Susanne Leist's Blog, page 7
February 13, 2023
(via TRANQUILITY) Tranquility I seekIn the water so deep.The...
(via TRANQUILITY)
Tranquility I seek
In the water so deep.
The moonlight’s glow,
The wave’s salty flow,
Even the whale’s blow,
Bring me to a special place,
As soothing as a lover’s embrace.
Cold fingers hold me aloft
In a bed so watery and soft.
January 9, 2023
(via RRBC 30-DAY BLOGGING CHALLENGE - DAY 8) I am dedicating...
(via RRBC 30-DAY BLOGGING CHALLENGE - DAY 8)
I am dedicating today’s article to Tony Vaccaro, the famous photographer. The first picture is Tony in 1945, holding his beloved camera.
This week, I learned that the famous photographer Tony Vaccaro died at 100. A sad day for the world. He had photographed my brother in 1981, the year of my brother’s car accident, and two years before my brother passed.
Tony took photos of Presidents Kennedy, Obama, and Nixon. Famous stars like Sophia Lauren. Artists like Picasso and Georgia O’Keefe. And my brother, Neil Leist. Neil had just become the CEO and President of American Bakeries. He made his fortune in the commodities markets and was on his way to the top. The accident ended his dreams and mine.
“Michelantonio Celestino Onofrio Vaccaro was an American photographer who is best known for his photos taken in Europe during 1944 and 1945, and in Germany immediately following World War II. He subsequently became a fashion and lifestyle photographer for American magazines.” Wikipedia
Born: 1922, Greensburg, PA
Died: December 28, 2022
Parents: Giuseppe Antonio Vaccaro
Awards: World Press Photo Award for Arts and Entertainment
The day I met Tony Vacarro, and his family was one of the best days my husband and I spent together. How did I get to meet this extraordinary person? My blog on WordPress opened this door for me. A few years ago, I wrote an article about my brother and how he was my hero and the one I cherished most, and Tony Vaccaro’s daughter-in-law found it online. Maria Vaccaro emailed me and offered me the chance to meet her father-in-law and see the pictures he had taken of my brother. Tony Vaccaro had opened his archives for the first time to the public. His family sorted through the photos and contacted people if they wanted to purchase their images. I cannot describe how excited I was to meet someone who knew my brother and had also photographed him.
On a Sunday, we drove to Long Island City, where Tony lived with his son Frank, his wife, Maria, and their two young children. We walked up the steps to Tony’s apartment, where his massive archive of photographs was stored in the front room. Maria introduced us to Tony, a small, skinny man who appeared frail. But what I noticed first about him was the intelligence in his eyes. He was excited to meet us and showed us his famous framed photographs hanging on the walls. Tony spoke about his life and the famous people he photographed.
Maria found my brother’s black and white pictures, and I felt the room spinning. Neil was smiling in each image. The photos brought back memories. I told Tony that my brother was in a car accident a few months after he had taken his picture. Tony didn’t know my brother had died and began to cry. I was overcome that this great man wept for my brother that I hugged him. I’m not one to show emotions in front of others, but I felt closer to this stranger than many people I’ve known my whole life.
I wanted all the pictures, but Maria explained we could purchase enlarged ones since we were looking at the negatives. I had to pick one. This wasn’t an easy task. When I finally narrowed it down to two pictures, I asked Tony which one he liked best. He pointed to one, and that was the one I chose. Tony had photographed my brother sitting behind his desk. That day, Tony was hired to take photos at a company, and my brother was one of the people chosen for this honor.
After we purchased the picture, Tony led us to his small bedroom, showing mementos from his life, including his favorite cameras. Then he offered to take us to a restaurant where his famous photographs were displayed. I was excited; I didn’t want the day to end. Tony hung an old camera around his neck, saying it was a camera he’d used in combat in WWII. This camera made him famous when he took candid pictures of the war, where he revealed the reality of war and its horrors.
Tony and Maria joined us as we walked a few blocks to a quaint Italian restaurant. Once inside, we were welcomed by the owner and made to feel at home. Tony led us around the two rooms, showing us the framed pictures on the walls. There were black and white photos, but many were colorful. My favorite was the one he took of Georgia O’Keefe. Afterward, we sat at a table near the fireplace and were soon joined by Tony’s son, Frank, and their two children. They were going to have dinner, and we were invited.
