Showing posts with label Dennis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dennis. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 1, 2015

TENEBRAE 1986 on TENEBRAE 2015



razorcd.com/wp-content/gallery/photography/extinguished_candle_by_razorcd.jpg



After the post–Valentine’s Day dinner at Dennis’ place on McAllister Street, my sojourn in Eden lasted barely another six weeks.

In the meantime Dennis with the doggies moved in to my flat on 23rd Street. The pretext was a plumbing problem on McAllister. (I was living with former flat-mate Merritt Anderson, who had lived with me previously more than a decade before. I asked Merritt, who was married and had a young son, to find another place. His wife and son lived elsewhere. He used my flat for work convenience.) Again, this was one of the happiest periods of my life.

It was 1986— a test for HIV had just been introduced. Dennis and I both decided to be tested. I got my results first. I was negative.

On Wednesday March 26, I went with Dennis to get his results at the public clinic on 17th Street. (It was Tennebrae of Holy Week-- when candles are extinguished one by one as a Lenten ritual in preparation for Good Friday.)

I was sitting with Dennis when he got his results. He… was positive!!!

After bursting into tears, Dennis immediately proclaimed that he wanted to end our relationship—that it wasn’t fair for me to live with somebody who would soon be sick. (Reasonable expectation was that Dennis had another year or two at most).

It’s so easy to be clever or say the right thing at the right time when you write a screenplay or novel. For example, I’ve edited and re-edited these descriptions repeatedly. I’ll still go back and switch a word here and there.

In real time, it isn’t so easy.
But somehow, I was blessed… in finding the right words to say.

It went something like:
“If that’s what you want, Dennis, for your needs, OK, let’s talk about it. But don’t you dare tell me that because you think that’s what I want to hear. Just tell me the facts, and I’ll make up my own mind. I love you, Dennis Graham. And I want to spend my life with you – no matter what.”

Amazingly, Dennis didn’t live another year or two, but twenty full years …and one week. We had the final sit down cracked crab dinner in the dining room following the service of last rites on Saturday March 25th 2006 – the week before Dennis died.

Had I taken the way out offered to me by Dennis on March 26th 1986, I would have missed the entire core of my life. I am continually grateful for the wisdom, luck….grace… that enabled me to say the right thing when I needed to. I consider myself so lucky to have been in a loving, long-term relationship with a special person – with Dennis James Graham.


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Tenebrae this year is on April 16th -- my 65th birthday.

Friday, February 20, 2015

FATEFUL RETURN TO TORCELLO












Three years after the Torcello gondola mixup, we returned to Carnevale and Venezia for the last time with our good friends Deb and Joan. Dennis insisted we take a gondola ride on the first Saturday. It was a wonderful ride with a gondolier named Angelo. Afterwards we had hot chocolate at Café Florian. But Dennis became very sick, so we decided to change our plans and forego our planned trip to Rome and stay a few extra days in Venice.

Monday 20 February, was supposed to have been our travel day to Rome. Since it was now an extra day, I thought it would be fun and relaxing to take several boat trips to the other islands. That would minimize walking. And I wanted another chance to have a decent visit to Torcello. Before taking the large boat for the connection to Torcello, we came across the painter Picchio Santangelo, who had painted Dennis’ first picture of Venezia back in 2003. (We had had to have it framed twice to look its best in Dennis’ Venetian guest bedroom.)

When we got to Burano, our connection was all set to leave. It seemed perfect. We could visit the Byzantine church and 7th Century cathedral in Torcello, then return to Burano for lunch. (Three years before, my apparent mistake had been to have lunch in Burano before going to Torcello, and that had thrown off our schedule, which contributed to the gondola mix-up. This year it really didn’t matter since we had no plans for that night.)

When we arrived on Torcello, we discovered that several new restaurants had been built since our last visit. Dennis, Deb and I looked at the various posted menus, and considered changing our plans to have lunch on Torcello. Joan had some mobility issues and walked a little behind us. At least the island was completely flat, and there was only one bridge to cross before reaching the church and cathedral. Deb and I crossed briskly to check out the menu at the Cipriani Inn just before the Byzantine church.

We heard Dennis bellow. “Don’t waste your time. They’re closed. It’s open only in the summer!”

From behind, Joan saw Dennis raise and shake his walking stick at us.

Deb and I turned around….and saw Dennis lying flat on his face on the ground. He had tripped on the very last step. He didn’t make a sound. We rushed over. Blood was gushing from his face!!

Immediately, five or six waiters came out from the “closed” Cipriani Inn. A young woman from one of only two concession stands asked if we wanted to call the ambulance boat. I hesitated for a moment, wanting to evaluate the situation first. An older woman from the other concession rushed up with hand embroidered napkins and handkerchiefs and wiped the blood from Dennis’ face— and she wouldn’t accept any payment!!

The waiters helped us take Dennis into the lobby of the restaurant and brought a bucket of ice. Meanwhile the young woman had gone ahead and called for the ambulance boat with the emergency number on her telefono.

While we waited, Dennis wanted to have some lunch. After some delays, we were seated in the very stylish restaurant. I think we were the only ones there. Dennis insisted on fish soup. I had an expensive Mozzarella Caprese salad, which was absolutely superb. Just as we were served, the ambulance arrived with three hunky Italians. Dennis had only a few bites of his fish soup.

The ride back to Venice was very quick, and before we knew it we had landed at the back entrance to the municipal hospital. We were taken to the emergency room, where he registered, and then sat….. and waited.

The four of us – Joan, Deb, Dennis and I – sat and talked and tried to amuse ourselves. Of course, we were all very concerned.

Smoking wasn’t allowed. Eventually Dennis got extremely agitated. After several hours, he said he wanted to get up and leave. He was sitting in a wheel-chair and his head had been bandaged by the emergency crew.

I don’t think Dennis felt how badly he had been hurt. He seemed to be loosing surface sensitivity. Of course, that may have contributed to his fall.

Debbie didn’t speak Italian, but she’s quite fluent in Spanish. She noticed the poster on the wall behind Dennis’ wheelchair. It listed sequential priorities for triage. We had waited so long because other patients came after us who were higher up the pyramid.

