Thanks to the the folks at the Newton Seniors Centre Computer Club for your warm reception last month. Thanks again to June and Alan for inviting me and to Norm and others for helping with the set up!

Only one reply to February’s request for feedback on social networking. In case you missed them, the two questions, briefly, were: 1. Do you use social networking (Facebook and/or Twitter, for example), and if so, how? 2. Is social networking changing the way society interacts, or is society changing such that social networking is required?

Keith W-B wrote to say: “Here’s our cynical, jaundiced view: we have not got into any of that (although we are fairly techno-savvy) for three main reasons: 1. we can’t cope with any more gadgets or technology in our lives, and we’d prefer to avoid any costs involved; 2. we frankly don’t trust them – with some justification, it seems.  We are afraid of data-mining by the companies or agents or hackers. 3. we don’t approve of some of the uses that the media is put to so would rather not be associated with it. We realise that this concern is true of the internet, but we really don’t have a choice in that now…. Keep up the good work.”

There is an abundance of evidence of a growing disparity among generational groups in our use of hi-tech communication. The Pew Institute, Feb. 3, issued an online report, Generations and their gadgets “…based on a daily tracking survey on Americans’ use of the Internet…. on data from telephone interviews conducted by Princeton Survey Research Associates International between August 9 and September 13, 2010, among a sample of 3,001 adults, age 18 and older. ”

The “generations” Pew identifies are the Millennials (born 1977-1993); Generation X (b. 1965-1976); Younger Boomers (1955-1964); Older Boomers (1946-54); the Silent Generation (1937-1945) and the G.I. Generation (born before 1937). I’ll leave it to you to decide if these divisions are appropriate and useful.

The Pew document claims that: “Cell phones are by far the most popular device among American adults. Some 85% of adults own [them], and 90% of all adults-including 62% of those age 75 and older-live in a household with at least one working cell phone. Desktop computers are most popular with adults ages 35-65, and Millennials are the only generation that is more likely to own a laptop computer or netbook than a desktop: 70% own a laptop, compared with 57% who own a desktop. Almost half of all adults own an iPod or other mp3 player, but these are still most popular with Millennials-74% of adults ages 18-34 own an mp3 player, compared with only 56% of the next oldest generation, Gen X (ages 35-46). Game consoles are uniformly popular with all adults ages 18-46, 63% of whom own these devices. Overall, 5% of adults own an e-book reader, and 4% own an iPad or other tablet computer. Additionally, about 9% of_ adults do not own any of the devices we asked about, including 43% of adults age 75 and older.”

Around the same time, the Canadian Society for Exercise Physiology announced new fitness guidelines for Canadians “based on four years of research analysis by dozens of fitness experts and physiologists” that “ease some of the pressure on Canadians” by no longer call[ing] for daily activity of 60 minutes a day but instead recommend[ing] that adults get at least 150 minutes of moderate to vigorous-intensity aerobic physical activity per week. That exercise can come in small bouts, of 10 minutes or more.”

“Older adults – now defined as those over the age of 65 — are also urged to aim for at least 150 minutes of moderate to vigorous-intensity aerobic physical activity per week rather than the previous recommendation of 30 to 60 minutes of moderate physical activity on most days.” According to a CTV report, “many reacted with anger to [the guidelines], saying that calling for less daily exercise from Canadians would send the wrong message.

Don’t you think there is a connection between the increase in our use of hi-tech communication that ties us to our machines–and our decreasing level of fitness, especially among those most embracing the h-tc? Obesity is endemic among our oldest and youngest generations. If anyone can lead the way in promoting healthier lifestyles, it may be those of us dubbed “seniors.”

In April, more on the divides, and where we’re headed!

 

By Dan Propp

Back in the 1950’s, we would listen to Doris Day sing, “Sugar in the mornin’, sugar in the evenin’..  Then in the 1960’s, it was Jackie Gleason and, “How sweet it is!” How can we survive without sugar?  It’s a slice man, I mean take a piece of white bread and even it turns into sugar, extending our bellies.

We could never have digested such concepts back in the dinosaur age when three jawbreakers were a penny and the only lottery in life was playing the illegal Irish Sweepstakes. Could we ever have conceived the possibility that someday government would depend upon lottery revenues? Sugar is an excellent preservative in cereals and most other yummy goodies.  It is an ingredient that increasingly provides more ‘zing’ for today’s rapidly moving lifestyle and extends the shelf life of a product.  Human ‘shelf life’, however, is another cup of tea.

