POSTING #137

On Becoming a Road Warrior

It was a few days before Christmas in 1994 and I was flying home from Moscow. Two colleagues and I had just spent a couple of weeks in Russia trying to decide whether we would recommend that the Canadian Government submit a bid for a two-year World Bank contract to construct some 20 model employment offices from Moscow to the Pacific Ocean.

In the end we had decided to recommend that a bid be submitted. The terms and conditions required that the bid contain the name of an on-site manager. After some arm-twisting, I had agreed to let my name be used.

We didn't think that it was likely that Canada---if it did decide to bid---would win. It seemed more likely that the US, which had already submitted a bid, would win. 

But as the plane headed for Montreal, I was running two  'What if' questions through my mind. What if Canada decided to submit a bid? And what if it won?         

It was a big project. How would I run it---not from Canada---but from Moscow? And how would I cope with all the travelling involved---the travel to and from Russian, and the travel across the eight times zones from Moscow to the Pacific?

The man in the seat next to me was tall, slim, dark-haired in his later 30s or early 40s. We had chatted briefly when we embarked, enough to establish that he was from Montreal, had been working in Russia for two years, and was going home for Christmas. As soon as the seatbelt lights had been turned off he got out his computer and started writing something.

Meanwhile, I continued pondering about what would happen if Canada won the contract.

My seatmate turned off his computer  and we began to talk. He was an aviation engineer with a Montreal company that had a joint arrangement with a Russian firm to produce aircraft components. He was working in a city a few hundred miles east of Moscow.

I told him about the possible bid we were working on for the World Bank project, and about my concerns about how to manage the project if we won.

He said that I would have to become 'a road warrior'---the first time I had heard that term.

When I looked puzzled, he stood up and got a large, shiny black leather case out of the overhead compartment---the kind of case I had seen lawyers tow into court on a set of wheels.

The front of the case dropped down to provide a writing surface, with pens, pencils, paper, Post-it notes and other stationery items neatly arranged in pockets. He showed me that his computer fitted into a compartment behind the stationery, along with a portable printer. Behind all that was another compartment for telephone and email communication items, including an acoustic coupler, assorted telephone jacks, electric transformers, and an assortment of electric plug adapters. In yet another compartment, he had what he called ' survival items', for example rubber plugs to fit Russian hotel sinks and bathtubs, a small roll of toilet paper, a bar of soap (all items that most Russian hotels didn't provide), some first aid items, and a Leatherman knife with a wonderful combination of knives, screwdrivers, wrenches etc.

I was bowled over, and immediately decided that if we won the contract I would have to create a road warrior kit.

He put the case back in the overhead compartment and started to talk about what it was like to work with the Russians. His Russian colleagues were well trained but not very well motivated, at least by North American standards. He described things he had tried to do in order to motivate them, some of which had worked, and some of which had failed. I listened carefully, storing away his anecdotes and advice.

As we got closer to Canada, he started to talk about a relationship problem that he would have to deal with during the Christmas holidays. He didn't say whether it was a wife or a girlfriend but it was clear that it was going to be messy. When he had been talking about his work, he was calm and competent, but as he shifted to talk of the relationship he cleared his throat often and fidgeted with his hands. He was not looking forward to the confrontation that he said was going to happen.

Looking back on our conversation, I think he had enjoyed talking to me about his road warrior kit and about his Russian experiences because they had taken his mind off what awaited him in Montreal.

When we arrived in Montreal, he wished me luck, gave me his business card and invited me to contact him if we won the contract, and if I needed some advice or a shoulder to cry on.

I set out to find the bus for Ottawa, and he went off to deal with his relationship issue.   

I never had to contact him---the fact that he worked outside Moscow made that difficult---but the few hours of conversation in the plane were enormously helpful to me in my work in Russia. It was an invaluable 'Idiot's Guide to Living and Working in Russia' ---something this 'idiot' needed in the worst way.

As soon as the World Bank gave the contract to Canada, I started assembling my road warrior kit. I decided to use a soft case instead of his hard one, feeling that the soft case would be a little more flexible but my kit had all the same essentials as his.

My road warrior kit was a best friend for the two years in Russia, and then later in the Kingdom of Jordan and Azerbaijan. 

Airline check-in people would sometimes blanche when they weighed it and saw that it was---as normally happened---well over the 10 Kilo limit. But they never separated it from me, or forced me to take things out of it.

Last year we had a cleaning-out bee and I decided that the time had come to say goodbye to it. I took a picture of the case and then handed it over to a company from Niagara Falls called, Just Junk. The company boasts that it donates useable things to charities, and I like to think that someone, perhaps an impoverished college student, is using my case. 

The travel-worn bag that housed my 'road  warrior' kit. I don't have a photo of it in operation, bulging with everything needed to 'set up shop' in hotels, airports and airplanes. It also served as a welcome footrest on long Aeroflot flights. (Pat thinks I should have had it bronzed!)

I often think of my airplane companion, and of his kindness to a new road warrior.

And, I wonder what happened with his relationship issue.

Working in Russia in the 1990s (and perhaps still today) was often tough. A supportive relationship, as I was lucky to have with Pat and our family, was a real plus.

I hope that things worked out well for him.

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See you on March 4, 2012 for Posting #138 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting,  or email me at johnpathunter@gmail.com.

Note:

Posting # 7 of The Icewine Guru blog is now up. The Guru offers his views on the birth control furor in the US, on whether it was 'an epic blunder' by Obama, or a clever trap set by him for the Republicans. Click on  http://theicewineguru.blogspot.com/

POSTING #136

Random Thoughts on a Florida Holiday

            The Weather

We all ask people who have just returned from Florida the same question: "How was the weather?'

But we don't really want to know.

Unless there was a hurricane, a tornado, or a month of monsoon rains.

Then we'd be interested.

It all reminds me of my time working in Ottawa. During a January cold spell, a colleague from Vancouver would always call and ask how our weather was. After I had told him about our storms etc., politeness required that I ask him about his weather. And then I would hear about the daffodils that had just come out, the Japanese cherry trees that were now covered with pink blooms.

That sort of thing.

So let's get our Florida weather out of the way, knowing that you really don't care.

It was fantastic---a record-breaking stretch of warm, dry, sunny weather.

Now, let's move on---quickly.

            On the Road

Unlike our other drives to and from the South, the weather was super, the roads were clear and we made great time.

That was good, but we kind of missed the adventures of earlier trips---stranded by snow in Emporia, Virginia, eating beans for Christmas dinner, and all that.

I can only recall a couple of pretty lame stories.

