To most of my friends who have left Buffalo for warmer climes, "How's the weather?" is the mantra I have to deal with whenever I hear from them. So far this winter, I could honestly reply, "Couldn't be better." In fact, for the past few months, the first thing I did when I got up and out of bed every morning was to look out the window to see if Winter showed up yet. Lo and behold, this morning I was not disappointed. The usual walk before coffee was exhilarating. The wind was howling and the sidewalks were like clean, white, fresh sheets. KiKi looked like a puppy again as she jumped head first into the snow mounds. Back home, jonesing for my first cup of soothing, hot java, I noticed the kitchen window all steamed up, drew a heart on it with my finger, and was reminded of this poem by my good friend, Liz Mariani. It was published as a broadside and added to the collection I produced a few years ago called, "Tea Leaves"

You can see the complete "Tea Leaves" collection of broadsides by clicking here

     Trying to keep up with all the latest news, I just read a new Leonard Cohen poem in last week’s New Yorker. I should admit here that I am a big fan. If you walk into my store on any given day, you may here one of LC's songs streaming in the background.  The story in the poem, "Going Home",  is a look at the poet looking at himself. It is a portrait of the artist as an old man.  It stimulated some thoughts, memories and a story of my own. 

     Here is my “Leonard Cohen” Story

     The year was 1966. I was a grad student in American Studies at the University of Buffalo . I was addicted to browsing bookstores.  On one of my frequent weekend trips over the border to Canada, an easy ride from Buffalo, I happened to be browsing through a bookstore in the Kensington Market section of Toronto when I saw a small paperback snuggled at the end of a cluttered bin with the title on its spine, “Flowers for Hitler”. In those days I was still wrestling with my identity as a Jew and very sensitive to any clue that might explain anti-semitism . I grew up in a house with parents who were holocaust survivors who did not like to talk much about their experiences. The unusual title became even more curious as I saw the name of the author next to it: Leonard Cohen.  I was overcome with curiosity at this seeming contradiction in terms. So, there I was at a crossroads of consciousness. Should I pick it up and see what’s inside, or pass it by with a sneer? I picked it up and read the inscription on the first page: "In an earlier time this would be called Sunshine for Napoleon, and earlier still it would have been called Walls for Genghis Khan."

     “Flowers for Hitler” was a mind-blowing experience for me.  It was like nothing I ever read before. It was definitely not an anti-semitic tract. The lyrical lines of poetry from one page to the next were so sad and beautiful that reading it made me smile and cry. I was hooked. I wanted more.  So, long before Google or Amazon, I searched for anything I could find by L. Cohen.  It so happened that his novel, “Beautiful Losers” had just been published. I rushed to the local independent book store to buy it. After reading “Beautiful Losers”, I became an even bigger fan, started dating a girl from Montreal and began to alert all my English department buddies to my new find, the Canadian author, Leonard Cohen. As it happened, I had friends on the English department literary committee that invited emerging and interesting writers to perform at the university. Not long after, there was a mimeographed poster on the student union walls announcing that “Canadian Poet, Leonard Cohen will be reading….”

     Leonard, looking dark and Jewish, as he read from the dog-eared pages of his own books , accepted the audience’s applause in his seriously appreciative way and then did something no one expected. He picked up a guitar that had been leaning against a chair looking like a stage prop and said “I have never sung in public before, so please bear with me.” He began with “Suzanne”. Everyone recognized the song as a Judy Collins hit, but had no idea that it had been written by Leonard.  Before long, the audience, made up mainly of 19 year old English majors, were hanging on every note and word. It was hypnotic. This guy with an edgy voice reminiscent of Bob Dylan had reached out and taken their hearts. I was ecstatic.

     Approximately 25 years later, I was invited to a Leonard Cohen concert in Hamilton, Ontario by my brother-in law at the time, Paul Ostermayer. Paul played sax and flute with Passenger, an Austin-based jazz-fusion band that (as amazing grace would have it) happened to be to be touring with Leonard that year.  Paul took me back to the green room to meet Leonard during intermission where I told him this story. He said, “Ah yes, so you’re the one who got me that college gig back in ‘67 .”

     Here is a picture of Leonard and me in the green room.

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Knock on wood, this winter in the City of no Illusions has been a walk in the park. Except for the occasional near-slip on black ice, it’s been easy come, easy go on these old bones. Which brings me to the delicate subject of memory….

Do you remember where you were 35 years ago during the Blizzard of ’77? Were you stuck somewhere far from home without any way to get there? Were you snuggling by the fire with your sweetie and a warm glass of brandy? Were you even alive at the time?

The Blizzard of 1977 was a deadly blizzard that hit upstate New York and Southern Ontario from January 28 to February 1, 1977. Daily peak wind gusts ranging from 46 to 69 mph were recorded by the National Weather Service Buffalo Office.

In the hardest-struck areas, snowmobiles became the only viable method of transportation. In western New York and southern Ontario, snow which was accumulated on frozen Lake Erie and snow on the ground at the start of the blizzard provided ample material for the high winds to blow into huge drifts. The combination of bitter cold, high winds, and blowing snow paralyzed areas affected by the storm.

Stuck at my studio in the basement of the old Pierce Arrow building on Elmwood Avenue, I spent the night working on a t-shirt design that came to be called, “Buffalo, City of No Illusions”. It was the first of many t-shirt designs I created that celebrate with colorful palette and loving humor the city where I was born and have spent my life so far. So far, so good, knock on wood.

To see more, click here

For my first blog of the new year, a sad story with a not-so-sad ending.

Last weekend, I got back home after a long weekend visiting kids in New Jersey. It was a great weekend, but I have to admit, I was looking forward to getting back to my winter studio routine, starting a new printmaking project and walking to work with my best friend, KiKi.

As soon as I opened the back door to the house, KiKi ran up to me excited and whimpering. About an hour earlier she had been attacked on the street by a pit bull twice her size. The story goes like this:

My brother, Jerry, usually house-sits for us when we are out of town. He takes good care of KiKi and takes her on long walks. That day, as he turned a corner not far from our house, a big, black unleashed dog was standing in their way. Jerry and KiKi, not troublemakers, usually cross the street or head in another direction when a situation like this pops up. This time they were not given a chance. The big dog pounced on KiKi and locked it's jaws on her neck. KiKi tried to disengage and even fight back but without success. So, my brother stuck his hand into the big dog's mouth to pry him off KiKi's neck. This all happened within minutes and, if the dog's owner hadn't showed up at that moment, it could have gone on and got worse very quickly. The end of this sordid story is that the dog's owner grabbed his dog's collar and took off. My brother's hand was bitten and bloody as was KiKi's neck.

They are
both recovered and okay now, a week later, after trips to the emergency room and vet's. For the few days following the event, they were both traumatized. We did contact the police, who found the dog and owner and, thankfully, the dog's records showed up-to-date rabies shots. Jerry's bandages came off yesterday and he is healing. I bought KiKi a dog sweater (designed by Martha Stewart) to cover the patches shaved from her neck and back where the vet treated her puncture wounds.She doesn't seem to mind wearing the sweater and even gets "how cute" comments
from passersby. Things are back to normal. Everyday is an adventure. So it goes.

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• A Winter Poem: "Steam" by Liz Mariani
• My Leonard Cohen Story
• Remember where you were 35 years ago today?
• What happened to my best friend KiKi last weekend.

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