Since the restaurant wasn’t Kosher, and we couldn’t eat anything cooked there, we had coffee while they ate. Tony had the sweetest family; the children were friendly. Frank and Maria told us endless stories of people they met through Tony. Tony told us tales of Sophia Loren, one of his favorite stars. He hoped to invite her to his 100 birthday party a few years away. I’m happy Tony reached 100, but I don’t know if he had his birthday party since he died a few days later.
I will never forget the day I spent with Tony Vaccaro and his family. He was someone not soon to be forgotten.
January 8, 2023
January 7, 2023
January 5, 2023
January 4, 2023
(via RRBC 30-DAY BLOGGING CHALLENGE - DAY 2) To know me is to...
(via RRBC 30-DAY BLOGGING CHALLENGE - DAY 2)
To know me is to understand my family; therefore, I’m sharing my parent’s wedding picture. I took a photo of the framed image. My parents are no longer with me, but I carry them in my heart.
I’ve always thought I resembled my father, but now I can see my mother in me. I can also see her fears and uncertainties. She had a hard life that later robbed her of her spirit.
Rose Wagshal grew up in a small town, Tilmenowa, in Poland. I don’t know how it’s spelled or if it’s the correct name since I can’t find it anywhere online. I know little of her early life since the story she told me began when WWII broke out right before Hitler invaded Poland. My grandfather booked passage to the United States to find work as a Mashgiach, a Rabbi ensuring a Kosher product. He took my mother with him since her brother was in summer camp. Her mother and brother were supposed to follow, but Hitler invaded. They both died in a concentration camp.
My grandfather left my mother with relatives in Williamsburg, New York, even though she was beginning to lose her vision. Later, I learned she had Retinitis Pigmentosa, a genetic disease. I used to be afraid I would have it. But it’s a recessive disease where both parents have the recessive gene. My mother’s parents were first cousins, so her fate was sealed.
Luckily, she met my father, who was also born in Poland. He married her even though he knew she was losing her sight. I don’t know if he understood she would be totally blind by age 3o, but he was her eyes until she died. Her father remarried and pretty much deserted her.
More unhappiness came her way when her son, my brother, was in a car accident and died after two years in a coma. My parents traveled every month to Boston to visit him until his death. In her eighties, she developed dementia. We had to place her in a nursing home, where she sat alone in the dark, forgetting who I was and living the past in her confused mind.
So, to understand me, you had to meet my mother. She brought me up the best she could with the help of my brother, who was 11 years older than me. I lived through her fears and unhappiness. I hope I brought up my daughters with less fear and uncertainty. Some days, I’m not too sure.
Thank you for joining my blogging challenge. Please visit my fellow RRBC bloggers at https://ravereviewsbookclub.wordpress.com/rrbc-member-chat/
January 3, 2023
January 2, 2023
December 6, 2022
(via MEET ME IN MAINE - Sneak A Peek) MEET ME IN MAINE – Sneak A...
(via MEET ME IN MAINE - Sneak A Peek)
MEET ME IN MAINE – Sneak A Peek
CHAPTER 8
Were Elizabeth and Scarlett ready to buy an inn and settle in Maine? Scarlett wasn’t so sure of the answer.
Scarlett’s car bumped along the winding road, farmhouses peeking at us from behind thick clusters of trees and bushes, the afternoon sun warming the inside of the vehicle with its hazy glow.
“Are you sure you know the way?” I asked. “I thought the inn was in Blue Harbor.”
“It is.” Scarlett squinted at me. “Not everyone lives near the main harbor.”
Ten minutes later, she said, “We’re here.”
A red-bricked building appeared between two thick groves of maple trees. A lush green lawn and white picket fence fronted the house. Four wide steps led to the wrap-around porch, dotted with white wicker chairs and tables. A chubby, middle-aged woman stood on the top step between two white pillars supporting the steep overhang.
“That’s Lucy Green.” Scarlett parked on the graveled driveway to the right of the house.
Lucy descended the steps, wiping her hands on the yellow frilled apron tied around her waist. “I’m happy you could meet with me today, considering the recent excitement.” Her short, brown curls fluttered in the cool breeze as she crossed the blue paving stones to the driveway.
“We were at the ice cream parlor when the guy ran inside bleeding.” Scarlett halted in front of her. “The customers ran from the place screaming and yelling.”
“How awful.” Lucy wrung her hands. “I hope you’re still interested in my inn.”