Do you remember as a kid going shopping with your mom and drooling at all those cereal boxes with pictures of cowboy stars and all the great stuff that snapped, crackled and popped? Today we have stepped down from our high horses and are hopping along the happy trails to the pharmacies due to high levels of sugar and salt.

Salt is the other big preservative  equally ‘in–salting’,  A fun and delicious experiment is to visit many a mall’s food court and popular restaurants and Inquire about salt content in their popular food items.  I did.   Wow, this was a revelation!  I couldn’t find even a cup of soup that did not have a lot of salt. For someone on high blood pressure pills (seniors are popping them like lifesavers),  it struck a minor chord for this old accordion player. I’m thinking about working on a song called the ‘Sodium And Sugar Blues’. I am not sure about whether the music industry would swallow that pill.  How about a non-profit blog called ‘In–salt.’ Who knows, maybe both could be noteworthy and at least preserve a bit of laughter.

Visit www.danpropp.com for recorded song, radio interview and Arthur Propp’s memoir’s of Kristallnacht

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Kitchen Window

By Mildred McDonald

Once upon a time in the nostalgic days of yore, I had of necessity become a ‘Jill of all trades’ on a farm near the town of Drumheller, Alberta. It had been in the late fall of the mid 1940’s that I had gathered together my three small sons one morning, and abandoned the two-roomed shack where we had resided a week or two with the Son of a Pioneer (SOP), my nomadic husband.

Several days earlier, an observant (and concerned) uncle, who had kept a wary eye out for me from afar, had appeared at my door to offer an option to the predicament into which I had slipped. He had explained that a long-time friend of his was in need of a housekeeper for his workaday farm, and suggested I consider taking advantage of the opportunity for a change of lifestyle.

The very idea of such a monstrous challenge momentarily overwhelmed me, but in my heart I realized that a move was the only possible prospect of survival available for my small dependents and myself. A plan was hastily set into motion, and in a short space of time we had been transported into a seemingly different world.

In our new environment I had quickly became accustomed to numerous new chores and schedules. Verne Dresser, my new employer, proved to be a fine fatherly figure and had accepted  me as I was – small boys and all. There we had found refuge in a rambling, comfortable old farmhouse, plenty of food for the table – and an eccentric gasoline-powered Maytag washing machine for laundering the long lines of bedding and work clothes for numerous children and hired men.

I thought I had been busy during the spring and summer months with the preparation of meals, lunches, gardening, mending and child rearing, but they did not compare with the long days and evenings at harvest time. I recall one night when I had waited up until eleven   o’clock for the last grain-hauler to return from the field for his bedtime snack. He had confessed to falling asleep in his truck, and having an hour’s snooze. It had been a very long day for us all.

One fall day a letter had arrived from my mother, saying she would like to come to the farm for a visit and I thought that a capital idea. In due time she had arrived and was greeted with great enthusiasm. She had settled right into the work routine and lent a capable hand at every turn; so much so that I began to feel that I was having a holiday.

Then one morning at breakfast, Verne Dresser had announced that it was time to move the cattle to winter pasture, eight or ten miles from where they had spent the summer months. How I wanted to go along on that ride! I asked my mother if she would ride herd on my offspring and manage supper that day. She would. Verne was glad to have an extra rider as well, and said he would throw a saddle on Sadie, the short-coupled bay mare that had been lazing around the barn all summer. I was not at all anxious to board the little critter, as I’d ridden her once or twice for short distances and found that she had but one gait: no pacing or single-footing  – just a bone racking, jolting stride.

The ponies were soon loaded onto the truck, and we had headed out over the prairie landscape to our destination. I was handed the reins of my mount, and as I’d climbed aboard, it was instantly obvious to me that the stirrups were two or three inches beyond my reach except when I stretched and stood on tip toe. (Ah, ha! Ray had been using this saddle again). By that time the men had all galloped off to scout the coulees and locate the scattered herd, and no one had given a thought to check the stirrups on my saddle. There being no alternative to the dilemma, I had set the nag in motion and crow-hopped off in hot pursuit of the other riders.

