  Ooops.  (BTW, Christopher turned into the handsomest big boy and graduated from Yale.  Whew).
 

 
 
 
 
 
Back to the matter at hand.  Pet Portraits – Our friend Patty Dryden painted this box for us many moons ago—sweet, isn’t it?
 
 
 
 
 
 
So, the appointment was made, Val arrived, we confabbed and found a location.  Stately oaks and a glimmer of the Hudson behind—Hudson River School inspired and understated. 
 
Next we grab Frankie as he flies by and instruct him to “Focus.”  Right… Let the Games Begin….
 
Not even Eadweard Muybridge, 19th century ‘locomotion’ photographer, could capture that dervish on film. 
 
Val ran through her tricks—weird mewing sounds, a tossed stick, a tweaked tail—and each caught the attention of Frank for two or three frames.  We weren’t allowed to use treats as an inducement to Stay.  Val says you end up with a hungry/pleading dog face on film.
 
She’d snap two frames, then a butterfly would drift by and Frank would drift along—or bound away.
 
Since Val uses film (how lovely and retro), we didn’t have that digital luxury to just shoot and shoot and shoot pictures.  This forced the Humans to focus even if the adolescent Canine couldn’t.  Which was good for everyone; finite, two rolls and we were done.
 
Whereas Pancho was shot without collar, sort of ‘naked’ on a paisley shawl, Frankie, being outside, kept his collar on (sans reflective Petsmart ID tag—the sterling one has been ordered from James Avery in Texas).  Pancho’s ‘fragility’ (that face—he’s straight out of a Tennessee Williams play…) lent itself to an inside shot while Frankie the Clinically Insane needed some space to run.  F. got a bath the day before in the hope that his coat would settle-in overnight—and it did, sort of.  Indeed, that is his real coat—no back combing, no product.  The color is fantastic—white to strawberry blond to copper.  It is a source of great pride.
 

 
 
 
Me, I love animal portraits when they have stand alone ‘art value.’  Sadly, most don’t.  I look at the cork board above my desk, and I count five postcards of dog paintings and one cow—all real portraits of real animals. Not generic Spaniel Art…  Years ago, I found this black dog in Hudson while shopping with my mother.  We both loved this pooch.  She says, “I’ll take it.” I’m pleased—obviously, I thought she was buying it for me; then she asks me to ship it to Texas (Huh!?).  He is a handsome animal and well loved and well painted in life and for posterity.
 
 
 
 

It goes without saying, the vast majority of pet portraitists are lousy. And that’s being way too kind.  Google ‘Pet Portrait’ images and tell me I’m wrong.  A favorite—this mutt (Those teeth. That stare. This dog is a meth freak.).  Reminds me of Police Portraits (aka mug shots, another google that entertains for hours!)
 
Check out Val’s website and the video of her photographing dogs in the window at Barney’s in New York and be amazed.  Then call her and book a portrait of a dog or, if you insist, a grandchild.  You won’t regret it…
 
MUSEUMS, BOOKS ETC

 
 
 
 
 
For One Stop Shopping, go south to Manhattan to the Frick to see, in one quick walk around, the crème de la crème.  I’d Googled Holbein to find his portrait of Sir Thomas More and found it is in the Frick.  I’d forgotten that one, but knew the other works by Ingres, Whistler, Turner, Bronzino (right), Rembrandt, Velasquez, Vermeer, etc. cover portraiture in Western Art pretty darn well. 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Read Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel this summer for a Tudor fix. It won both the Man Booker Prize and the National Book Critics Circle Award for last year. I dove right into it; others say, it takes a bit, then it clicks.  Thomas Cromwell is the hero and Thomas More features.
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
In our hemisphere, the oldest portraits might be the Moche civilizations pots from about 1000 years ago.  I’ve wanted one of these portrait pots for years. (Hint Hint - if anyone wants to get on my good side, I can definitely be bought.  As they say, “Easy, but not Cheap.”)  So realistic and forceful.  And OLD.
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
If I had a baby I would run, not walk, to beg Adam Fuss to shoot it… (Oops, an unfortunate—Freudian?—turn of phrase.).  These newborns in fluid are wonderful.  Check with our friend, New York photography dealer, Yancey Richardson—she might be able to organize it.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
—Carey Maloney

For the complete archive of past Wandering Eye blogs, click here.