I drew alongside Scarlett. “We’re rethinking our move to Blue Harbor.” I ignored Scarlett’s sidelong glare. If Lucy believed we were reconsidering, she might lower the price. I grew up in New York City and couldn’t help my big city frame of mind.
Lucy pursed her lips. “Chief Lively will clean the riffraff from Blue Harbor, he’s done it before, and our town will be peaceful again.” She motioned for us to follow her into the house. The warm glow from the Victorian lamps, sitting on small end tables, lit the spacious room dotted with comfortable-looking couches and chairs. We followed her through an open archway to the right. Leather couches and chairs faced a red-bricked fireplace. Across the room, a set of glass doors overlooked a side garden bursting with red and yellow rose bushes. When she swung open the doors, a rose-scented breeze drifted toward us.
“Lovely,” I said.
She gave a sweet smile before shutting the glass doors. We trailed her from the den and the front room to the dining room, where glasses and silverware sparkled on the five tables set with white linen. The doorway on the back wall led us to an industrial-sized kitchen with a white marble island dead-center, surrounded by yellow stools. The view from the picture window took my breath away. Rose bushes lined the pebbled path through the green landscape to a lake filled with floating Canada geese.
“Nice,” Scarlett said.
“Thank you.” Lucy hovered behind us. “Are you ready to see the guest rooms?”
“Sure,” Scarlett replied.
A narrow door in the kitchen, wedged between the double wall ovens and built-in refrigerator, led back to the front room. We climbed the carpeted stairs between the curving wood banisters as Lucy regaled us with tales of the house’s vibrant history. On the second floor, doors stood open on either side of the hallway, revealing canopied beds and flat-screen TVs. At the end of the hall, we stepped into the owner’s apartment. The two bedrooms, eat-in kitchen, and sitting room offered impressive views of the lawn and sparkling blue lake.
“Iced tea and pastries in the sunroom?” Lucy asked as we descended the staircase.
“Sounds good. I’m thirsty,” Scarlett replied.
Lucy led us through the den to the bookshelves spanning the left wall, where she tilted a group of books forward. The bookcase shifted, and a hidden door creaked open.
“Neat,” Scarlett said as the door of bookshelves shut behind us.
I asked, “Does the house have hidden passageways?”
“There might be.” Shirley’s round face wrinkled into an eager grin. “This is an old house. A hundred years old next year.”
The sun shone through the picture window on the far wall, throwing bright squares of light across the mint-green couches and chairs. A pitcher of iced tea and a tray of pastries waited on the glass coffee table. We took seats as Lucy poured the tea into tall glasses.
“Are you still interested in purchasing the inn?” Lucy asked, handing a glass to Scarlett.
“We are.” Scarlett glanced at me. “But I’m confused.”
Lucy’s chocolate brown eyes widened.
Scarlett continued, “You have tables set in the dining room, but I didn’t see any preparations in the kitchen. Where are your guests and staff?”
“The guests aren’t arriving until Friday.” Lucy’s eyes twinkled. “And the staff have left for the day.”
I asked, “How large is your staff?”
“I have a maid, chef, and waitress.”
“Do they work every day?” Scarlett asked.
“The cook and waitress work when we have guests, and the maid cleans twice a week, even if we don’t have guests. This past year, we began offering dinner twice weekly, and the chef and waitress have increased their hours.”
“Once you sell the inn, will they be willing to continue working here?” I asked.
“They love the bed-and-breakfast. I have a contract ready to be signed.” Lucy huffed to her feet. “Relax and finish your tea and pastries.” She grinned before hurrying from the room.
“We have decisions to make.” Scarlett bit into a red velvet cupcake.
“I’m not ready to make them today.”
“Me neither.”
Lucy returned with a stack of papers. For the next hour, we discussed the price and conditions of the contract. We departed with a promise to call her in the next few days. Scarlett needed to show the paperwork to her lawyer, who will now be our lawyer. Even though the price was within our budget, we needed time to decide whether Blue Harbor was right for us.
November 15, 2022
(via MY LAST BOW) MY LAST BOWSusanne LeistSeek, and you shall...
(via MY LAST BOW)
MY LAST BOW
Seek, and you shall find
what the mind may hide.
Follow the soft sighs
to where the bird flies.
Dig deeper into your dream
as you float with the stream.
Time will never end
nor will it ever bend.
Enjoy the here and now
as I give my last bow.