At a restaurant in Pennsylvania, located in an ancient-looking building, we arrived just after what must have been a busy lunch time. The harassed-looking server shouted at us, "Sit at any place that's clean". We passed nearly 50 tables loaded with dirty dishes and finally found a 'clean' one back by the pool table.

When after a couple of forgettable grilled cheese sandwiches, the owner came over to ask how the meal had been, we changed the subject and asked him about the history of the building. He told us that it was over 200 year old, and had originally housed an apothecary's shop. When he was putting in the restaurant, the renovations unearthed a dry-well into which the apothecarists had thrown old medicine bottles, broken scissors, bandages and the like. A local antiquarian asked to be lowered  into the well on a rope so he could search for artifacts. He had to be hauled up when he passed out from a lack of oxygen. Later he went back with an oxygen mask and collected an amazing assortment of items which the restaurant owner now had in bins in his basement.

Pat was itching to volunteer to check over the artifacts but we had to move on.

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At a service station, after gassing up I needed to use the facilities. My need was so great  that I forgot how to speak 'American'. I asked the young, gum-chewing woman for directions. She pointed, and then said, "Y'all must be Canadian. Canadians always ask for 'the washroom', not the 'restroom'."

Chastened, I rushed to the 'restroom'.

            The Florida Economy

There are lots of official statistics that an economist could trot out to show that the Florida economy is slowly improving---employment is growing, the Gross Domestic Product is increasing and so on.

Since we were on holiday, I ignored the official statistics and fell back on my informal indicators.

• Newspapers were thicker and heavier this year than last (more advertising),
• Restaurants were busier, and
• Stores were more crowded.

There you have it. Rock-solid proof that things are getting better!

But there is a long way to go before the housing sector is back to 'normal'. A shop keeper, on hearing I was a snowbird from Canada, tried to sell me a 'second home' he had bought during the housing boom. He gave me a hard-sell on the merits of the second home and insisted on drawing me a map so I could check it out. I got the impression that he was treading water, financially, as he tried to cover two mortgages. As I left, he pressed his business card into my hand and pleaded with me to call him. (I am afraid I didn't.)

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In doing some Google research on the price of houses in the Naples-Bonita Springs area for this Posting, I came across a newspaper story that described how a real estate agent had had the sale of a lifetime. She had sold a house on Gordon Drive, Naples for $50 million. (Gordon Drive is home to the .0001% of our society---Hollywood celebrities, famous CEOs, and other super-wealthy people who have enormous Gulf-front estates.) She said that she would use the commission of $1.5 million to send her daughter to university.

In an ironic twist, the article noted that the new owner was going to demolish the existing 1930s mansion and put up a new, even bigger, even posher house. The reporter interviewed the new owner who said that it might seem ridiculous to spend so much money and then tear down a perfectly good house, but housing was always a good investment, wasn't it.

I hadn't checked the date of the article before reading it. When I checked, I saw that it was from 2002--- just when the housing bubble was starting to get really inflated!

            The Silverspot Cinema, Naples

Apparently cinema attendance has been dropping in North America, with experts blaming it on the economic slowdown, the emergence of home theatres, or lousy movies.

Pat and I love 'to go to the movies' but we don't go as often as we would like because of other factors. We hate having to get there an hour before the showing of a popular movie so that we don't end up in a seat in the first few rows where you have to look straight up at the screen. Or end up in a seat up at the very back where the air is thin and you need oxygen.

And, we hate the line-ups to buy tickets.

And the narrow seats, and the even narrower leg room. (Is there anything worse than latecomers loaded down with popcorn and drinks squeezing by---some of whom don't even bother to say 'excuse me'?)

Come to think of it, there are a lot of things we hate about the usual cinema.

That's why we were so delighted to find the SilverspotCinema in Naples. 

At the Silverspot, one can reserve and pay for seats on-line via a user-friendly website and then arrive 10 minutes before the show starts. The seats are as wide as first class airline seats and covered in hand-stitched leather. There is lots of leg room so one can stretch out and people can get by easily.

If one wants to dine or have a drink before the movie, the cinema has a gourmet restaurant and a lounge.

Tickets are a couple of dollars more than at the run-of-the-mill cinema---a bargain in our view.

We were told that Brazilian capital is behind the cinema---a case of the 'developing world' coming to North American to show us how things should be done.

A son tells us that the Cineplex Varsity and VIP Cinemas at 55 Bloor Street West have many of the same features as the Silverspot. He just wishes that more cinemas would convert themselves to this more customer-oriented approach.

Hear! Hear! 

            Reading in Bed

I love to read in bed but as my eyes get older I need more light. The bedside lamp at our rented condo had a 60 watt incandescent bulb---not large enough to provide the light I need. I went to the local hardware store to get the kind of energy efficiency bulb I use at home, which burns only 42 watts but gives the equivalent of 150 watts of illumination.

I was astonished to find that most of the shelf-space in the 'lamps' section of the store was still devoted to incandescent lamps with perhaps only a quarter devoted to the energy efficient bulbs.

After a search, I found the bulb I wanted and installed it in my bedside lamp. 

Happiness is having a strong bedside lamp!

Then I realized that mine was the only energy efficient lamp in the rented condo! Despite government calls for energy efficiency, all the other lights were incandescent.

I'm not sure what the moral of this story is. I'll leave that to sociologists, economists and other people wiser than me.

Anyway, I left the lamp, so the condo now has one energy efficient light.

I hope it will still be there when we go back next year.

But I'm not optimistic. I suspect the light with its queer, curled tubing will have been replaced by a sensible, trustworthy 60 watt incandescent bulb.

            A New Art form??

Here is a picture I took from the kitchen of the condo. I shot it through the screened window thinking that the camera would 'see through the screen' and focus on the reflections in the lake. As you can see, that didn't happen. These digital cameras are amazing. Anyway, it is kind of an interesting effect. 

Palm trees and condos reflected in the lake behind our rental place.

      

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See you on February 26, 2012 for Posting #137 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting,  or email me at johnpathunter@gmail.com.

Note:

Posting # 7 of The Icewine Guru blog has now been uploaded. In it the Guru offers his views on the birth control furor in the US. Was the controversy an 'epic blunder' by the White House, or a trap for the Republicans? See: http://theicewineguru.blogspot.com/

POSTING #135

Where's Newt?

It was 3.00 PM, on Tuesday, January 24th,  and Pat and I were sitting in lawn chairs under a tree in front of the bandstand in Cambier Park, in Naples, Florida.

The temperature was 27C (80F) and there was a pleasant breeze. We settled into our chairs as we waited for a Newt Gingrich rally to start---it was supposed to start at 5 PM.

A rally for Newt Gingrich?

Why, you might ask, would we be using part of our winter holiday to attend a rally for an American politician famous (infamous?) for three marriages and assorted scandals.