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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 07/07/10 at 09:24 AM • Permalink

The Wandering Eye: Tivoli, (Mostly) The Madalin

Our blogger, interior designer Carey Maloney, and his partner Hermes Mallea, an architect, are principals in the M (Group).

OK, we are suckers for proximity when it comes to our restaurants and bars.  If it is close, it doesn’t need to be that good. We’ll be loyal supporters simply because of where it is.. (Discerning, right?).
  
So imagine our glee* when the Madalin Hotel and its restaurant, Madalin’s Table opened 3 miles south of us in Tivoli. Out our driveway, one right turn and one left and in five minutes we are golden. Easy on, easy off.  Now, the kicker: Besides being close?  Madalin’s Table is really good!  Go figure—Fortuna smiles on us.
 
 

The Madalin is an old hotel and bar, built in 1909.  Back when we first arrived in Clermont, it housed the local Tivoli bar.  Even I, in my Drinking Days, knew not to cross that threshold.  The place just screamed “Locals Only”—and the clientele looked un peu rough—the last bulwark against the Bard kids and the fey weekenders. (He who laughs last…) Then three smart guys bought it, mucked it out, fixed it up with charm, and voila!—a real destination, a restaurant to be proud of and a lovely small hotel to foist visitors off on when your guest rooms are full.
 
The Madalin does not have a B&B vibe.  It is a real hotel, albeit small, with just 11 rooms. Finicky friends have stayed there without complaint; our ‘easier’ friends have only accolades.  Flat screen TV’s, central air, and WIFI—my kind of country.  Hermes stays there all the time and loves it. (Just kidding).
 
We are not very guest friendly. I just did the math.  Our single guest room takes up 2.25% of our house.  Trust me, that speaks volumes. But hey, bathroom en suite!  And it may not be big, but we spent dough making sure the guestroom has its own heating and cooling zones.  This was after my mother visited and baked one night (her hair was sort of matted at breakfast) and then froze the next (“Are you trying to kill me?”).  Her ‘bread and butter’ present that trip was a new and vast AC system. Beats a garden club cookbook.  Sometime, I’ll tell you about the ‘blackout’ that got us a generator.  “That’s funny, the power is out.” (Wonder who flipped that big breaker in the basement?) “Sorry, Mother, no water without a pump.  A drag, right?  Of course, we could never afford a generator..”  Cue violins. 

B&B’s spook me.  We stayed at one for a wedding in Northeast Harbor and, by Saturday, everyone from our group except us had relocated (no small feat in Maine in July).  The old crone (thick black stockings and black wool schmata – in July) and her hunky/scary son were too weird for words.  Whenever we left, we would close the door to our room door only to find it open when we returned.  I asked the creepy guy to please leave it closed.  “We’re all family here,” he cheerfully responded.  I still shudder…                           
 
  But, personally, we know the Madalin best as a place to dine. Chef Michael Barillari (a CIA grad) works with local suppliers like Montgomery Place and Migliorelli Farms to keep things seasonal.  This year the wrap around porch was enlarged and the scene in the summer is outside.  Friday nights get a clubby group of table-hopping, fashionable weekenders.  Saturdays the food-savvy full timers predominate.
 
When the outside is Out of Season, we opt for the bar over the more decorous dining room.  Whether ‘real’ menu or bar menu, we really like the food. Great burgers.  Great fish and chips.  I wish there was an official steak on the menu, but the hanger steak satisfies.  I’m low maintenance, food-wise. A bacon-cheeseburger followed by chocolate cake with ginger ice cream, and I am happy. This isn’t to diminish the Madalin’s ‘fine cuisine’—it’s pretty swell.  I’m just a simple eater.
 
We are bad about reserving; we sort of spontaneously combust (“OMG. It’s 9:30!”)  and bolt for dinner, usually 10 minutes before—or after—the kitchen closes. If we’re out of luck and Madalin’s Table is full, Tivoli offers options…           
 
  Luna 61 is organic and vegetarian and very good.  Cute and funky and very Bard.               
 
Osaka is another favorite—half the time we call ahead and take away.  I’ve always felt like you could be on the Upper West Side in there—you’ll see.  Generic Japanese restaurant design is sort of comforting. 
 