For several hours the sweating, whooping cow-punchers had sped up hill and down dale, flushing fat, lazy bovines from shady retreats among hidden draws and hollows. Sadie jounced along, shying at shadows, vaulting over rocks and skirting gopher holes with finesse, and with every step my muscles were shrieking in misery at the unaccustomed jarring of my anatomy.

By the time the herd with their calves had been routed out of coulees and brush patches, and driven out onto the road allowance for the drive towards home pasture, the saddle horses had settled to a steady walk, all except Sadie. She seemed not to understand the meaning of ‘walk’, but had persisted in jog-trotting every step of the long road home. Near supper time   we had rounded the last bend and reached the end of our trek. My entire body seemed so battered and bruised by that time I could scarcely dismount. Some thoughtful person had relieved me of the pony, and I had gingerly and very painfully hobbled up the farmhouse steps, to be greeted by three exuberant little boys.

Thankfully, my mother had a splendid supper of ham and hot biscuits on the table, ready for the return of the weary cowboys. However, I could scarcely enjoy the meal, as my total being had been wracked with major throes of agony as I took my place at the table; but was in worse pain when I attempted to rise when the meal was finished.

For several days following the adventure with that terrible horse and the misfitted stirrups, I had shuffled about the kitchen in dire distress, but by the time my mother was ready to return to the Okanagan, I had been fit enough to again function on my own.

Never again have I had any hankering for another trail ride.

 

By Weir Muir

A glimpse of a Nanaimo Saturday night in the mid thirties

In the early thirties, families in Nanaimo went downtown on Saturday nights. This was an event for everyone!
Stores kept open till 9:00 or later. Most homes had a male member who emerged black-faced from the pits during the week, but on Saturday night, dressed in his best he accompanied wife and kids downtown. Now he may not always have been enthusiastic about this, but the little woman was, and harmony in the family is what kept the lunch buckets filled with tender morsels to keep body and soul alive after her man’s descent down the mine-shaft each day at the Western Fuel Company’s Number One mine.
It all seemed to be planned for a ‘leave home’ time of 7:00P.M. that placed us on Commercial Street by 7:30. Southenders approached the downtown via Victoria Crescent with the firehall a first point of interest. Kids of course needed to see the fire trucks through the windows, maybe even Chief Parkin in his fancy uniform.
The model steamship in its resplendent glass case came in for much ‘ooing and awing’. Then it was on for the business at hand. You see the wives were straining at the bit to reach the drygoods stores in the hope of picking up a bargain in the bolt-end remnants department. W.H. Anderson’s was a first stop, where Mrs. Anderson and Miss McCuish knew exactly what would interest each lady. A later stop at Whittingham’s DryGoods enabled a comparison and perhaps a decision to be made. The men meanwhile cooled their heels outside the stores. They had no interest in bolt-ends, body-form corsets or pink bloomers. At least that’s what they said.
The sports/hardware stores were the mens’ domain and places like Ray Colclough’s(later to become Ernie Johnstone’s) were a sure bet. Wilf Nash’s Sportsman’s Paradise was another, especially if Jiggs Gannon was working, for everyone knew he knew all there was to know about fishing, hunting and boats.
At about this time the Salvation Army Band surged forth from the Citadel , marching up Commercial Street with a vigorous rendition of Onward Christian Soldiers, stopping at various corners where seemingly the most sinners congregated, awaiting redemption. I can remember my school friend Doug Cooper (son of the Salvation Army’s Major Cooper) playing stirring gospel songs on his trumpet, and many others such as Cyril Dennison who could blaze out a wonderfully appealing, “What A Friend We Have In Jesus’. Too bad, the song Amazing Grace hadn’t been written by then, it would have sounded magnificent pealing out from the corner. Sad it is to recall the Major’s son Doug perished in the skies over Europe a few years later in WW2.
Often we would just pause and listen to the corner recital, though I seem to remember that when the band struck up “Will Your Anchor Hold?” many of us drifted away up the street. Let’s hope that all our ‘anchors’ held in the storms of life that were to follow. My hat’s off to the Army’s men and women who had the courage to enter the pubs in town (a dozen or so)to seek donations for their collection box.
The populace enjoyed the opportunity to meet and ‘chew the fat’-with friends and acquaintances, for after all, life wasn’t exactly a bowl of cherries in those days prior to the war.
Families entered Fletcher’s Music Store to gawk at the new pianos. Ernie Good’s Furniture was always a must to view the chesterfields, kitchen sets, and mahogany beds we never had. Ernie was always ebullient, sometimes well fortified in his good humour. He had a great sales approach that everyone enjoyed-and such a hearty laugh. Everyone enjoyed his banter, especially my mother who was always willing to forgive any of his fortified humour. Woolworth’s fifteen cent store was every kid’s delight, and Lily Campbell and others waited to receive any of our loose change, if we had any to squander. Other wise fond looks at toy cars were all we could muster up.
Charlie Dakin’s Old Country clothing and drygoods was an interesting stop, especially for we kids who just had to see Mr. Dakin’s long black waxed moustache.
It stuck out like a tabby cat’s whiskers. Wow! I can see it now. No Saturday night was complete without a stop at Mackenzie’s candy store and once in a while that special treat of going into the ice cream parlour section with its wire chairs for an ice cream sundae, boy that was really living!
After that it was all downhill, or should I say up-hill, for us facing the Victoria Road hill on our way home. A last treat was the army band marching home to the rhythmic thump of the big drum. They had spread the words of salvation and now were too pooped to play, I reckoned.
We too were somewhat pooped and all that remained was to walk home, check under the mat at the font door to find the house key safe and sound. Didn’t take long to put on the old P.J.’s and jump into bed.
Another great Saturday night in Nanaimo – REMEMBER?