Good question.

Part of the answer is that I love all politics but especially the American brand, a love that Pat has come to share, or at least tolerate.

We had been checking the local media to see whether there would any rallies while we were in Florida. We found that most campaigning is now done through television debates and  (generally negative) ads.

Finally we found a rally---one for Newt.

Now, as his opponents keep saying, Newt has more baggage than an airline, but he's a colourful, unpredictable character full of ideas. I had heard him speak in Hilton Head a few years ago at a non-political symposium on health care. Newt showed a good understanding of the complexities of health care, and he had what I thought were some sensible ideas, including the necessity of a mandate, a requirement that all persons purchase health insurance. He has since flip-flopped on that idea, but that's politics for you. It would be unfair to hold that against him.

So, there we were, waiting for Newt.

We had no idea how many people would show up but decided to get to the Park two hours early to try to get a good location.

There were about three hundred people already there when we arrived, but we were able to set up our chairs about a hundred feet from the stage. Excellent location!

This was the scene at 3.30---our chairs were just to the right of the tree trunk. If you look really carefully you can see Pat's ankle and shoe at the extreme right of the photo.

We watched as people streamed into the park from all directions. A Newt supporter behind us said with glee that there were now 600 people, while Mitt Romney, who had had a rally earlier that day, had only drawn 300.

And it was only 3.45.

By 4.30, the police, who had been expecting a crowd of no more than 1000 people, had called in reserves to clear passageways in case of an emergency. The growing crowd was clearly much greater than 1000.

On the stage, a Dixieland band replete with straw boaters started playing. Meanwhile a bouncy MC led the audience in chants for Newt and against Romney and Obama. At 5 she told us that the police were now estimating the crowd at 6,000, the largest crowd ever in Cambier Park (that turned out to be an exaggeration---a rock concert a year or so earlier had brought out nearly 7000 people).

She also told us that there had been an accident on the I-75 and that was delaying Newt and his party but he 'would be here soon'. (That was incorrect. We learned later that Newt's organizers had at the last minute fitted in another rally in Fort Myers and at 5 when our rally was scheduled to start he was still speaking in Fort Myers.)

At 5.30, I nipped across to Starbucks on 5th Avenue for some coffee and we tapped into a stash of cheese and biscuits we had brought with us.

Various Gingrich buttons on sale at the rally: "Newt Rocks", "NEWT-ER OBAMA 2012",  and "Newt 12". Note the sign across the top: "Annoy a Liberal---work hard, be happy!"

A woman with a hat covered with Republican charms---elephants, flags etc. The pink pin says, "Hot Chicks Vote Republican"

We listened to people around us, many of whom seemed more anti-Obama, than pro-Gingrich. The hatred of Obama was fierce and vicious. He was a socialist, a crook, and Un-American while Michelle was 'disgusting'. They entertained each other with 'fair and balanced' news items from Fox News and Rush Limbaugh.

Pat and I, who think that Obama has been doing pretty well coping with the financial and economic mess left behind  by George Bush, were reminded of a separatist play we saw in Montreal in 1976. The audience cheered the anti-English sentiments of the play so much that at intermission we were afraid to speak English. At the Naples rally we whispered to each other in case the rabid people around us caught an 'eh' or an 'out' that would give us away as godless, socialists from Canada.

The people were mainly seniors, some of them residents of Florida but there were many 'snow birds' who had fled the cold of Chicago, Indianapolis etc to spend a few months in Naples. They were 99.9% white. I saw two African-Americans, one a technician helping set up the sound system, and the other a young man who was running for some state office.

One of the two African-Americans at the rally. This one is a technician, while the other was a candidate for a state office.

There weren't any Latinos in the audience so far as I could tell. But there was a Latino-looking lad of about 10 who, in the disorganization as people waited for Newt, managed to get onto the stage. Holding a "Vote Newt" sign in front of him, he danced to the music of the band. Republicans don't seem to be very musical (witness Romney's painful versions of America the Beautiful) but this kid had rhythm. Moving the sign like a burlesque dancer moves her fan (I have seen that in movies), he captivated the audience.

From time to time, a worried looking geezer would clamber onto the stage, look out at the audience and shout in a pleading voice, "Martha, I'm here." The crowd cheered each time.

At 6, the crowd was getting rambunctious, despite the entertainment provided by the MC, the band, the young dancer and the lost geezer. Instead of following the MC's chants, people started their own chant: "We want Newt, we want Newt, Newt, Newt, Newt". Then from the back of the crowd someone started singing American the Beautiful---in tune, unlike Mitt's renditions! Soon the 6000 were all standing and singing. Relieved, the MC suggested they sing it again, which they did. And then, for good measure, they sang it a third time.

We eavesdropped on two couples behind us who when they weren't condemning Obama were comparing notes on the best marine hotels to stay at when they sailed  their boats/yachts back to New Jersey. Sounded to me like members of the 1% club!

Finally, at 6.30, we saw the flashing red lights of police cars as they escorted Newt's campaign bus to the street behind the band shell.

After a few moments of quiet, Newt and his wife Callista strolled onto the stage.

And the crowd went wild, cheering and cheering.

After being introduced by someone---who had the good sense to talk for only 30 seconds---Newt started to speak. Without notes or a teleprompter.

I wondered what we were in for. Would this be one of his interminable, rambling, philosophical discourses?

I remembered a meeting years ago in Ottawa at which Tommy Douglas, the Father of Canadian Medicare, was one of the speakers. He started by saying that the organizers had asked him to keep his remarks to 20 minutes. Tommy who was noted for long speeches protested, "Politicians can't get the dust off their tonsils in twenty minutes".

In fact, Newt spoke for only 18 minutes---I timed him. He began by thanking the young dancer who he understood had helped entertain the crowd. (The lad stayed on the stage next to Newt, listening to the speech until I guess he got bored. Then he started to dance again---until one of the security people hustled him off the stage.)

Newt and Callista, with the young 'Latino' dancer, in a blue shirt and jeans, to the left of Newt---before he was ejected.

The speech was crisp and coherent. There were lots of 'red meat' jibes about Obama and Romney, which the crowd loved. When he finished it was clear the crowd had forgiven him for keeping them waiting.

They were his!

I was so impressed with the speech and the way the crowd received it that I sent a text message to a friend back in Canada who shares our love for American politics, "Romney is toast"

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So much for my skill as a pundit!

As you know, Romney went on to trounce Newt a week later at the Florida primary on Tuesday, January 31st.

Millions of Super Pac dollars in negative ads helped turn the Florida Republican voters against Newt.