 
And Tivoli has a tat parlor—Nice Guy Von Tattoos, for your ink and piercing need. A sushi theme?? 
 
Santa Fe is the granddaddy of the Tivoli eateries.  Way back when, in the days of really slim pickin’s in these parts, we had friends who’d drive 20 miles to soak up the margaritas and ersatz Mexican cuisine (bean sprouts weren’t on the menu at the Tex Mex places I grew up with).  The place still packs ‘em in.   
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Our rural getaways usually begin every Friday night with a call to Broadway Pizza (845-757-2000).  A TiVo’d “Trueblood” or “The Tudors” episode and delivered pizza—country living at its best.
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
BOOKS & DOWNLOADS

 
 
 
 
Our Mexican food idol is Zarela Martinez. Her place on 2nd Avenue, Zarela’s is our favorite Mexican restaurant.  Very, very favorite.  Check out her website and learn about La Cocina Mexicana or buy one of her books.  Her first is a favorite,  Food from My Heart: Cuisines of Mexico Remembered and Reimagined
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
This morning on NPR, I heard that today is the 50th anniversary of Psycho. You can check out Tony Perkins’ biography, Split Image for some Hollywood dish. 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
Or go directly to our favorite new guest room/bedside tome, Hollywood Babylon – It’s back!  Full of really salacious stuff—I highly recommend it.  Chapters like, “Well Hung Hollywood,” “Whatever Happened to Judy Garland’s Body,” and “We Want Rudi in the Nudi” (Rudolph Nureyev) grab me—what can I say?           
 

 
 
 
 
And go Vegan—or vegetarian—or not.  On this subject, I have no opinion, but I love the cover of this book and like the Measure Free thing. Works for me (in theory). Hippie Kitchen: A Measurefree Vegetarian Cookbook (Measurefree Kitchen Companion Trilogy)
 
 

 
*“so imagine our glee…”
  
Has everyone glommed onto “Glee?”  How fun is that show?  Something for everyone (gay, straight, physically handicapped, black, Asian, pregnant single teen, or just simply psychotic), with singin’ and dancin’!  Even if it is on Fox, check your PC tendencies at the door, then flip over to your local Fox affiliate (blech) to check it out—my iTunes is full of Glee downloads.  —Carey Maloney             

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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 06/21/10 at 04:08 PM • Permalink

The Wandering Eye: It’s a Boy!

Our blogger, interior designer Carey Maloney, and his partner Hermes Mallea, an architect, are principals in the M (Group).

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Francisco Jose Yunior   “Frankie”
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
I have misgivings.  Is it in appalling taste to mourn the little lost friend publicly in March and then adopt three weeks later in April and ‘announce’ it?  Or should I keep it under my hat?  (Note to self: If you have to ask if something is in appalling taste, it is…Oh well.)

I guess keeping things under my hat isn’t really my nature. 

Bear in mind, the speed with which I sought solace in another puppy was no solace to Hermes.  He’s wondering how long it would take me to replace him. I have assured him that it would take me eons to recover from his loss (or months, whichever came first…)

So, welcome, Frankie!  (And Pancho, I still tear up whenever I think of you, which is often.)

As I debated / dithered / agonized about when it would be ‘appropriate’ to get another dog (nada in Emily Post on that subject…), Hermes rallied.  “Whatever you want, whenever you want it.”  He’s so good to me…

To go back a bit.  A month before Pancho ‘Went West’, I happened into Hooked on Dogs in Red Hook’s Chocolate Factory.  They had a little crazy mutt named Pistol they were fostering while he awaited a new home.  He was bouncing off the walls, and I was enamored.  The women told me about their friends at Perfect Pets Rescue in nearby Elizaville, and I filed the information away for the future, since, as long as Pancho was around, no new pups were coming in our door.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
OK – let’s be frank(ie).  Dog toys are f ugly.  But not Hooked on Dogs’ toys—they are really cute!!  Wacky wooly things that way beat the Dead Chicken school of chew toys.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
A month later, Pancho was gone.

We got lots of lovely notes of condolence, some books, and two rather grand orchids (FYI, anytime you want to be ‘correct’, send an orchid. Works for me! Orchids.com is great).  Two of the letters that most affected me were from women whose dogs had died, and they had not replaced them—and both regretted it.  Friends said, hesitantly (fearing my backlash??), “Get a new dog.  That will fix you up”.