Article & photos by Lenora A. Hayman
The Willamette Valley, Oregon’s wine country, is one of Oregon’s major wine growing regions.
The Black Walnut Inn and Vineyard, in Dundee, Yamhill County, Oregon, is owned by Karen, Neal and son Kris Utz, and is a one hour,72kms(45miles) drive from Portland and within a 20 minute drive to over 100 wineries and other sites. This upscale, beautiful bed and breakfast, 9 suite Tuscan style inn has a spectacular view over their 13-acre pinot noir vineyard After a stroll through the vineyard, Karol Kirby, the hotelier, arranged a catered Farm to Fork luncheon, with a salad tossed in a poppy seed and hazel nut dressing, crusty bread roll sandwiches accompanied with an olive and radish tapenade, local Hotlips apple soda made exclusively from Pacific Northwest apples, organic lemon juice sweetened with cane sugar and ’07 Black Walnut Single Vintage Pinot Noir.
Fortified, we drove 64kms(40miles) south of Portland, to McMinnville, and the Evergreen Aviation and Space Museum and the Captain Michael King Smith Educational Institute, which is dedicated in memory of the museum founder, Capt. Michael King Smith, who was killed in 1995 in an auto accident and was also the son of Evergreen International Aviation’s founder, Delford M. Smith.
Of the 70 aircrafts on display, the main attraction is the Howard Hughes H4 Hercules Spruce Goose brought in 1992 from Long Beach, California. Due to wartime restrictions on aluminium, it was built with wood and nicknamed Spruce Goose, although the wood was birch not spruce. This Hercules is the most, colossal, flying boat ever constructed with the largest wingspan of any aircraft in the world. On Nov. 2nd, 1947 Howard Hughes only flew this heavy transport flying boat once. Apparently it was airborne at a speed of 217 km/hr (135 mph) at only 21 metres (70 ft) above the sea for just 1.6km (1 mile).
Also on display was a replica of Orville and Wilbur Wright’s plane, Chiang Kai-shek’s plane sprouting red and white teeth on its nose and the Messerschmitt Bf109, a German WW11 fighter aircraft which was the most produced fighter aircraft in history but now only a few of the 33,984 planes remain.

Next stop was the French Prairie Gardens, 17673 French Prairie Rd. St. Paul in the Willamette Valley, owned by Farmer John, Farmer Eric and Grandma Karren Pohlschneider. It was harvest season and while eating honey crisp apples and huge chocolate chip cookies from their farmers’ market, families were introduced to farm life, riding on tractor-trailers piled high with haystacks or cheering at the pigtucky derby watching the races of Duroc brown and Yorkshire white pigs.
There is no sales tax in Oregon. In need of a little retail therapy, we therefore drove a further 8kms (5 miles), to dash through some of the 95 shops at the Woodburn Company Stores, the largest tax-free outlet centre in the west. If driving south from Portland, the Woodburn Company Stores are located off 1-5 just 25 minutes away. Their glass- covered walkways in the Northwest architecture showcase Calvin Klein, Eddie Bauer, Levi’s etc
I was pleased with the recommendation for our evening meal at M & S Grill (McCormick & Schmick’s Grill), located at Bridgeport Village in Tigard. Photos of crayfish and other sea creatures hugged the walls and beautiful lampshades created subdued lighting as we dined on moist crab and shrimp cakes with orange fennel and watercress salad, excellent Dungeness crab bisque with a tawny port reduction and a cedar roasted steelhead salmon, a species of salmon native to the Pacific region. Landlocked steelheads are known as rainbow trout while the term steelhead is used for those that live in the ocean. Both rainbow and steelhead trout of course return to where they originally hatched in order to spawn. Janet, our waitress, suggested a bottle of King Estate Signature Pinot Gris for the table, whose grapefruit, green apple and lime notes paired well with the seafood.