And of course, Newt hurt his own cause by a lack-lustre performance in the two Florida debates, and by his promise to set up a moon colony once he became president. The moon colony promise was designed to appeal to laid-off space engineers around Cape Canaveral but Romney quickly labelled it as just another of Newt's' lunatic ideas' (I am not sure whether Mitt intended the pun).

A friend argues that politics is about poetry and plumbing---'poetry' to create a vision the public can believe in, and 'plumbing' to organize your supporters and get the vote out.

Newt is good at poetry but not at plumbing. You shouldn't keep 6000 people waiting for an hour and a half.

At the moment---as I write this Posting---Newt seems to be out of the running for the Republican nomination for President.

But Newt has been written off before.

Like a cat, he may have a few lives left.

Anyway, we are grateful to him (and Callista) for giving us the opportunity to experience American politics unfiltered by television anchors and pundits.

It was great fun!

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See you on February 19, 2012 for Posting #136 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting,  or email me at johnpathunter@gmail.com.

Note:

I am working on Posting # 7 on my The Icewine Guru blog. It should be up in the next week or so, at: http://theicewineguru.blogspot.com/

POSTING #134

Note: Although the weather this fall has been unseasonably mild, the calendar insists that winter is fast approaching. I am feeling strong ancestral urgings to put the tools away in the barn, and push my feet into the oven for at least part of the winter---as I did last year.

This, therefore, will be the last Letter from Virgil Posting until February 12, 2012.

Pat and I wish readers a wonderful holiday season!

See you in February.

Niagara-on-the-Lake and the Bicentennial of the War of 1812-15

This is the official logo for the 1812 Bicentennial that is now appearing on souvenirs of all kinds, everything from hats to key chains.

For the last year or so, I have been working as a volunteer secretary to one of the committees organizing events for Niagara-on-the-Lake's 1812 Bicentennial. We have an excellent website that describes in colourful detail what will happen over the next three years. 

But I thought it might be helpful to provide a secretary's distillation of what, in my view, are likely to be the key events, events that you might like to consider attending.

On January 1, 2012,  the Ontario Lieutenant Governor, the Honourable David Onley, will hold his New Year's Levee, not in Toronto, but in Fort George, here in NOTL

United States President Madison declared war on Great Britain on June 18, 1812  and instructions were sent to the US military to invade Upper Canada. On the weekend of June 15, 16, and 17, 2012, the Bicentennial gets its official kickoff with grand opening celebrations we are calling the DECLARATION OF WAR! 

There will be a Military Ball in honour of General Brock put on by our Museum on the evening of June 16th. There will be a rich assortment of military and other events during Saturday and Sunday.

On July 13, 14, 15, 2012, in the Niagara River below Fort George there will be an event called The Navy of 1812: Sailors on the Lakes with at least 7 tall ships and 20 large bateaux.

Then the fighting starts!

In July, August, and September of 1812, there were some interesting and significant battles in other parts of the Great Lakes (for example, on August 16, 1812, General Brock persuaded the commandant of  Fort Detroit, General Hull, to surrender by pretending that he had far more troops than he in fact had)  but it was the Battle of Queenston Heights on October 13, 1812 that convinced the residents of Upper Canada that the Americans were not invincible. A recent book makes this point in its title, "12 Hours That Saved a Country" 

There will be a re-staging of this battle during the weekend of October 12 and 13, 2012 with over a thousand re-enactors coming from Canada and the US. It may be hard to get a position near the battle because of the tens of thousands of visitors expected but there will be lots to see in NOTL, especially in and around Fort George----and of course there will also be the Shaw!!

There will be a re-enactment of Brock's funeral on October 14th with his 'body' being carried on a horse-drawn wagon from the site of the battle in Queenston to a ceremonial 'burial' in Fort George.

In May 1813, the war turned against Upper Canada. The Americans, returning with stronger forces and better generals, captured Fort George, and occupied what is now Niagara-on-the-Lake.

In June 1813 in Queenston, Laura Secord overheard American officers, who had commandeered her house, planning an attack on the British/Canadian forces near the site of today's Brock University. Her famous walk through the bush and up the escarpment to warn the British/Canadian troops will be celebrated on June 22, 2013 with the Laura Secord Bicentennial Event and Walk.

To mark the Occupation of NOTL, Canadian flags will be taken down in May 2013, and only US flags of the period will be flown. Students dressed as US soldiers will patrol the streets of NOTL giving out leaflets telling the 'occupied' citizens how they must behave (e.g. no union jacks, no subversive toasts to the king etc.). Canadian and American tourists should enjoy this.

In December 1813 the tide of battle turned,  as British and Canadian forces fought their way back to NOTL. On December 10th, the US forces, frightened by the advancing troops, abandoned Fort George and fled across the Niagara River to Fort Niagara. Before fleeing, they burned almost all the homes and businesses in NOTL and Queenston, leaving the residents without shelter at the start of a hard winter.

On December 7, 2013, we will be staging a Son et Lumière, "Niagara on Fire", at the NOTL Courthouse with videos depicting the burning of the towns and the hardship caused to the residents.

Both Canadian and American historians agree that the burning of NOTL was a colossal military blunder. It can be argued that if the Battle of Queenston Heights convinced the residents of Upper Canada that the forces of the US were not invincible, then the burning of NOTL and Queenston convinced them that they had no choice but to expel the invaders, and build a separate nation.

The War of 1812 was ended by the signing of the Treaty of Ghent by Britain and the US on December 24th. The treaty was ratified by the US Congress on February 16, 1815.

Although the treaty wasn't ratified until February 1815, peace was effectively restored in the Niagara Peninsula in the summer of 1814. We have decided therefore to commemorate the signing at some point in September 2014 (dates not yet decided) when the weather will be more pleasant. This will be an enormous Bi-National event to celebrate 200 years of peace, with, we hope, the President of the US and the Prime Minister of Canada.

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Niagara-on-the-Lake is not a big town---only 15,000 souls---but it loves its history and it thinks big.

The next three years are going to be exciting!

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If you would like to learn more about the War of 1812, I would suggest checking PBS program listings to see when they will be re-broadcasting their superb video, The War of 1812, first shown in October this year. We decided to buy a copy, to keep (available through PBS or Amazon for about $20).

I would also recommend Cameron Porteous', "12 Hours That Saved a Country", mentioned above---a slim book, illustrated with paintings by Porteous. The author, who has a home in Queenston, has worked hard to get his facts right and to give us a vivid, visual understanding of what happened during those critical 12 hours.

For a definitive (in my opinion) account of the war, I would recommend Professor Alan Taylor's book "The Civil War of 1812". You may wish to check my Posting #96 in which I discussed attending a lecture by Prof. Taylor on his book.