So back to Hooked on Dogs we went.  Hermes, calmly and patiently awaiting his next 16 years of canine servitude, did gently pipe up with, “We can change the name, right?” But Pistol was gone.  I could see the relief on HM’s face.

Armed with all the info from the Hooked girls, I went online to the Perfect Pets Rescue website.  OMG.  Gertie, Marjorine, Lamont (My mother’s maiden name?!?), Fern, Susan, Fred… Mostly smallish dogs. Mostly mixed breeds.  There, in the middle of the column of dogs, was Frankie.  Well, he was Stan then, but he’s Frankie now.  One ear up and one down.  Beyond cute—to me.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
Frankie—nee Stan
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Frankie is from Georgia.  Turns out southern states have an epidemic of unwanted dogs. (Yet another example of the success of the Bible Belts obsession with Abstinence Only?  A heads up, Religious Right, it is NOT working.) So Perfect Pet Rescue goes to the source and picks adoptable strays. The pups are administered to by a vet—shots, de-wormed, even a security chip so Frankie can never be lost again. Then the dogs come north and lovely volunteers foster them until they are adopted.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
The mean streets of HotLanta… Poor Frankie….
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
I was chomping at the bit.  He was being fostered on Shamrock Circle in Poughkeepsie so, after speaking to his foster mom and hearing her accolades, we booked a viewing for the next Sunday. 

OMG.  He was Super Cute in person. I kept telling myself my conscience would be clear if we passed on him; he was safe and happy and wouldn’t be long without a home, I kept telling myself.  Over and over.  In case I wasn’t ready..

After 4 minutes on the front porch, I told the Foster Mom we’d take him and HM and I went in search of a cash machine to get the $400 adoption fee (bear in mind, it costs $100 to bail them out of ‘jail’, then vets etc. A bargain!). But the doubts/guilt lingered…  Should we? Shouldn’t we?  After that boring refrain for 15 minutes, cash in hand, we returned back to Shamrock Circle and picked him up.

“Frankie,” Hermes told him, “you just won the Lottery.”

He’s fallen into his life quickly.  He loves his office and his staff dotes on him.  He enjoys the country and tolerates the city streets.  He’ll be fine.
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
We bought this Lawn Stork years ago and it has heralded many friends’ new babies!
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
I’m thrilled we made the leap.  Having a puppy forces you to think ‘young.’  Pancho had been an adult or a senior for 10 years—we walked slower and slower.  Now I trail along behind a pup straining to get somewhere—anywhere—FAST.  Life is much sped up and that is a good thing. 

He is lying here by my desk, sleeping and dreaming (he will not let me out of his sight; he won’t eat without me in the room).  He seems to have no psychological scarring from his days on the streets and in the shelters—all is good for Frankie now.  He landed in Tall Cotton.

So – a big Thank You to Pancho for showing me how wonderful a dog can be.  And thanks to Perfect Pet Rescue.  Thanks to the foster ladies of Shamrock Circle.  And thanks to Dr. No Name who helped him in his time of need. 

Remember, Don’t Breed or Buy While the Homeless Die…Adopt a pet.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Thelma
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Eliza
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Marjorine
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Not So Fun Facts

In six years one unspayed female and her offspring can reproduce 67,000 dogs. (Spay USA)

Seven dogs & cats are born every day for each person born in the U.S. Of those, only 1 in 5 puppies and kittens stays in its original home for its natural lifetime. The remaining 4 are abandoned to the streets or end up at a shelter. (The Humane Society of the United States)

Each day 10,000 humans are born in the U.S. and each day 70,000 puppies and kittens are born. As long as these relative birth rates exist, there will never be enough homes for all the animals. (Spay USA)

The public acquires only 14% of its pets from shelters; 48% get their pets as strays, from friends, from animal rescuers, 38% get their pets from breeders or pet stores. (The Humane Society of the United States)

Books

 
 
 
 
My Dog Tulip by J. R. Ackerley is a wonderful book about his Alsatian, Queenie (His editors changed the name to Tulip, fearing Queenie might incite gay jokes about Mr. A.)  “I would have immolated myself as a suttee when Queenie died. For no human would I ever have done such a thing, but by my love for Queenie I would have been irresistibly compelled.”  He wrote very few books – basically Tulip, Hindoo Holiday, and My Father and Myself. Each is a jewel.
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
For kids (and maybe me…), there is the classic, The Incredible Journey.  A lab, a bulldog, and a Siamese cat travel hundreds of miles to return home.  A real tear jerker…
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Portraits
For a photographic portrait of your pooch, there’s no one better than Valerie Shaff, and she lives in Germantown.     