Debbie firmly informed Dennis, that we hadn’t waited all that time for him just to get up and leave – and that if he tried, she’d take physical action – and slug him— to guarantee that he got to a higher level on the triage pyramid.

That kept him quiet – and in his wheelchair. Eventually a hospital aide came for Dennis. I accompanied him through several corridors, outside in a drizzle, and upstairs to another area of the hospital, where Dennis had some x-rays, and then another, shorter wait.

In the meantime, Deb and Joan decided it was safe to return to the Zatterre. It was after nine o’clock.

Although we had been up front with everybody—from the Cipriani waiters, to the emergency crew, and the registry desk at the hospital – the young woman physician, who later examined Dennis without wearing rubber gloves, became quite upset when we told her again that Dennis was HIV+. She disappeared for a while, then had Dennis undergo more blood tests. It should have been standard procedure for any doctor to use rubber gloves, particularly with a patient who had bled so badly.

Another doctor saw us and gave Dennis a prescription, and told us to return to the hospital in the morning. We got back to the Don Orione Artigianelli about midnight.

Poor Dennis looked as though he had been mugged. By morning both eyes were black and blue, and he had banged up his nose. It was so fortunate his lenses were plastic. Otherwise he might have been blinded by the fall. I still have his glasses with severe scratches.

We took the vaporetto to the back entrance of the hospital again. This time he was pushed in his wheel chair to the pharmacia, which was part of the older section of the hospital, formerly the Scuola San Marco. We passed right by the doors which led to the second floor library we had visited three years before. Karen Marshall had recommended seeing its extraordinary ceiling in her suggested list of favorite sites. This time we just passed by.

At the pharmacia Dennis picked up some pain pills and antibiotics. The bill was about six euros. That turned out to be the total bill for the entire episode. There was no charge for the ambulance boat, the emergency room or the doctors’ visits! It was all covered by Italian national health care. We have so much to learn from the Europeans!

Afterwards we took a mahogany water taxi back to the Zatterre. It was the only time we had ridden in one of those beautiful boats which reminded me of the Thousand Islands and Zavikon.

Dennis was apprehensive about taking the antibiotics. His stomach was upset enough, and he was worried it would incapacitate him for the rest of the trip. He had me call one of the nurses at the Kaiser Research Group back in San Francisco. Brooke said he didn’t need to take the antibiotics. (At that point it probably wouldn’t have made much of a difference.)

For the rest of the time in Venezia, Dennis wore his cape and plumed hat. Since it was Carnevale, his black and blue face didn’t stand out as anything unusual. It looked like makeup and part of his costume.

After three days in Firenze, where Dennis and Joan purchased gold jewelry on the Ponte Vecchio (Dennis bought earrings for all the women in his life including my sisters and nieces) we returned to Venezia for the nighttime gondola ride and dinner. It really wasn’t much of a gondola ride. (The earlier one we had missed in 2003 was a lot longer). And it was very cold. I’m so glad we took the extended gondola trip the Saturday before Dennis’ accident.

I returned to Torcello on Thursday August 30th, 2007 with Debbie and Alison. That fulfilled one of my major objectives of the entire memorial trip. We took the larger vaporetto to the Lido and made our connection to Punta Sabbioni. From there we arrived on Burano and took the smaller vaporetto to Torcello. It was a relatively short and flat stroll on the new brick sidewalk and dirt detour to Dennis’ bridge just before the Cipriani hotel and restaurant. We were about the first guests for lunch in the covered patio near the garden. I found a beautiful red rose bush, where I scattered a handful of Dennis. He would have loved to have seen that garden in full bloom.

After a superb luncheon, we stopped by the concession stands, which had opened while we were eating. I found the young woman who had called for the water ambulance after Dennis’ fall. She wouldn’t accept any payment, but I bought a number of items from her stand. The older woman, who had wiped Dennis’ face with her hand embroidered napkins wasn’t there, but by chance, her son, daughter-in-law, and grandson stopped by, so we were able to thank them. (For some reason, I neglected to find out their names. Our first night in Firenze, at dinner, we met an American from Queens or Brooklyn, who had lived in Florence for forty years and was a professor of English at the University. Her questions made me recognize my omission. So on my last full day of the holiday on September 11, 2007, I returned to Torcello and learned that the young woman was Marika and the older woman, Anna. Anna was still away in Napoli, but I gave silk scarves from the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul to Marika for her and for Anna, and this time she graciously accepted.)

Earlier we had visited the wonderful Greek Orthodox church and splendid cathedral, where Dennis and I had sung a plainsong Salve Regina in 1997.

Sunday, February 15, 2015

CITY HALL 2004






Since our expected reserved time on Sunday was in the mid afternoon, I decided to go to St. Francis in the morning, but leave near the end of Mass and sign out from Vespers. I told everybody I had to leave early, ‘cuz I was getting married! I took a taxi to City Hall.

Dennis saw our friend, Carl N, and asked him if he wanted to be our witness. Carl was heading for another appointment. As a lawyer, he wasn’t sure that what we were planning to do was legal. He said he didn’t approve of the Mayor’s stand – but then added, that to us he extended “loving disapproval.”

The entire afternoon was cinematically magical. We waited in line to get a marriage license, then waited again for the actual ceremony. Multiple marriages were occurring simultaneously at different locations throughout City Hall. Our time came and we headed to the top of the staircase just outside the door to the Supervisors’ chambers.

A city volunteer conducted the ceremony. A tall handsome guy named Michael acted as our witness. Dennis asked him if he was going to get married. Michael replied that he didn’t even have a boyfriend – but he wanted to do his part. After the simple ceremony, and exchange of rings, we waited in line again to register our marriage. All the city employees working that weekend had volunteered their time, and this was a three-day weekend (with President’s Day holiday on Monday)!