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See you on February 12, 2012 for Posting #135 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting,  or email me at johnpathunter@gmail.com.

Note:

I have just uploaded Posting # 6 on my The Icewine Guru blog. You can read the Guru's year-end thoughts at http://theicewineguru.blogspot.com/

POSTING #133

Tours for Foreign Officials---Lighter Moments

As a consultant, I always enjoyed organizing and then leading tours of foreign officials to Canada. Perhaps because I am naturally a little nosey, it was fun to tour schools, colleges, universities, factories, hi-tech firms, government departments and on and on.

It could be challenging, trying to make sure the visitors gathered the information and knowledge they wanted.

But there were lighter moments as well.

Here are a couple.

Slave For a Day

A group  of employment experts from Jordan came to Canada in 2005 for a two week tour designed to illustrate how Canada prepares its young people for the world of work.

The Jordanian group on the deck at our Grimsby home with Pat and me in the middle. The photo was taken by the husband of the woman (Samaya) who is seated next to Pat. Thanks,Waleed!

One of the issues the group wanted to study was the career guidance approach used by our secondary schools.

In consultation with some local experts, I chose a medium-sized high school in the Niagara Peninsula that was supposed to do a particularly fine job of preparing students for post-secondary studies or for entry into the labour market. The principal and the head of guidance were both enthusiastic about receiving a group of Jordanians.

When we arrived at the school. the principal welcomed us and made it plain that every thing was open to the visitors. They could go anywhere they wanted, and talk to anyone they wished.

The visit then began with a tour of the school. The visitors knew from their pre-visit briefings that there wouldn't be the strict separation of male and female students that one finds in Jordan. But I could see that they were taken aback by the reality of seeing boys and girls strolling along the halls together chatting, sometimes holding hands, or by the sight of a fellow and a girl having a quiet chat, their heads together, in front of a locker.

We visited a lab where a mixed gender team was building a rocket as part of a project on space exploration. Then on to the media department where another mixed gender team was making a movie in a studio with cameras and sound equipment. And then to a computer lab where girls and fellows were rattling away on keyboards, probably dreaming about developing the next big software program.

I could see that the visitors were impressed by the sophistication of the work being done by the Canadian students.

As the tour went on, the visitors seemed to relax, and to accept the mixing of genders.

At lunch time, the head of the culinary department told us that the students would be preparing and serving our lunch. He made a point of saying that everything we would be eating had been selected and prepared in accordance with Islamic dietary rules. He led us to the dining room, where we enjoyed a delicious lunch of salad, poached salmon and dessert. The student-servers, both male and female, didn't have the aplomb of restaurant staff but they were earnest, charming and friendly---and they got the job done.

After lunch we met with the head of career guidance. She discussed the methods she used to try to help students define their career goals, and how she kept track of them during their years at the school. In the question and answer session, there was a lively discussion about the effectiveness of different tests used in Canada and Jordan to measure things like career preferences and aptitudes.

The visit had gone well.

The visitors were clearly impressed with what they had seen. I was impressed as well, as I thought of the facilities and services offered back in the 1950s in the Arthur District High School. We had some fine, dedicated teachers but teaching aids pretty much started and ended with a blackboard and chalk.

Toward the end of our visit, the head of guidance accompanied us as we made our way down the main hall to our bus. I was feeling good, the event had been even more successful than I had hoped.

Then we saw a girl and a bizarre companion coming towards us.

When we got closer we could see that the companion was a tall, husky young fellow wearing a blouse, short skirt and nylons (with hairy legs showing through) and lots of lipstick. He was carrying a pile of books.

The visitors stopped and stared, their mouths open. The pre-visit studying they had done about gender equality in Canada hadn't prepared them for this.

I leaned over and whispered to the head of guidance, "What's going on?"

She stopped the young couple, explained that these were education officials from the Kingdom of Jordan and she was sure they would like to know why the young fellow was dressed as he was.

The girl explained that as part of the United Way charity fund raising campaign, the students in her class had decided to have a 'buy-a-slave-for-a-day-auction'. She had successfully bid for the young fellow and she had 'ordered' him to wear women's clothes, makeup etc. He was now carrying her books to the school bus.

The head of guidance asked the young fellow whether he had submitted his university applications, and whether, despite his football (I gather he was one of the star players), he was keeping his grades up.

He calmly assured her that everything was under control.

We said goodbye and moved on to our bus, with the visitors chatting amongst themselves in Arabic trying to make sense of what they had just seen.

I imagine that when they think back to that high school visit, the first image that will pop into their minds won't be the labs.

It will be the young fellow with the lipstick and the hairy legs.

Hopefully, their next thoughts will be about the labs and the school's effective program of career guidance.

Hopefully!

A Sleeping Bag for East of Siberia

One of the members of a group of Russian employment officials, for whom I organized a visit in 1996, was a burly fellow from the Russian Far East---beyond Siberia---who wanted to buy a sleeping bag while he was in Canada.

He explained that he was a hunter, and that he liked to camp overnight in the woods in winter waiting for deer or some other game. He needed a sleeping bag that would protect him against the extreme cold of the region. There were sleeping bags in Russia but they were of poor quality and not warm enough for night-time camping. He asked me where he could get a really good bag.

I thought of Canadian Tire but decided that he probably needed a store that specialized in fitting out people for rugged outdoor adventures, a place like Mountain Equipment Co-Op. One of our sons, who lived in Toronto, said he knew the location of one of their stores---on Front Street at the time.

The group was going to be in Toronto after a spell in Ottawa, and, since I had to do something with the rest of the group,  I asked our son if he would mind taking the Russian visitor to the store, accompanied by an interpreter.

At the store, the Russian fellow sorted through the selection of sleeping bags and settled on a down-filled mummy-type bag that was wide at the shoulders, narrow at the feet with a zip up hood. As the interpreter translated data about the maximum temperatures for which it was recommended, the man went over the stitching and padding from top to bottom. He nodded that he was happy with the bag. The price, which was substantial, didn't seem to bother him.

Our son thought that his mission was just about over. Just get the man and the bag to the cashier and that would be that. He pointed to the nearest cashier, but the Russian shook his head.

He gestured that he wanted to try the bag.

Then in one of the store's main aisles he placed the bag on the floor. With people walking around him, he proceeded to clamber into the bag. When he was completely inside the bag, he zipped up the hood and lay back. Then he rolled on his side, and then on his stomach.

After a few minutes, he unzipped the hood and emerged, hot and red-faced from the bag. "Is good", he said.

At the cashier's desk he pulled out a wad of Canadian cash and carefully counted out the correct amount. As the cashier was counting the money, the man was engaged in a happy and loud discussion---in Russian---with the interpreter. This distracted the cashier a little and she had to start re-counting the money. Finally, the money was deposited in the cash register and the cashier folded the purchase into a large plastic bag.