To see her work, go to Carrie Haddad Photography in Hudson to see Shaff’s beautiful prints of wonderful subjects.                                                        Valerie Shaff

                                                                                                                        —Carey Maloney

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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 04/13/10 at 02:04 PM • Permalink

The Wandering Eye:  Now they Want to Close Our Parks?

Our blogger, interior designer Carey Maloney, and his partner Hermes Mallea, an architect, are principals in the M (Group).

To file under :
One More Thing to Worry About….

Let me revise that to :
One More Thing to Deal With…

Niagara Falls State Park, founded in 1885, is the oldest state park in the United States.  Since then, 177 parks have been added to the New York State Parks system, creating a parks network that is used by 55 million people each year.  A great achievement, representing 125 years of work.


 
 
 
 
 
 
I’m assuming this is Color Enhanced.  If not, I’m headed to Niagara, ‘cause it is psychedelic..
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Well - - as I am sure you have heard, our New York State parks are under fire. Proposed budget cuts will result in closing 55 parks and historic sites and severely reducing services to another 24 parks. 

Major bummer.

I thought, from the first list I saw, that Clermont (which I can see from my bedroom) had dodged the bullet.  Now I hear from Hermes that the bullet hasn’t been dodged—Clermont indeed may close.

So, in the RI area, in Dutchess and Columbia Counties, we are threatened with the closings of the Clermont and Staatsburgh historic sites.  Olana and the Walkway over the Hudson would see open days reduced by 2 days per week. 


 
 
 
 
 
 
Take a gander at this Robert Livingston’s CV… What didn’t he do?? And his house might be closed???
 
 
 
 
 
 

After the initial blow of “Clermont closing ?  That can’t be…” wore off, I started reading….

First, visit the Parks and Trails New York website.  They say it way better than I can.  All the information you need plus contacts and helpful advice on how to speak out against the cuts.  Parks and Trails should get you fired up…

The economics make no sense to me.  The State Parks budget is ¼ of 1% of the entire New York State budget. Tiny. So, to save $6.3 million dollars, they close 55 parks?? The parks generate $5 in economic activity for every $1 spent.  Pretty super rate of return.  Overall the parks generate $1.9 billion in economic activity and employ over 20,000 people. 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Taconic State Park falls.  Close to my heart – I almost got arrested there.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

And on another level, how can you ‘close’ an historic house?  How do you protect/conserve the decorative and fine arts—the patrimony that the state has been entrusted to protect.  And how much would that cost???  If/when these facilities reopen, you have to spend more dough restoring/repairing/replacing what you lost during to the period it was closed. 

Huh?

This is all so illogical, it sounds like political/budgetary posturing to me—but if we aren’t vigilant, that posturing may become fact.

Friends of Clermont had a board meeting last week where Hermes and the other board members were given their marching orders.

First – focus on the Assembly members.  These are the guys who can put the pressure on the all-powerful (sadly) Sheldon Silver.  (FYI – take a moment to wonder at the district map. It is nuts! Too crazy to be anything but shameless gerrymandering.)

Pete Lopez
Tim Gordon
Kevin Cahill
Joel Miller
State Senator Stephen Saland (R)
 
I got briefly waylaid by the hits re: his vocal opposition to same sex marriage.  I guess the State Senator for Rhinecliff doesn’t take Amtrak, because I commented last Friday as I picked up houseguests, “Were there any straight people on that train?”  And my guests said, “Not that we saw.”  Just a head’s up, Senator…Demographics change and the gays have looooong memories.

Back to the issue at hand…
Painful as it is – a written letter via snail mail carries more weight than the easier email. 
But hey – do either… Or do both .

Use Parks and Trails New York for guidance.
We need our parks!!!!

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
OK – worst case scenario, they lay off 19,998 employees – I’ll march in Albany to save these two Jones Beach lifeguards from the unemployment line.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
—Carey Maloney

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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 04/03/10 at 09:35 AM • Permalink