Our bed for the night in the Holiday Inn-Express, Portland South, located off 1-5, close to downtown Portland, offered a complimentary hot breakfast with porridge and hot cakes.
Portland has the most bicycles in the country and there is less road rage in the city. We cycled the gentle 3½ hr. Saturday 5 mile Bites by Bike tour owned by Todd Roll of Pedal Bike Tours, visiting stores with their artisan products. Scott Klees, our guide, took us to the World Cup Roasters for Café Rio coffee, cheese and charcuterie at Elephant’s Delicatessen, the Two Tarts Bakery for a New Zealand Anzac cookie, Felchin Grand Cru hot chocolate at Cacao Drink Chocolate and the Farmers Market at Portland State University for venison pate and lavender blueberry jam.
At the 7th Annual Giant West Coast Pumpkin Regatta, we saw 600 pound pumpkin “boats” racing on the Lake at the Tualatin Commons. Entertainment included children meeting Lori and Shannon Gregory’s Mountain Peaks Therapy Llamas, Roja and Smokey, live music by Back Porch Revivals, a costume contest and pumpkin golf.

At night, I futilely attempted to bowl a few calories off at the New Big Al’s Beaverton, Bowling, Sports Bar and Arcade Mega-plex!
I do like the selling point of hotels offering not only a complimentary buffet breakfast, but also free overnight parking. The Marriott Fairfield Inn and Suites, Portland South, Lake Oswego, certainly fit that bill.
Our final morning culminated with a tour of the winemaking process in the Ponzi wine cellars, followed by a harvest luncheon of smoked chicken, roasted acorn squash, seared duck breast with lemon-blueberry compote and arugula, apple galette with brown butter ice-cream and house-made caramel brittle with almonds and chocolate. All paired, thanks to Winery Chef Gavin Ledson and Winemaker Luisa Ponzi, with 2007 Ponzi Chardonnay Reserve and 2008 Ponzi Pinot Noir.
Photos all by Lenora Hayman

 

By Ursula Maxwell-Lewis

When Bob Mackay retired he traded drafting legal briefs for crafting books.  Soldier of the Horse, Mackay’s first fiction novel, arrived on his desk last  week.

The tale of  passion, war, camaraderie, bravery and history takes readers  from love and legal wranglings in Manitoba to a young soldier’s Great War  survival in France with the famous WW1 Canadian cavalry regiment, Lord  Strathcona’s Horse.     Based on the life of his dad, Tom Mackay, Bob not only dedicated years to  researching the era, the cavalry and the art of writing, but made a  pilgrimage with his wife, Pat, to France in 2008 for the 90th anniversary of  the Battle of Moreuil Wood, where the Straths and their horses launched one  of history’s last great cavalry charges on March 30, 1918.     Weaving emotions generated by wind, rain and memories of scars (physical and  emotional) left with his father and those who survived, Mackay ably  translates his impressions into a period tale which returns the reader to a  by-gone era.

No GPS, digital strategy, or satellite tracking, but simply the shock and  awe of men, horses and brutal, unforgiving steel facing enemies and natural  elements in the name of freedom, king and country.     Mackay, a former rancher, teacher, submariner and lawyer, has plenty of  material for his writing career.     As president of the Vancouver branch of the Canadian Authors’ Association  and a long time member of the Surrey RainWriter’s group, his advice to new  writers is: “Just write. Every day. I must have written more than 350,000  words which have been condensed into 86,000 words for the novel.”