Then Dennis and I went to his beloved cream-colored Fiat Spyder convertible. We put the top down— even with a slight drizzle— and drove several times around City Hall and honked our horn at the huge line of people still waiting. Dennis had attached coke cans and a pair of old red high heels donated by our eighty-year old upstairs neighbor, Dorothy Chursin (greatly adored by Rose and Rupert, for tossing dog biscuits from her third story window on mornings when I have the discipline to get up in time to wait for her).

At home we had an elegant dinner in the red room with champagne, pate, filet mignon, artichokes, pinot noir, and a special fruit topped cake for dessert.

Later Dennis sent our rings to be engraved with our initials and the date 02/15/2004 at Tiffany’s in New York. (I wore both rings on my right hand. They looked like a single ring. Occasionally I used them as guard rings with Dennis’ brown diamond, that is until we were robbed of some silver and jewelry when I was on vacation two years ago.)

A few days later, we decided it would be a good idea to register as Domestic Partners with the State of California. (That turned out to be very important following Dennis’ death when I was able to avoid going through probate.)

Saturday, February 14, 2015

VALENTINE'S DAY



Photo:hlconcepts.biz

Dennis and I became an item after our dinner on January 17th 1986, and things were wonderful between us until I let him know that I wouldn’t be in town for Valentine’s Day. I had planned to go back to New Haven for the 125th anniversary of the Yale Glee Club. Dennis was crushed. But he soon got over it and said we’d have dinner on my return. I was planning to be back Monday night and said I’d come over, but Dennis preferred to wait until Tuesday night.

The Glee Club reunion was a lot of fun, and it was the last time I stayed with Marie Bronson at her home at 32 Marvel Road near the Yale Bowl before she moved to a retirement community in Hartford. When I returned I found six Valentines from Dennis, plus a formal invitation to dinner on Tuesday. It was on one of those partially pre-printed cards with Mr. so & so requests the pleasure of such & such, and, of course, RSVP. The next day I received three more Valentines.

Tuesday night I showed up at Dennis’ door on McAllister Street at eight o’clock, the appointed time. I think I was wearing a coat and tie. Dennis was most likely in a bow tie.

We had dinner in Dennis’ beautiful yellow bedroom with the rose pattern window seat (where Nell had given birth to her five puppies) and the handsome mahogany poster bed. (Dennis complained for years that I wouldn’t allow him to paint the front room on 23rd Street yellow – it was a subtle mauve grey— but eventually after eighteen years he got his way.)

Dennis had set up a table-round with a tablecloth to the floor. I don’t remember the entire menu, but think we started with champagne and oysters on the half shell. The main course was a poached chicken breast with a flower design on the glaze top. It was all very beautiful and cooked to perfection. Afterwards we had a mixed salad and chocolate torte with strawberries. The wine was a good California chardonnay followed by port and decaf coffee with dessert. The background music was Baroque— probably Vivaldi.

After-dinner was so convenient. After all, we were already in the bedroom. I think the three dogs had been in the room at dinner. Now Dennis put the puppies in their airline kennel.

Dennis pulled back the comforter. Immediately I burst out laughing. The flowered sheets were strewn with pink and yellow rose-petals. It was one of the most romantic evenings of my life. (Coincidentally, rose-petals stain sheets. I don’t think we ever got them completely out.)

In February 2004 I was in rehearsal for the winter play “I Never Sang for my Father” directed by Peter Divine. Mayor Gavin Newsom had only been in office a few weeks, when he announced that he would sponsor same-sex weddings at San Francisco City Hall. Reportedly this came about because a woman on his staff requested a City Hall marriage and the new Mayor determined if he allowed it for her, he’d have to open it up to the general Gay community.

The first registrations took place on February 12th and the newspapers reported that they would continue through the close of business on Friday February 13th. Dennis and I talked about the events at City Hall at dinner that Friday night, but it seemed as though we were too late even to consider registering.

I was also ambivalent -- since Dennis had pulled out of Project Jonathan and David, our planned same-sex blessing at Grace Cathedral seven years before (just before we went to Italy on the St. Dominic’s Choir concert tour -- he was angry that I had committed to the trip before consulting him, and felt that I had spent the money we would have used for a reception after the proposed blessing -- but it was a marvelous holiday in Italy with a second time together in Venice!).

Saturday was Valentine’s Day. I gave Dennis several Valentine cards at breakfast, and then headed to the Club for my rehearsal.

We had only recently acquired cell phones (after a logistical mix-up with my nephew, Sheridan, when he was in the Bay Area recording live CDs as a concession at Grateful Dead concerts—and we concluded that cell phones would be a great way to keep track of each other at large events and on vacations.)

In the middle of my rehearsal, I felt a vibration on my phone. At a break I returned Dennis’ call. He was not satisfied with the newspaper report that registration had ended the night before, and had gone down to City Hall to check it out.

On the phone, Dennis asked me if I would marry him. I answered: “Of course!!”(What else could I say?) He said to meet him at Tiffany’s.

As soon as my rehearsal ended, I headed off to Union Square and met Dennis in the ring department in the front room of Tiffany & Co. His former co-worker Benjie showed us rings. There had been a run on gold wedding bands, and there were only a few left in our size. We got matching slender gold rings (in Tiffany blue boxes, of course) and went home to change.

I showered and shaved and dressed in grey flannels and navy blazer with a blue and gold Venetian tie. Dennis was in a double-breasted navy blazer with a different color Lion of St. Mark’s tie. We took BART to Civic Center and waited in the line several blocks around City Hall. After about three or four hours, a young woman came up and told us that we would need to return tomorrow, but gave us a number. (To be continued tomorrow)

The day before we left for Venice on February 15th 2006, he gave me two Valentines. They were inscribed: “Forever, Dennis.”

Saturday, January 17, 2015

JANUARY 17th ~ JEFFREY, ROB & DENNIS


Today January 17 marks the thirty-ninth year I've known my good friend, Jeffrey Hardy.... I picked up his change when he dropped it on Market Street, and we've been friends ever since. There's much more to say, of course, but that'll be for another time.

Today also marks the twenty-ninth anniversary of Dennis and Rob's getting together.