Our son pointed to the nearest exit. The Russian fellow grabbed the bag, and continuing his discussion with the interpreter started to leave the store.

As he passed through the security sensors at the door, an alarm went off.

According to our son, a very loud alarm!

The man and the interpreter paid no attention to the alarm. At that time in Russia, store security was handled by tough-looking guards with revolvers on their hips.

But our son paid attention to the alarm.

As did various store employees who started running to the door.

Our son grabbed the man and explained that there was a problem and they would have to return to the cashier. The interpreter explained but the man protested, "I pay!"

Back at the cash register, the cashier searched the sleeping bag and found a plastic sensor that she should have removed. Embarrassed, she detached the sensor, and apologized to the Russian man.

For his part, he took the whole thing stoically, shrugging as much as to say, "These Canadians have crazy customs."

Later on, after the Russian and the interpreter were safely back in their hotel, our son phoned and gave me a blow-by-blow account of the adventure.

I apologized for getting him involved in all that excitement, explaining that I thought it would be a simple purchase.

He laughed and said he had enjoyed every minute of it.

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See you on December 18th for Posting #134 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting,  or email me at johnpathunter@gmail.com.

Note:

Hot off the press!! See the latest Posting (#6) on The Icewine Guru blog: "Year-End Thoughts from The Guru" at http://theicewineguru.blogspot.com/

POSTING #132

Arthur's Blind Newspaper Editor

Years ago when we lived in the Glebe in Ottawa, our boys used to shovel snow for homes on our street and on Clemow, the street behind us. One day, when Pat was driving along Clemow with one of the boys, Pat pointed to a house and said, "Celia Franca lives there".  (Ms Franca was a famous ballerina and founder of the National Ballet of Canada---and one of Pat's idols when she was studying ballet.)

Our son contradicted her, '"That's not Celia Franca's house, that's Mrs Morton's house. I shovel her driveway."

Of course, Celia Franca and Mrs Morton were one and the same. Our son just didn't know that the woman who paid him for shoveling snow was a celebrity.

I feel a little like our son when I think back to Rixon Rafter, the editor of Arthur's weekly newspaper, "The Enterprise News'. When I was young, I knew that Mr. Rafter was blind. He wore frosted glasses and carried a white cane as he walked along our main street.

I remember marveling at how he seemed to know---to have memorized---the location of curbs, and steps. And how he knew when it was safe to cross intersections. 

Rixon Rafter in his office, talking to his clerk. Photo is from "Memories of Arthur and Area" by John Walsh.

But to a young fellow, he was just another interesting person in a village full of fascinating people---a grocer nicknamed 'Jigger' because he was always on the move, a butcher who also played goal for the Arthur Tigers hockey team, Letty who drove his Model T Ford to the cemetery whenever a grave had to be dug, and on and on.

It was when 'outsiders' started making a fuss about this blind editor of a newspaper that I started to realize that Mr. Rafter was someone special. The Toronto radio station, CFRB, featured Rixon Rafter on one of its regional programs with the interviewer (Gordon Sinclair, I believe) marvelling at how a sightless person was able to edit and publish a newspaper. Newspaper articles appeared saying that Arthur had the only blind newspaper editor in all of Canada.

It dawned on me that he was special.

Someone to be proud of.

And he was one of ours.

Rixon Rafter was born on a farm outside of Arthur in 1885, one of 9 children. (For this background information I am indebted to John Walsh, an Arthur pharmacist, who has written two wonderful volumes entitled "Memories of Arthur and Area". Incidentally, John coached hockey and baseball teams that I played on.)

At age 5, Rixon lost the sight of both eyes because of a farm accident. He was enrolled in the Brantford School for the Blind (now the W. Ross MacDonald School for the Blind), "where he excelled in his studies, especially Braille and typing and developed the memory skills that were to be a great assistance in his later career." He was apparently greatly influenced by the story of Helen Keller, who although blind, deaf and unable to speak had graduated from an American university the year Rixon finished his course at Brantford. 

He entered Queen's University in 1903 and graduated with a BA in English and History in 1907. The following year he bought the Arthur Enterprise News and operated it until he sold it in 1953.

For most of those years the office consisting of Rixon, a skilled typesetter, and a clerk (one of his sisters was his first clerk). The typesetter and clerk were his 'eyes', reading him articles from newspapers and magazines.

Rixon was the paper's reporter. He would go to council meetings, and in an era before tape recorders, memorize the discussions and decisions. Then he would go to the office and type a report on the meeting (his typewriter is preserved in a local museum).

He was also active in the community, serving for a number of years on the board of the Arthur High School, on the Arthur Board of Trade, and on the Public Utilities Commission.

Beyond Arthur, he was President of the North Wellington Conservative Association, served on the Board of the Canadian National Institute for the Blind, and at one time was president of the regional organization for the Boy Scouts.

Rixon Rafter was also a keen, skilled and competitive bridge player, with the players using a Braille deck of cards. His phenomenal memory allowed him to keep track of which cards had been played, and which had not.

And through two world wars and a depression he kept the newspaper afloat, fueled by a very modest annual subscription and advertisements for local businesses, house and auction sales, government announcements and so on.

In 1954, Mr. Rafter was chosen Newspaper Editor of the Year by a group of writers meeting in London Ontario.

One wit has said that in a small town no one reads the weekly paper to find out what is going on---they already know that, thanks to the intricate and highly effective gossip networks that always exist. Instead, they read the paper to find out how (and sometimes, whether) the editor will deal with 'delicate' news. Mr. Rafter was particularly skilled at dealing with accidents, arrests, fights, illness, suicides etc. in ways that protected the affected families from additional stress and pain.

In the fall of 1958, I was working on a BA thesis on the United Farmers of Ontario (UFO), a movement that governed Ontario from 1919 to 1923. One of the founders of the movement was a farmer from south of Arthur, J.J. Morrison. Unfortunately, when I started doing my research I found that little had been written about the movement---several books have been published since---and I had to spend a lot of time doing original research, reading dusty copies of the Globe and Mail, perusing family archives, and talking to people who were involved in the movement.

I thought that Rixon Rafter might be able to offer me some insights so I phoned him during a visit to my parents and asked if we could meet. He agreed to meet the following evening. He was 70 at that time and  as I have mentioned above, was retired, having sold the newspaper in 1953. I hadn't really had any conversations with Mr. Rafter up to that point---just brief contacts as I handed over my parents' annual subscription fee, or submitted advertisements from a store where I worked after school.