Beginning with a very rough draft, regular writing kept the flow going. “The  fun job was revising,” recalls Mackay, who admits seeing the first draft was  exciting as was finally holding the finished work published by Touch Wood  Editions, a publishing house focusing on stories about Canada’s West.     Confessing that he may dust off a long buried manuscript involving a lawyer  tangling with terrorists, Mackay is content to leave his years of law behind  him. Currently on his agenda are drafts of a Korean War and submarine  stories.

A book launch and signing for Soldier of the Horse will take place at the  Royal Canadian Legion Branch 6 (Cloverdale) on Wednesday, March 2 at 7 p.m.

The public is welcome to stop in and chat with Cloverdale’s newest author  and retired lawyer Robert Mackay.

– Ursula Maxwell-Lewis is a travel journalist, photographer and editor. She  can be reached at utravel@shaw.ca

First, thanks to Wally for including all 1048 words of January’s column. Second, apologies to those who needed a magnifying glass to read it. And third, thanks to Pauline and Keith W-B who emailed: “Thank you for your very positive and encouraging article about the young people. Nice to read that. As teachers, we saw many fine young folks in many countries.”
I appreciate any feedback readers have to offer. This month I’m seeking email responses on a couple of questions:
1. Do you use social networking (Facebook and/or Twitter, for example), and if so, how? Are you mainly an observer of a family member’s Facebook page, do you contribute to others’ Walls, and/or do you maintain an active Facebook page yourself? I think it would be interesting to know, too, whether you’re in your 50s, 60s, 70s, or older.
2. Do you see any effects one way or another among your children and grandchildren who are active social networkers? Perhaps the broader question should be “Is social networking changing the way society interacts, or is society changing such that social networking is required?”
Last June, Bloomberg Businessweek, in an article entitled “Albert Einstein Never Tweeted” discussed Nicholas Carr’s The Shallows: What the Internet is Doing to Our Brains. To find the article online, google “fostering stupidity.” Also look up Jonah Lehrer’s New York Times review, “Our Cluttered Minds” .
Carr’s thesis is that “our constant inundation with electronic stimuli is changing the brain’s wiring.” And not for the better. We are “training our brains to pay attention to crap.” The Internet is largely about distraction and “the more distracted we become, the less able we are to experience the subtlest, most distinctly human forms of empathy, compassion, and emotion.”
Carr’s assessment provokes divided opinion. Unsure how seriously to take Carr’s warning, Lehrer points out that anxiety about the impact of technology on our minds has existed since the days of Socrates who “lamented the invention of books…. In the 17th century, Robert Burton complained, in The Anatomy of Melancholy, of the ‘vast chaos and confusion of books’ that make the eyes and fingers ache. By 1890, the problem was the speed of transmission: one eminent physician blamed ‘the pelting of telegrams’ for triggering an outbreak of mental illness. And then came radio and television, which poisoned the mind with passive pleasure. Children, it was said, had stopped reading books. Socrates would be pleased.”
While Peter Burrows in Businessweek also gives considerable space to critics who pooh-pooh Shadows’ apprehension, he appreciates Carr’s asking the question. Will the Internet actually cause the brain to take its first step backward in centuries? “Our cave-dwelling ancestors were consumed with immediate concerns-run from the lion, kill the mastodon, get out of the rain. Then various media provided an abstract way of thinking about the world. The map helped us explore other lands, establish trading routes, and draw up battle plans. The clock and calendar raised our productivity by enabling us to organize our time. Then came writing. Over time, especially after Gutenberg, the book turbocharged our ability to think conceptually and deeply about the world around us.”
“Americans now spend 8.5 hours a day frenetically interacting with their PCs, TVs, or, increasingly, the smartphones that follow them everywhere. In the process, writes Carr, we are reverting to our roots as data processors. ‘What we’re experiencing is, in a metaphorical sense, a reversal of the early trajectory of civilization: We are evolving from being cultivators of personal knowledge to being hunters and gatherers in the electronic data forest.'”
Do some research, and let me know your thoughts-preferably before the middle of this month. In March we’ll examine how communications technology is also affecting our physical well being.
Thanks to reader June F, I’ll be speaking to members of the Newton Seniors Centre on the afternoon of February 21. I’m looking forward to meeting more of you there!

Once the traditional playground for Hawaiian royalty, Waikiki continues to provide a range of island entertainment. So we readily and enthusiastically embrace Polynesian shows as part of our beach activities.