Dennis Graham and I met in 1978, soon after he arrived from Iowa. He was involved with a friend of mine, Kent Smith, and I was committed to Gary Murakami. Dennis and I were casual acquaintances at first. He and Kent came to my 30th birthday picnic in Huntington Park on Easter Sunday 1979. The previous June they had attended the very first Chanticleer concert at old Mission Dolores.

Dennis worked for Sydney Mobell, a celebrity jeweler with a second location in the Fairmont Hotel. Occasionally, I stopped by to visit Dennis there on my way to Evensong at Grace Cathedral on Thursday afternoons.

I hosted a dinner for Dennis the night before his 30th birthday in 1980. The picture above was taken with my Kodak Instamatic. It shows Dennis in a classic pose...with a cigarette.Years later when I asked what he had done on the actual day, he said he hadn't done anything. Kent figured his birthday had already been celebrated.

After Gary died and Ross moved out, I was briefly involved with a few other people; but nothing was very fulfilling. Dennis was a friend in whom I could confide, complain, and on whose shoulder I could cry.

One Sunday after church I was talking to Dennis and a black friend, Everett, in Huntington Park. [I was complaining about a boyfriend named Tomas] Dennis said I should become involved with somebody more my own age and someone from my own cultural background.

Later when I learned that Kent and Dennis had been but roommates for several years, Everett astutely reminded me of Dennis' comments. "Didn't you hear what he said? You need to be involved with somebody your own age—a good CHRISStian man. Don't you realize who he was talking about?"

So on January 17, 1986, I invited Dennis to dinner and took a leap of......possibilities....which lasted more than another twenty years!

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Today is my boss' former boss' birthday. Dora Murphy and I share mutual memories of this day. Dora was primarily responsible for my obtaining a leave of absence from work to care for Dennis his final month with home hospice. For that courtesy I am continually grateful. Today is also Michelle Obama's birthday!

Thursday, December 25, 2014

A YOUNG CHRISTMAS EPIPHANY


This is something that might be appropriate to post on Christmas Day [so this year I will]. But the first part of my story began in early December…many years ago back in Central Pennsylvania.


When I was in kindergarten at the Catherine Sweeney Day School, I had a major disappointment my first Christmas at our home on North Second Street in Harrisburg. Dad took me to see Santa Claus at Cline Village Shopping Center (a prototype of those ubiquitous malls, which –along with fast food chains— seem to be one of America’s principal contributions to global culture). I made my request to Santa. Then on the way home, Dad tried to get me to reveal my conversation. I resisted at first, saying that it was a matter between Santa and me. Eventually, I relented…to his apparent relief.





My sister Julie and brother Sherry encouraged me to leave cookies for Santa next to the tree by the stone fireplace in the finished basement. Christmas day came. The cookies were gone and in their place was a note & large cardboard box that looked something like a medieval strong box. I opened it, stared, and expressed instant disappointment. “There’s been some mistake!” I said. “Santa couldn’t have gotten it wrong. I was very clear!”

Daddy was disappointed too. Inside was a plastic medieval knight’s suit of armor. Dad must have gone to a lot of trouble to find it; but it was not what I had asked for. “I specifically said I wanted Roman soldier’s armor just like the picture on Roman Meal Bread. There’s a problem here. Santa couldn’t have misunderstood me. All right Daddy, tell me: is there or is there not a Santa Claus? I can take the truth.” …………So that’s how I found there was no Santa. My questions about the historical Jesus began soon afterwards.



(Years later, in 1989, I was in my first Grove Play, “Pompeii,” at the Bohemian Grove. I was not a soldier. But in the production was just the kind of armor I had wanted thirty-three years before. I mentioned it to Dennis. Then at Christmas 1992, I opened a large package— too big for a box— and burst into laughter. There was my suit of Roman armor. Dennis had bought it, along with a piece of styrofoam lava, from our friend, John Blauer, head of the Costume Department at the club, and co-author of the play. Thirty-six years is a long time to wait for a special Christmas wish… I only wish Dad had lived long enough to have been my guest at the Grove. Dad would have loved the club with its four pillars of Music, Art, Literature and Theatre. Sherry Bell would have been a great Bohemian!)
Image:farm1.static.flickr.com

Sunday, November 30, 2014

ANDREA PALLADIO'S 506th BIRTHDAY


Today in 2014 is the five hundred and sixth birthday of Andrea Di Pietro della Gondola, better known as Andrea Palladio. Clearly he got his first name from the date, St. Andrew’s Day. But his name Palladio was given to him as a young man by Gian Giorgio Trissino, a leading scholar of the time, who had written an epic poem in which he described an archangel called Palladio. Young Andrea learned the principles of classical architecture when he worked on new additions for a villa owned by Trissino, who gave the name Palladio to Andrea in an attempt to connect him with Classical times and perhaps in reference to the goddess Pallas Athene.

On our first trip together to Venice in 1987, Dennis and I took a boat tour up the Brenta canal from the Venetian Lagoon to Padua. We stopped at several villas including Villa Foscari, called La Malcontenta, which soon became one of Dennis’ favorites. We especially loved the vaulted cruciform central salon.

Of course we visited the great Palladian churches, San Giorgio Maggiore with its wonderful bell tower and Il Redentore. In fact we timed our visit to coincide with the Festa del Redentore. This festival commemorates the end of the 1576 bubonic plague that killed tens of thousands of Venetians. There was a week-long program of events leading up to the third Sunday in July. Every year, the Doge had made a pilgrimage to Palladio’s Franciscan church by way of a bridge of boats erected especially for the occasion. In late July visitors can make this same pilgrimage to the island across the pontoon bridge from the Zattere - the only time the Giudecca is accessible on foot. During the festival, there are bands, a regatta, and musical performances. The fireworks display on the final Sunday night was one of the most impressive we’d experienced anywhere. We had a perfect view around the corner from the old Custom House.

In 1997 we spent a few days in Vicenza. We even stayed at a B&B called Palladio. We had chosen it for its location near the central piazza and, of course, for its name (though it turned out, not to be very Palladian.) When I returned to Vicenza two years ago last August, it was gutted and being gentrified …and hopefully becoming a better reflection of the great architect.