It was in December and the sun had long since set when I walked over to his substantial brick home. The house was in total darkness and I wondered if he had forgotten about our appointment. I rang the door bell and a few moments later the porch light came on and then a light in the hall.

I can still remember being struck by the realization that he didn't need lights---that he lived in the dark.

Mr. Rafter opened the door, wearing the usual frosted glasses and looking courtly in a suit and tie. He held out his hand and I grasped it.

He invited me in, and led the way to the parlour, turning on lights as he went. He pointed to an upholstered chair and settled himself in a chair beside a table piled high with papers and magazines in Braille.

I took out my notebook and scribbled away as he gave me a fund of invaluable information and interpretation about the factors that led to the election of a UFO government and about how it had performed in office---its successes and failures. His memory of names and dates was flawless. He smiled sometimes as he inserted into his account amusing anecdotes about some of the main participants in the UFO.

I tested some theories I was toying with for my thesis about what can happen when social movements decide to get actively involved in politics. He seemed to enjoy discussing those theories.

After an hour or so, I thanked him. He showed me out.

When I got to the sidewalk, I looked back at the house, and found that it was once again in total darkness.

Mr. Rafter, who never married, died in 1963, after a short illness, aged 75.

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What to make of this man who I---and perhaps other people in Arthur---took for granted?

When I tell people about Arthur's blind newspaper editor, they look at me in disbelief. How could someone do that?

And then I say that he did it for over 40 years.

He had a remarkable intelligence and great personal determination, qualities that were obviously recognized by the School for the Blind and by Queen's University.

And he had the example of Helen Keller. She would certainly have been proud of him, and thrilled that she had inspired him to become the first blind newspaper editor in Canada.

But in the end, his success, I think, comes down to one factor.

An unbelievable amount of raw courage.

And that courage meant that although he lived in the dark, he spread light for all those around him.

Postscript

A scholarship has been established in his memory. Here is an extract from a website about the scholarship. Please note the last three words, which I have highlighted. Mr. Rafter would certainly have agreed with that requirement.

"Rixon Rafter Scholarship Fund

Named in honor of a graduate from the Ontario School for the Blind (now the W. Ross School for the Blind), this scholarship is available for Canadian students who are legally blind and who are pursuing post-secondary studies.  Candidates should demonstrate strong career aspirations."

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See you on December 11th for Posting #133 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting,  or email me at johnpathunter@gmail.com.

Note:

Have you read the latest Posting on The Icewine Guru blog? You can read "Are Canadian Politics Dull?" at http://theicewineguru.blogspot.com/

POSTING #131

Moscow's Izmailovsky Market, and a Mysterious Artist

Addition to Posting #131

Images of two more paintings by the Russian artist Piganov have been added to the end of this posting, through the kindness of the owner of the paintings, Jürgen Brauweiler (nickname, Jules), of Berlin. A description of how this came about is included with the new pictures.

March 13, 2012

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Tourists love flea markets.

Just watch the crowds in London's Petticoat Lane or Portobello Road, or in Paris' Marché aux Puces, or in the Middle East's souks and bazaars.

When we were working in Moscow in 1995-1997, the city was in the midst of creating its own flea market, Izmailovsky Market.

Now, some 16 years later, the Market is on the agenda of every tourist visiting Moscow. The New York Times describes it this way:

"Izmailovsky Market, near the estate where Peter the Great played war games as a boy, is a sprawling open-air market that evolved out of the first Soviet experiments in capitalism: the flea market. One area has been refashioned into a souvenir paradise, with stalls offering nesting dolls, lacquer boxes, art, antiques, carpets and things you cannot imagine. The market, open weekends from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m., is at 73 Izmaylovskoye Shosse, but don't expect to see any sign. Follow the crowds from the Partizanskaya metro station."

One weekend in the autumn of 1995, I decided to visit the Market. I got off the Metro at Partizanskaya station and did what the Times suggested: followed the crowds, which while not as large as they are today, were still substantial.

Inside the Market, everything was a jumble with goods displayed in sheds, or on tables in the open. There was a large section devoted to oriental carpets from the Caucuses, which were lying in piles 10 or 12 deep on the ground or suspended from rough frames.

After wandering through the maze of stalls, I ended up in a section devoted to art: paintings, water colours, collages, carvings, and so on.

Most of the art was clearly designed for quick sale to tourists looking for a Russian souvenir--pretty scenes of onion-domed churches, peasant cottages in Siberia, renderings of Red Square and so on.

In the midst of all this 'commercial' art, was a stand with four or five paintings that were different. They seemed to me to be attempts by the artist to say something that he felt strongly about. They appeared to be painted for him, not for a buyer.

One of them attracted me---of a young woman looking straight ahead with a haunting, questioning look. I stopped and studied it. Then I moved down the row of stalls looking at the other works of art.

Coming back, I stopped again at the painting and tried to understand why I liked it, and what it was saying to me.

A man sitting nearby on a chair watched me.

Although I liked it, I decided that I hadn't come to buy a painting, so I started to wind my way back to the entrance.

Part way there, something told me that I was making a mistake. I turned around and went back to have a third look at the painting.

I asked the man sitting on the chair if he were the artist.

He shook his head and, trying to find English expressions, said, "I sell for my friend. He....funny man." He tapped his forehead, and I thought he meant that the artist was a bit loco, perhaps another Van Gogh.

He seemed to realize that I was getting the wrong impression and he dug into his English vocabulary for some other adjectives.

"Deep, deep, thinks all time...religious."

I asked how much the painting was---rubbing my thumb and forefinger together in that internationally understood gesture.

He took out a scrap of paper and wrote an amount that was more than the 'pretty' paintings were selling for but was not unreasonable.

I had been told that at Izmailovsky Market one was expected to haggle, so I wrote out a lower amount  on the man's paper. As I did this, I realized that I had destroyed any bargaining position I might have had by stopping three times to study the painting.

He shook his head and pointed to the price he had quoted.

I nodded that I would buy the painting at that price and started to pull out my billfold. He shook his head and, taking my arm, pulled me behind a nearby bush. There, out of sight of passersby, we completed the transaction. Moscow was a pretty lawless place at the time, and he wasn't taking any chances on being mugged on his way home.

Back at our apartment, I hung the painting. 

Notice the three apples on the table in the forefront of the painting. We think the artist included apples because of  the story of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, and he showed three because of the trinity---but who knows.

For me it came to symbolize the turmoil in Russia. On the right of the painting, the woman's hair is covered with barbed wire, while on the left, her hair is threaded with ribbons and pearls. The woman seems to be trying to discern whether the future of Russia would be repression and fear, or prosperity and love.

I liked it very much. When Pat came over for her regular visits, I found that she liked it as well.