It’s a short walk from our condo to Kapiolani Park, where free concerts occur at a bandstand surrounded by gigantic century-old monkey pod trees. Every Sunday afternoon, the Royal Hawaiian Band performs; in July, a series of shows feature top Hawaiian uke entertainers, part of an ensemble of the world’s finest ukulele players.

An August festival celebrates traditional island dance with Queen Liliuokalani Keiki Hula Competition and Hawaii’s best slack-key guitarists performing all over Oahu. From mid-September to October, the Aloha Festivals present an array of activities, including parades and street parties.

Waikiki’s nightlife jumps with energy along its main drive. Several free performances occur along the beach at sunset. On an evening stroll, we attend one of these events in the garden of the Royal Hawaiian Hotel. On Mondays, this famous pink beach hotel holds its big luau. Some consider it the best on Oahu. Across the street, Jimmy Buffett, taking over Don Ho’s famous venue, plays at the Beachcomber Hotel. Jimmy sings distinctive favorites with his Coral Reefer Band, which now includes several talented locals. However, an extraordinary Hawaiian production awaits us next door.

The Magic of Polynesia is amazing! Sights and sounds of Polynesia surround us as a cast of twenty performers impart extraordinary mystery and power through rituals, chants and dance. A volcano erupts right on stage. When renowned illusionist John Hirokawa dramatically arrives, he waves his wand: objects appear and disappear; people vanish and suddenly reappear somewhere else entirely! Interspersed with knife and fire dances, John smiles, waves his wand again: a shiny sports car appears! Placed in what seems like inescapable traps, this magical master and Hawaiian cohorts escape and transform. Astounding pyrotechnics and lasers add to the total wonderment! John grins again, taps his wand and now a helicopter appears! Some objects evolve into something wondrously new. Casting spells, John’s assistant floats, a table takes flight and opening a box, a butterfly flutters upward and mysteriously dissolves…

The biggest luau show takes place at the Polynesian Cultural Center on Oahu’s north shore. Arriving by chartered bus, we immediately experience warm island hospitality in huts, meeting houses and amid grassy commons of six replicated villages. While others stick on tattoos, weave baskets and throw spears, we go native: playing Fijian rhythm instruments, joining an exuberant Maori Haka ceremony and sampling Tahitian soda bread. We also watch Hawaiian hulas, vigorous Tahitian huras, Tongan drumming techniques and comedic Samoans gathering and husking coconuts.

Emerging from these edifying entertainments spread over 42 lush acres, all gather to behold Rainbows of Paradise, an outrigger parade that winds along the picturesque waterway. Our own restful canoe ride retraces the route of this musical extravaganza. Disembarking, we enjoy a cultural overview of the Polynesian islands in the IMAX Theater. Wedding customs shown in this engaging production prepare us for that evening’s performance.

The center’s lu’au proves fit for a King! Beginning with a reenactment of royal court pageantry, we feast on poi, mahi mahi, pineapple, purple sweet potatoes and coconut pudding before heading for ‘Ha, Breath of Life.’ This new theatrical spectacle provides an action-packed journey through Polynesia in an elaborate series of haunting, flamboyant and fiery dances. In island fashion, it’s also a saga showing the main character developing into manhood, meeting the perfect mate, wooing this lovely wahine, marrying and beginning a new family.

Oahu’s lilting melodies, enchanting dances and magical moments live on in our hearts.

 

　

 

 

I joined a group of 20 at the Prazky Kulinarsky Institut(Prague Culinary Institute) where Co-owner Roman Vanek, Chefs Vaclav Fric, David Izak and Apprentice Barbara Simunkova taught us how to cook with wine and plum brandy, and sometimes, we did put it in the food! The Prague Culinary Institute, began in 2008, and offers a huge range of courses for the general public, professionals and personal chefs for diplomats etc.

We created a crème soup with a lost egg. After cracking an egg, it was dropped into potato vinegar causing the white to surround the yolk which was then lightly boiled and dropped into cold water to stop further cooking. The yolk was nicely lost inside its white cover. On gently cutting the egg on top of the soup, the yellow yolk drizzled over the soup. We also helped to prepare sirloin of beef with Karlsbad dumplings and roasted duck with red cabbage and potato dumplings. Dumplings in all their varieties are popular. The food is not light but rich with cream and delicious.