(We had much better luck choosing a restaurant by its name when we were in Virginia five years ago for the Montpelier Hunt Race. After visiting the shell of Mr. Madison’s house being restored, and watching the races, we visited Barboursville winery named for Mr. Jefferson’s ruined Palladian house nearby–burned down by a Christmas tree— and then managed to get a reservation for dinner at the restaurant Palladio. It happened to be one of the best restaurants we ever experienced.)

In 1997 we visited the Basilica, Palladio’s first great civic commission in Vicenza from 1549, which established his reputation. To support a crumbling medieval structure he enclosed the older building in a new classical shell and disguised the irregularity of the window units by employing a series later called the Palladian motif. It was a three-part-design with a central arch. Palladio unified the elevation with consistent central arches, but camouflaged the irregularities by varying the widths of the horizontal side elements. (Please refer to my blog posting Palladio/Venetian Windows 9/5/08.) In August 2007 the Basilica was closed for renovations, which included a new roof.

Dennis and I also visited Palladio’s enclosed interpretation of an ancient Greek theatre, Teatro Olimpico, in Vicenza, with its extraordinary perspective and permanent architectural stage set. My friend and former Chanticleer colleague, Randall Wong, has performed on that stage in several Baroque operas.

A number of Palladio’s architectural innovations were his mistaken attempts to reconstruct ancient Greek and Roman building elements. He assumed that Greek and Roman temples were glorified versions of Greek and Roman houses. Since the temples had columned porticos, the houses must have too, even though he wasn’t aware of any surviving examples. So the wonderful temple porticos on Georgian country houses and Ante-Bellum plantations in the American South were originally based on faulty historical scholarship. How lucky for us!

Andrea Palladio is widely considered to be one of the most influential people in the history of Western Architecture. Apart from his actual buildings, of which there are relatively few in northern Italy, his influence derives more from his published treatise: Quattro Libri dell’Architettura (the Four Books of Architecture) published in Venice in 1570. Also his many drawings were bought from his student Vincenzo Scamozzi by the English architect Inigo Jones, and were later acquired by Lord Burlington. So today they are in London. (There was an extensive exhibition of Andrea Palladio at the Royal Academy of Art from January 30 through April 13, 2009.)

“Palladio's architecture was not dependent on expensive materials, which must have been an advantage to his more financially-pressed clients. Many of his buildings are of brick covered with stucco. In the later part of his career, Palladio was chosen by powerful members of Venetian society for numerous important commissions. His success as an architect is based not only on the beauty of his work, but also for its harmony with the culture of his time. His success and influence was a result of the integration of extraordinary aesthetic quality with expressive characteristics that resonated with his client's social aspirations. His buildings served to visually communicate their place in the social order of their culture. This integration of beauty and deep meaning is apparent in three major building types: the urban palazzo, the agricultural villa, and the church.

In his urban structures he developed a new improved version of the typical early renaissance palazzo (exemplified by the Palazzo Strozzi). Adapting a new urban palazzo type created by Bramante in the House of Raphael Palladio found a powerful expression of the importance of the owner and his social position. The main living quarters of the owner on the second level are now clearly distinguished in importance by use of a flattened classical portico, centered and raised above the subsidiary and utilitarian ground level (illustrated in the Palazzo da Porto Festa and the Palazzo Valmarana Braga). The tallness of the portico is achieved by incorporating the owner's sleeping quarters on the third level, within a giant two story classical colonnade, a motif adapted from Michelangelo's Capitoline buildings in Rome. The main floor level became known as the "piano nobile", and is still referred to as the "first floor" in continental Europe.

Palladio also established an influential new building format for the agricultural villas of the Venetian aristocracy. He consolidated the various stand-alone farm outbuildings into a single impressive structure, arranged as a highly organized whole dominated by a strong center and symmetrical side wings, as illustrated at Villa Barbaro. The Palladian villa configuration often consists of a centralized block raised on an elevated podium, accessed by grand steps and flanked by lower service wings, as at Villa Foscari and Villa Badoer. This format, with the quarters of the owner at the elevated center of their own universe, found resonance as a prototype for Italian villas and later for the country estates of the English nobility (such as Lord Burlington's Chiswick House, Vanbrugh's Blenheim, Walpole's Houghton Hall, and Adam's Kedleston Hall). The configuration was a perfect architectural expression of their perceived position in the social order of the times. His influence was extended worldwide into the British colonies. The Palladian villa format can seen at Thomas Jefferson's Monticello and as recently as 1940 in Pope's National Gallery in Washington DC, adapted to convey the importance of art. The rustication of exposed basement walls of Victorian residences are a remnant of the Palladian podium.

Similarly, Palladio created a new configuration for the design of Roman Catholic churches that established two interlocking architectural orders, each clearly articulated yet delineating a hierarchy of a larger order overriding a lesser order. This idea was in direct coincidence with the rising acceptance of the theological ideas of St. Thomas Aquinas, who postulated the notion of two worlds existing simultaneously: the divine world of faith and the earthly world of man. Palladio created an architecture which made a visual statement communicating the idea of two superimposed systems, as illustrated at San Francesco della Vigna.” Wikipedia

In 2003 Dennis and I had an offer from US Airways for really cheap tickets to Rome, so we decided to go to the opening of Carnevale in Venezia. My niece Allison Martin was studying at Christie’s in London at the time, and we invited her to join us in Venice. Actually, as I recall, the original offer was for inexpensive tickets to London to visit Allison, but Dennis said he’d rather go to Italy.

Before taking the train to Venice, we stayed at a large convent in the Trastevere and had dinner at a café, where I had had lunch my crazy jam-packed day in 1997 when I visited more than twenty churches, and five museums. (It had been our only free day in Rome when on a concert tour with the choir from St. Dominic’s Church in San Francisco!) In 2003 Dennis and I climbed the hill and saw the outside of Bramante’s Tempietto, (then closed) whose interior I had entered in 1997.

In Venezia we stayed again at the Artigianelli Monastery in the Zattere. We left a message for Allison and her friend at their hotel on the Lido to meet us at Café Florian in Piazza San Marco. They got the message and had already saved us an inside table when we met them.