In the summer of 1996, our daughter and two sons came over with their spouses for a two-week visit. They also liked the painting.

Talking about our family's visit, may I be permitted a short digression?

Thanks!

As a family, we 'did' all the main tourist attractions in Moscow and St. Petersburg and between the two cities, but looking back on the trip one of the high-points was our trip to Izmailovsky Market. When we got to the Market, each couple went off in a different direction, the agreement being that we would meet in two hours at the carpet section.

Pat and I were waiting at the carpets in two hours but no kids had appeared. Then one couple showed up. Since the others weren't there yet, they said they would just nip off for a few minutes---but be right back. "This is a great market!"

Then another couple arrived. They too would just nip off for a  minute or two---while the others assembled. They would be right back. "Wow, this is really a great market!"

Finally, we had to insist that whoever arrived had to stay put until we were all there.

Loaded down with purchases, we trudged back to the Metro, with many backward glances and some muttering about not having had enough time.

End of digression---thanks for your tolerance!

As my contract with the Russian authorities neared its end---in March 1997---Pat came over to help me shut down the project and pack up our belongings in the apartment.

Looking at the painting one night, we agreed it would be good to meet the artist and see if he had any other works that we might take back to Canada.

Yuri, my office manager (not his real name), located the artist, who said he would be interested in meeting us and showing us his studio.

The artist suggested we meet on a street corner---not an unusual suggestion because house numbering in Moscow can be confusing. Yuri's daughter would act as our guide and interpreter.

When we arrived at the street corner, there were a number of people standing around, some waiting for a bus, others just standing. We tried to identify the artist, someone who looked liked the friend's description of him at Izmailovsky Market: 'funny...deep...religious'.

No one matched that description.

Then a middle-aged man in a traditional Russian fur hat with ear flaps, but wearing a western-looking, bright red jacket, came over and introduced himself.

Our artist.

He didn't look 'artistic'. His dark hair was worn short and neatly trimmed. He had gold-rimmed glasses and a small mustache. He looked like dozens of managers I had met during my time in Russia---it later turned out that his day-job was that of a manager in a hospital.

In his studio, there were a few paintings on easels with others leaning against the walls.

Two of the paintings on easels interested us.

One, obviously in its very early stages, showed a woman in a long white robe, leaning forward with a rope over her shoulder, straining to drag a boat across a desert. The artist explained his symbolism: the woman represented Russian women; the boat represented Russian families; and, the desert stood for the tough economic times the nation was experiencing. The woman represented all the Russian women who were bravely struggling to keep their families together.

The other painting, nearly complete, was more complex than the first picture, containing a rich assortment of religious and other images and symbols. It was intended to convey the artist's view that, in the end, Russia's future depended upon a return to religion.

The artist said he could finish the second picture in a few days, allowing us to take it back with us to Canada. The other would take some weeks to complete.

We agreed quickly on a price and he said he would bring it to my office in a few days.

The picture below shows the artist, Mr. Piganov, with the painting in my Moscow office at the Russian Federal Employment Bureau.

On the coat-tree in the background, one can see Mr. Piganov's Russian hat, and his red, western-style jacket---items he was wearing when we met him on a street corner near his studio.

In preparation for our trip home, we removed the two paintings from their stretchers, rolled the canvases and placed them in cardboard tubes. Back in Ottawa, we found a restorer who worked regularly for the National Gallery repairing their paintings. She commented that the paint in both pictures had been applied very thinly. We wonder whether the artist preferred this approach or whether he was concerned about the high cost of imported oil paints in Russian at that time.

She attached the canvases to stretchers, touched them up a little and placed them under a special kind of Plexiglas to protect the thin paint from damage by ultraviolet rays. 

Here is the second painting, over the fireplace, in our Virgil home.

There is so much symbolism here it would take a separate Posting to begin to do justice to it, but notice the young woman rising out of a gilded cage. This symbolizes the artist's admiration for women and his support for their emancipation. (Because the paintings are under Plexiglas, the photos show some room reflections---sorry about that.)

When the paintings had been framed and hung, we began to think of the other painting that we had liked---the one of a woman dragging a boat through the desert. Yuri  contacted Mr. Piganov only to learn that the painting had been sold---to an American couple.

We kicked ourselves that we hadn't put a deposit on the painting.

While we were still operating a bed and breakfast, we loved sharing the two paintings with guests. People would stand in front of them, discussing---and sometimes arguing---about what Mr. Piganov meant by this or that symbol.

I have used the Izmailovsky Market painting of the woman at several talks about Russia, and it is amazing how effective it is in conveying the turmoil and uncertainty of the 1990s, as Russia was starting to make its transition from a communist to a market economy.

Now, we simply enjoy them as works of art and for the memories they bring back of our time in Russia and, especially, of our visits to Izmailovsky Market.

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Addition to Posting #131

On March 9, 2012 this comment was left at the end of Posting #131.

"Hello, I am Jules from Germany. To search for information about J. Piganov in the Internet. I found your blog. I worked in Moscow between 91 and 93. Izmailovsky Park was a weekend "must" for me. I saw Piganov sitting with 3 pictures near the Metro station. I ...bought one of his works. Arriving at my Hotel I was so happy about it, that I went back to the market and bought the other two. Now 20 years later it's a beautiful and amusing memory of the time in Moscow. If you like, I would send you a photo."

I told Jules that I would love to see photos of his paintings.

Jules sent photos of his three paintings, and has kindly agreed to let me add two of the them to Posting #131. The paintings were done in 1991 and reflect the emotions---fear, anger, love and more---the artist felt as the changes brought about by Glasnost, Perestroika and the demise of the USSR swept across Russia.

Jules and I have agreed that the third painting is a bit too horrific for a family blog. It is a powerful painting reminiscent of Picasso's brutal Guernica, which portrayed the death and destruction caused in the 1930s by the bombing of Spain by the axis forces. I love the picture but feel it would be a mistake to include it here, in a blog with readers of all ages.

Here are the two paintings.

The artist called this painting 'The Icon'

This painting is called 'The Revolution'.

I told Jules that perhaps this will be the start of a fan club for Mr. Piganov, with other purchasers of his pictures stumbling (Googling?) onto my blog.

He liked that idea!

If other readers have paintings by Mr. Piganov, I would be delighted to add them to this Posting.

Once again my deep gratitude to Jules for letting all of us see these paintings. 

March 13, 2012

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See you on December 4th for Posting #132 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting,  or email me at johnpathunter@gmail.com.

Note:

Have you read the latest Posting on The Icewine Guru blog? You can read "Are Canadian Politics Dull?" at http://theicewineguru.blogspot.com/