The following morning, 6 friends and I, headed for Michal Nikodem’s Ola Kala Culinary School. Martin Schwarz, the sommelier, paired our wines. Chef Radek Kasparak guided us in the cooking of a moist pheasant with fresh nettle and shallot gravy and Valentina Dzombakova spoiled us by constantly washing our utensils. We stuffed plums with chocolate mousse and made a sweet dumpling to accompany our personally churned poppy seed ice-cream topped with Slivovice plum brandy sauce.

Now that I had proved to my friends, that I could cook as well as eat, I took a 2 day tour south to Moravia. Traveling, on the SuperCity Pendolino train, 250 kms from Prague, took only 2 hours, to begin our walking-tour of Olomouc, the cultural capital of Moravia, on the confluence of the Moravia and Bystrice rivers. Olomouc is the home of the Palacky University.

The Neo-Gothic St. Wenceslas (Vaclava) Cathedral on Wenceslas Square has the 2nd highest church tower in the Czech Republic. Next door is the Presbytery where in 1767 Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791) lived, after fleeing Vienna, due to a small pox epidemic

A plaque honours Mozart, who as an 11 year old in Olomouc composed the 6th symphony in F Major!

In 2001, the 35 metre high Baroque Holy Trinity Column (1716-1754), in the main square, became a UNESCO World Heritage site and was completed, 20 years after its local architect/stonemason and sponsor Vaclav Render died. The Archangel Michael with sword and shield, the dove representing the Holy Spirit and God the Father and Christ with a cross sitting on a globe, grace the pinnacle of the column.

The Astronomical Clock on the Olomouc town hall dates back to the 15th century. During the years of communism, it was updated with a dial display of the birthdays of Lenin and Stalin. An astronomical clock displays not only the hour and minutes, but the day of the week, month and phase of the moon and stars, the 4 seasons and signs of the zodiac. The communist vacations are highlighted in red, including in 1953, the deaths of Stalin and 2 weeks later Klement Gottwala the first Communist President of Czechoslovakia.

The Arion Fountain (2002) in the upper square depicts the story of a Greek poet being saved by a dolphin from drowning. It completes the set of 7 Olomouc Baroque fountains.

Our lunch, of cabbage soup and pork with rosehip sauce and apple dumpling was on the main square at the Moravska restaurant, beautifully decorated with dried flowers and painted vases.

Forty-five kms S.E. of Olomouc is Kromeriz and the Kromeriz Archiepiscopal Chateau and Kromeriz Gardens, listed since 1998, as UNESCO World Natural and Cultural Heritage sites.

The Kromeriz Chateau, built in 1110, was from 1646-1947, the summer home of the Olomouc bishops. Photos are prohibited inside the archiepiscopal castle on whose walls hang breathtaking European 15-18th century paintings by Tizian, Jan Breughel etc. The film Amadeus had a scene in the room with 22 chandeliers.

The Kromeriz Gardens, encompass 64 hectares, and include 3 lakes, a pendulum in the octagonal rotunda with lovely murals, Pompeian and Colloredo Colonnades lined with Greek statues and magnificent, sculptured, baroque, flower gardens.

I spent a wonderful and interesting night in the Kromeriz Octarna Hotel and Restaurant. Formerly a Franciscan Monastery, the rooms are luxuriously furnished without loosing their former ambiance. The monks would have loved the modern, heated swimming pool, sauna and spa treatments. Their historical Max Svabinsky hall with warm, red furnishings and portraits of monks looking benevolently over us was the setting for the gala evening featuring local food paired with Moravian wine, served by Restaurant Manager Vladimir Valouch and his knowledgeable staff. The Marecek Dulcimer group entertained us while dining on smoked beef tongue with horseradish sauce and grilled caraway bread, beef broth with liver dumplings, and pork accompanied with Znovin Znojmo wines. Their sauvignon blancs are reminiscent of those in New Zealand with peach, grass and nettle overtones. The sweet, late harvest Palava, a crossbreed of Muller-Thurgau and spicy Traminer is intensely aromatic with hints of grapefruit and lemon.

The next morning we visited the Olomoucke Tvarusky museum in Lostice to learn how the founder Alois Wessels, in 1876, made genuine Olomouc cakes of cheese. They are semi-soft, without fat, in 6 different shapes and “prepared according to the 120 recipes in the Cookery Book of Unusual Scent”! Great cheeses! No wonder their store was crowded!

When you go: Czech Tourism Website. www.czechtourism.com