Dennis and I brought 18th Century costumes rented from the Bohemian Club thanks to my friend, John Blauer, head of costumes at the club. We had silk long johns to give a little substance to the clothes designed primarily for indoor productions. Allison and her friend brought costumes from London. We wore them to dinner at a restaurant next to Quadri.

We missed the official opening of Carnevale that Sunday in order to visit three Palladian villas in the Veneto. We rented a car which I drove. The tricky part was navigating through Mestre and making connections north. We first went to Villa Cornaro, where we had to make special arrangements for a private tour. We met the young lad at the Palladio Café across the street from the villa. Villa Cornaro was the inspiration for Jefferson’s original version of Monticello. It is owned by a family from Atlanta. Sally and Carl Gable have written a fascinating book about their house called Palladian Days. Then we drove to Villa Barbaro with its extraordinary frescos by Veronese and the handsome chapel, where Palladio reportedly died after falling off a scaffold. We saved Villa Emo, Dennis’ favorite, for last. It was a perfectly wonder-filled day!

Dennis and I also visited the former Roman Catholic Cathedral during that trip to Venezia. Palladio designed and supervised construction of the façade of San Pietro di Castello, which was his first commission in the city of the Lagoon. It’s not in the most convenient location, which may symbolize Venice’s troubled relationship with the Roman Church. It was only relatively recent – about one hundred years ago – that San Marco, the former Ducal Chapel, became the official Cathedral for Venice. (The original cathedral, of course, had been on Torcello. I have a story about that, which I’ll relate in a posting next February.)

I returned to Venice and Vicenza seven years ago August with some of Dennis’ ashes. He’s now in six or seven locations throughout the Veneto. I also sprinkled a hand full under a rose bush in the garden at Villa Almerico-Capra, popularly known as Villa Rotunda.

My iPhone photo of rose garden at Villa Rotunda

Thursday, September 11, 2014

September 11, 2001





The September 11 attacks (often referred to as 9/11, pronounced nine-eleven) were a series of coordinated suicide attacks by Al-Qaeda upon the United States on September 11, 2001. On that morning, 19 Al-Qaeda terrorists hijacked four commercial passenger jet airliners. The hijackers intentionally crashed two of the airliners into the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center in New York City, killing everyone on board and many others working in the buildings. Both buildings collapsed within two hours, destroying nearby buildings and damaging others. The hijackers crashed a third airliner into the Pentagon in Arlington, Virginia, just outside of Washington, D.C. The fourth plane crashed into a field near Shanksville in rural Pennsylvania, after some of its passengers and flight crew attempted to retake control of the plane, which the hijackers had redirected toward Washington, D.C. There were no survivors from any of the flights.

In total 2,974 victims and the 19 hijackers died in the attacks. The overwhelming majority of casualties were civilians, including nationals of over 90 different countries. In addition, the death of at least one person from lung disease was ruled by a medical examiner to be a result of exposure to dust from the World Trade Center's collapse.

The United States responded to the attacks by launching a "War on Terrorism", invading Afghanistan to depose the Taliban, who had harbored al-Qaeda terrorists, and enacting the USA PATRIOT Act [of very questionable legal and constitutional justification, and already planned before the attacks]. Many other countries also strengthened their anti-terrorism legislation and expanded law enforcement powers. Some American stock exchanges stayed closed for the rest of the week, and posted enormous losses upon reopening, especially in the airline and insurance industries. The destruction of billions of dollars worth of office space caused the economy of Lower Manhattan to grind to a halt.

The damage to the Pentagon was cleared and repaired within a year, and the Pentagon Memorial was built on the site. The rebuilding process has started on the World Trade Center site. In 2006 a new office tower was completed on the site of 7 World Trade Center. The 1 World Trade Center is currently under construction at the site and at 1,776 ft (541 m) upon completion in 2011, will become one of the tallest buildings in North America. Three more towers were originally expected to be built between 2007 and 2012 on the site.


Image & text:wikipedia.com
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Below is a Repost from last year

Today is the [thirteenth] anniversary of the attacks on September 11, 2001. We had a Liquidator (specialist for completion of paper processing) at work named America, and I remember how upset she was when our Port Director waited several hours before sending us home. America stormed out before we got authorization. I think we finally were let go when it was reported that the Transamerica Pyramid was a potential target and was only two blocks away from our building. That apparent paralysis was similar to the response after JFK’s assassination, when my Junior High School principal waited an equally long time before allowing us to leave. I remember how my Dad picked me up in his car when I was half way home. There were no cell phones, of course, so there had been no coordination between us. He just wanted to find me.

On 9/11 Dennis had been called at home not to go into work at Lang’s Estate Jewelry. The first thing he did when I got home from Customs was to go to Sam’s, our Jordanian-American corner grocer at 23rd St and Valencia. Dennis wanted to let Sam know that we didn’t blame all people of Islamic faith. Then Dennis felt compelled to go grocery shopping. He wanted a free-range chicken and fresh produce.

Then of all things, Dennis and I went looking for a new refrigerator. But remember, while Dennis was working full time, we seldom had a day off together except for holidays. He worked Saturdays, and I was busy with church choirs almost all day Sundays. Dennis was diligent to arrange his various medical appointments on his regularly scheduled days off, usually Thursdays. As sick as he was the last few years, he took very little time off work. That’s another reason he was bitterly resentful when he was let go from Lang’s after their robbery on Sutter Street. (That’s quite a story for another time). He probably had a better attendance record than all the other employees!

As it turned out, being let go was a real blessing. It gave us almost three years with the most time we had ever had together. It also allowed Dennis to be in Iowa frequently for his Dad, Walt, and later to settle his Dad’s estate.


As we commemorate the horrible and tragic events of [twelve] years ago --that changed our country forever--it’s curious that one of my memories of that day was the purchase of a new refrigerator. Of course, like the assassination of President Kennedy, 9/11 was an event that people who experienced it will remember for a lifetime-- where they were and what they did.


Friday, August 29, 2014

10 Years ago ~ HEART ATTACK ~ August 29, 2004




Image:dspecial.50webs.com/fire6031.jpg
I suppose if you’re going to have a heart attack, I had mine at an optimal time. I recently read an article about the efficacy of angioplasty and of stents (man-made 'tubes' inserted into a natural passage/conduit in the body to prevent, or counteract, a disease-induced, localized flow constriction). Its conclusion was that preventative stents are of questionable value—that the gold standard for inserting stents needs to be within an hour of a severe heart attack. That qualification fit my scenario to a ‘T.’

Saturday August 28th, 2004 was the wedding of Dan Hutchings & Rachael Lu, musician friends (Dan then of the Schola Cantorum at St. Francis) in the Green Room of the War Memorial Veteran’s building next to the opera house. Dan sang Schubert and Rachael accompanied him on the piano.

Dennis and I went to the ceremony and reception in the same room and sat at the table with Tom Hart from Chanticleer days. He said I looked terrific.

Earlier that day, I had gone to William Stout Architectural Books near work and bought a huge folio of Karl Friedrich Schinkel, the great 19th Century German architect. The book weighs about 80 pounds. I brought it home by taxi, but carried it upstairs and moved it around several times before settling on the floor in front of the Napoleon window in the dining room.

When I later suggested to my cardiologist, Sheryl Garrett, that this might have been the proximate cause of my heart attack the following morning, she agreed. She said it was the first time she had heard of a heart attack caused by a book! More common was somebody lifting a car engine.

On Sunday morning I woke up early, sopping wet. I frequently sweat a lot at night, but this was different. Dennis was still asleep. I decided to take a shower, which was probably not such a hot idea. Then Dennis got up and went down to the garden to read the paper, drink his coffee and have a smoke. I think I had some coffee. I’m sure I had already made a pot for him. Still sweating after my shower, and starting to feel a sharp pain in my back, I called to Dennis in the garden and asked him to make some phone calls for me. To demonstrate my priorities, the first was to John Renke, my organist and choir director at St. Francis, to let him know that I wouldn’t sing at church that morning. Then I asked Dennis to call the advice nurse at Kaiser.

Dennis described my symptoms to the advice nurse. As we were talking to her, my left arm started to go numb. She immediately said to call 911. Dennis offered to drive me to Kaiser, but the nurse insisted he call 911, which of course, he did. Within minutes there were six or seven strapping firemen in the house, hooking me up to all kinds of things and injecting me with whatever is standard procedure. Then they strapped me into a chair and carried me down to their emergency van, which must have been only a few blocks away when they received the call. For some reason they went up Fair Oaks to 20th St and then to Dolores on the way to Kaiser on Geary. I think Dennis was with me in the emergency van.

When we got to Kaiser, I was immediately taken to the emergency room. It turns out that Kaiser’s Cardiac headquarters for Northern California is at that very location. Had I been taken to a different Kaiser facility, I would have been transferred to that one. Within half an hour or so, I had an angioplasty with two stents. One of my main cardiac arteries had been 99% blocked. It was a heart attack waiting to happen.

Most heart attacks occur on Monday mornings about 8:00 am. I guess people are apprehensive about going back to work. I suppose my parallel is that Sundays used to be work days for me, when the Schola Cantorum had regular services every Sunday (until we got fired).

Fortunately, Karl Friedrich Schinkel caused my attack to occur early on a Sunday morning, when the emergency vehicle was close by, there was very light traffic, and when I had the actual heart attack the very moment we were consulting the advice nurse!

Dr. Sheryl Garrett was the doctor on call in the emergency room that day. She was not my surgeon, but heard about my arrival. Dr. Garrett later told me she has had two most memorable experiences among the hundreds of cardiac patients she has treated during her seven years at Kaiser. The first was a seventy-eight year old woman who had cardiac arrest the very instant Dr. Garrett shook her hand. The patient survived, then years later had another heart attack, and was still alive when I heard about her story.

The second memorable experience was seeing Dennis in the lobby outside the emergency room. Dr. Garrett had not yet met me, but had heard of my circumstances. She surveyed the waiting room and noticed Dennis among the group of people there. Immediately she knew who he was. She said his great concern, fear and love was absolutely palpable.

Although I was initially surprised by my heart attack, I really shouldn’t have been. There is significant history of heart disease on both sides of my family. Dad had his first heart attack at thirty-nine when he tried to hold his breath while swimming under water the full length of a pool. Then he had another one a few years later. I remember visiting him in the Harrisburg Hospital when I was three or four years old.


Of course, his dramatic cardiac arrest was in 1977 when he was sixty-eight. That was when Dad collapsed after giving a tight three minute roast of the mayor at the auditorium of the Hershey Medical Center, and Helen screamed and followed Dad in the ambulance –and Mother was left behind because she was trying to stay out of the way of the care givers. Many people thought Helen was Mrs. Bell. Dad’s performance ended the show! Lastly Dad died of a heart attack the day he was supposed to be released from Temple University Hospital in Philadelphia on October 30, 1982, about seven weeks before his 74th birthday. He had been treated for a major stroke the previous June, and was going home to recuperate before a scheduled operation on his other carotid artery.

Dad’s favorite sister Alice died of heart disease in her late fifties. And Mother’s mother, Julia Trump Rich, died of heart failure about age sixty-five.

Recently, of course, was the unexpected death of my first cousin Roswell Brayton, Jr. As his sister Anne said: “He was the golden boy. Nobody expected him to die so young.” He was almost the same age as I when I had my attack – a few months after his 55th birthday. Rozzie was the genuine athlete in the family. He was the star pitcher on his Harvard baseball team and made the Harvard Sports Hall of Fame. I guess he was also a fanatic golfer, as were many others of my Mother’s family. He had a wooden box full of score cards from every golf game he had ever played (over a thousand). It was buried with him in his casket. And since his father had lived until his early eighties, Rozzie had every expectation that he would do likewise. Nevertheless, he evidently had already planned that detail of his funeral.

The irony was, he died doing cardio in the company gym in Woolrich. I suppose the hard decisions he had taken to make Woolrich competitive to survive in the new global economy took its toll. As President and CEO of the family company, he had had to let go almost 80% of the US workforce. I’m convinced it killed him.

I received word [in October 2008] from Dennis’ step-mom Evelyn that his step-sister Jackie’s husband had died of a heart attack. The shame was he wasn’t feeling well and went in for a check-up, but the hospital didn’t do any tests for heart condition and thought instead he was coming down with pneumonia. He went back to work and died a few days later at the farm co-op in Clarence, Iowa.


Dennis had been sick for years, and I had been preparing myself to be a caregiver to him. The amazing thing is I never anticipated that he would be such a marvelous caregiver to me. I’ll always be grateful that I survived to be there for him at his end.

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Today is also the ninth anniversary of Hurricane Katrina! 


Wednesday, August 13, 2014

DENNIS JAMES GRAHAM ~~ August 13, 1950 ~~ April 2, 2006







Dennis James Graham, age 55, died at home on Sunday morning 2 April 2006 surrounded by his partner of more than twenty years, Rob Bell, two of his beloved Cavalier King Charles Spaniels, and several friends.

Dennis, son of Dorothy Freeman Graham and Walter L. Graham, was born 13 August 1950 in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. He attended elementary and high school in Tipton. He studied two years at Muscatine Community College, and later attended the University of Iowa in Iowa City.For more than thirty years Dennis was in Fine Jewelry sales both in Iowa City & in San Francisco, where he moved in 1977. He worked for Ginsberg Jewelers, Sidney Mobell, Gump’s, Neiman-Marcus, Tiffany’s & finally Lang’s Estate Jewelry.

Dennis was a member and active participant at Grace Cathedral in San Francisco. He served on the Congregation Council, Board of Trustees, Fabric Committee, Vocations Committee, was chair of the Stewardship Committee, convener of the Men of Grace, coordinator of the Lay Eucharist Ministry, and co-founder and Prior of the Canterbury Way—a lay Benedictine Community at the Cathedral. In addition he participated for more than fifteen years in the Benedictine Experience week at the Bishop’s Ranch in Healdsburg, California. Dennis was an Oblate of New Camaldoli Monastery at Big Sur, California.

He was a member of the St. Andrew’s Society of San Francisco, the Order of Elks, Cavaliers of the West, and a supporter of Save Venice, Inc.

Dennis Graham was a man of many passions and interests ranging from bicycling, swimming, his Fiat Spyder, cigars, gardening, David Austin roses, garden fauns, carp, gourmet cooking, risotto asparagi, rack of lamb, Peter Rabbit, Scottish country dancing, chess, astronomy, oriental rugs, Cavalier King Charles Spaniels, Nell, India Pudding, progressive politics & economics, Paul Krugman, Molly Ivins, flags, literature, liturgical music, Vivaldi, Handel, J.S. Bach ’Cello Suites, theatre, ballet, & travel—most especially to Venezia – with his beloved Robbie. He lived his life with purpose, zest, humor, & exuberance.

Dennis died of complications from acquired immune deficiency syndrome. He was very grateful to Dr. Walford J. Fessel, his Kaiser physician for more than fifteen years, and to the Kaiser Home Hospice Program. He is survived by his partner Rob Bell, sister Christine Anderson, brother-in-law Larry Anderson of San Antonio, Texas, nephew James T. Anderson, niece Elizabeth Rose Anderson, his step-mother Evelyn Graham of Clarence, Iowa, and numerous step-relations, and Bell family in-laws. A Requiem Eucharist was celebrated at Grace Cathedral on 22 April 2006. Gifts in his memory may be made to Kaiser Hospice, Cavalier Rescue, Grace Cathedral Gardening Fund, or Save Venice, Inc.




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Only after Dennis died, did I figure out the probable origin of his interest in Cavalier King Charles Spaniels, particularly Blenheims. (He had been a member of the Cavalier Club for several years even before owning a dog.) Watching a DVD of the First Churchill’s, I learned that the Battle of Blenheim was fought in 1704 on August 13th – Dennis’ birthday!

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For many centuries, small breeds of spaniels have been popular in the United Kingdom. Some centuries later, Toy Spaniels became popular as pets, especially as pets of the royal family. In fact, the King Charles Spaniel was so named because a Blenheim-coated spaniel was the children's pet in the household of Charles I. Such spaniels can be seen in many paintings of the 16th, 17th and 18th centuries. These early spaniels had longer, pointier snouts and thinner-boned limbs than today's.

Over time, the toy spaniels were replaced in popularity by short-snouted, dome-headed dogs of Asian descent, such as the Pug and Japanese Chin. The King Charles Spaniel was bred with these dogs, resulting in the similar-shaped head of today's English Toy Spaniel breed. The King Charles Spaniel remained popular at Blenheim Palace, home to the Dukes of Marlborough, where the brown and white version was the most popular - resulting in the name Blenheim for that colour combination.

In the 1920s, an American named Roswell Eldridge offered twenty-five pounds as a prize for any King Charles Spaniel "of the old-fashioned type" with a longer nose, flat skull, and a lozenge (spot) in the middle of the crown of the head, sometimes called "the kiss of Buddha," "Blenheim Spot," "lozenge" or "Kissing Spot". So, the breed was developed by selective breeding of short-snouted Spaniels. The result was a dog that resembled the boyhood pet of Charles II of England ("Cavalier King Charles"), hence the name of the breed.

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Images & Text:wikipedia.com
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Today is also the birthday of Sylvie Prost Bell, my nephew Sheridan's wife. It is so wonderful to have her as part of the family! Sylvie and Sheridan brought me my new Blenheim puppy, Renzo, two years ago last June. Sheridan said it was good that they brought him when they did, because after having Renzo several days at their apartment in New York City, Sylvie wasn't sure she wanted to part with him. They now have a four story brick and brownstone townhouse in Jersey City, New Jersey. Sheridan brought Renzo's beautiful Blenheim mom, Bette, last December.





Joyeux anniversaire, Sylvie!

Titian in the Frari (Venezia)