Patum Peperium

The Time Is Ripe For Gathering The Berries

Look for our return around
the final day of blackberry season,
Michaelmas.
-Happy Summer!

Like A Rock

Madame's Nightshirt
Mrs. Peperium

 

In my very early 20's my best friend and I traveled by steerage for a 3 week holiday at my father's not so humble residence with the city limits of Tokyo.  My friend and I had squeezed a 3 week break from our respective advertising firms by promising to put in extra hours before our departure and after our return.  So due to all the extra hours logged in at work, as our departure date approached all the preparation we had done for our trip was to line up wardrobes and purchase a Fodor's Guide to Japan. We planned to read the guide on one of the 3 dozen planes that would eventually get us to Tokyo.  Even though it took us more than 48 to get from Boston to Toyko , we never cracked the guide because we decided we were on a real adventure and just to go where the spirit took us.

After landing at Narita airport, my dad greeted us at customs and soon we were seated in his car.  Before we left the airport's grounds my best friend and I had fallen asleep only to be most rudely awaken by diminutive soldiers in riot gear, brandishing machine guns banging on our windows yelling something completely indiscernible in their native language.  Such was our introduction to the Japanese people, but I digress. "They want to see your passports." my dad explained. I cracked my window and slipped it through wondering why I had traveled to such a place like this.  The soldiers looked at the passports and after establishing we had no connection to a eco protest group that was protesting something regarding the farmlands surrounding the airports, the soldiers waved my dad's car through the barricades.

My dad took us straight to a little French restaurant for dinner.  There, he ordered for us in Japanese.  As we awaited our meal, he asked us what we'd like to see during our visit.  Sumo wrestlers was our first response.  "Why?" he queried.  "I want to be photographed with that Samoan for my Christmas card."  I said while sipping my single malt. "It's not sumo season. So what else?" How about dinner at a Geisha House? I asked. "Why?" he calmly asked. "I'd like to see what it is that Geishas do." I responded.  "Dinner for you two at a Geisha House is about $3000 a piece. For me it is more. No.  What else?" he asked still completely calm. "Cherry blossoms?" You're too soon for those. What else?"  "Hot Springs Baths?"  "Yes, you can do that. I'll make arrangements."

And so he did.

My best friend and I have many things in common.  An appreciation of art being one of them as we are both classically-trained artists.  A Hot Springs Bath is exactly that.  Hot. Springs. Bath.  In Japan it is done au naturel which since we did not read our travel guide had no clue.  Since my dad has a James Bond complex, he booked us into a posh little private Japanese hotel that one would have not been surprised to have stumbled upon Sean Connery in his kimono in the hallway or gardens. Or in his birthday suit the hot springs bath.  You see, hot springs bathing was not only au naturel, it was co-ed in the place my father booked us into.  I should have known...

When my best friend and I checked in, we were handed our kimonos and told to put them on.  This is the tradition there.  All little hotels and resorts have their own kimonos and the guests wear them everywhere, even out on the streets.  It's a form of advertising.  My dad had arranged for a traditional meal to be brought to our rooms after our baths. As we were escorted to our rooms, the lady showed us the large bath. It larger than a YMCA pool with natural rock formations with real shrubs and plants all around as well as little grottos for couples was all that we could guess.  My best friend and I knew we were up against it completely. Our knees began to shake until somehow the lady managed to convey to us that we were not going to use that bath but my dad had arranged for us to use the private baths - together.

This is when my best friend and I realised our friendship, thanks to my dad and Japanese tradition was now going to a higher, and totally unforeseen level. Our knees began to shake again. In our rooms we braced ourselves with the single malt my dad had waiting for our arrival, shed our clothing, put on our kimonos, and headed off to the private baths like the two classically-trained art students we had once been.  At this point I should tell you that when we had checked in there had been two Japanese men, just a few years older than us, giving us the once over.

Before bathing in a hot springs bath, one must take a sponge bath. There were large sinks on placed the floor with water spigots coming out from the wall for us to use.  My best friend and I, stiffened by the single malt, squatted down and began our sponge baths.  My best friend, perhaps nudged by her guardian angel, looked up at the door and said, "Oh we didn't lock it."  She got up and flip the traditional wooden latch. After completing our sponge baths, we climbed into the hot springs bath.  The reaction your body has when hits that hot water is to lose your breath, which naturally caused us to giggle.  And so we continued giggling away talking about what if our friends in Boston could see us now in Japan in a hot springs bath together. Suddenly we both stopped giggling because we could hear male Japanese voices coming down the hallway towards us. Thanks to the traditional rice paper doors, we could see the shadows of the two Japanese guys who had been giving us the once over during check-in.  They were now in their kimonos and trying to slide open the door.  Tradition was that if another guest or guests desired to join us in the private baths, we were to allow them.  Clearly these two men were aware of this tradition and had waited until we were in the baths to join us.  It was evident by the jerky movement of their shadows and their voices that they had never expected us to lock the door.  Indeed tradition (and hospitality) is that you do not lock the door but my friend and I were stupid Americans to the core and had most unknowingly gone against tradition.  The men called out to us in Japanese.  We drew our knees tightly up to our chests, remained quiet and looked at each other.   Both my and my best friend's eyes were as large as saucers because if that wooden latch gave way, it would be just a matter of seconds before those two men were in the hot springs bath with us.

Thankfully the latch held. The men left.  We waited a few minutes and bolted from that bath, running all the  way back to our rooms.  Dinner was waiting for us. With our cheeks still reddened from both the bath and our near miss with the men, we partook of our meal while still in our kimonos seated cross legged on pillows at the low lacquer table in the center of our common room.  In the morning we took in the local open air museum.  The majority of the museum's collection was 20th junk.  However it had a few replicas of Michelangelo's work.  After surveying what can only be described as the splendor that is David, I decided right there that if one was into art, marble of biblical proportions was the way to go.

Homeric, huh?

Katherine Hepburn Was Right

Madame's Nightshirt
Mrs. Peperium

Katherine Hepburn, Stage Door, 1937:

"The calla lilies are in bloom again. Such a strange flower -- suitable to any occasion, even the civil unions of heretics. I carried them on my wedding day, and now I place them here in memory of something that has died...the Episcopal church."

Episcopal Bishop Vicki (yes Vicki is his legal name) Gene Robinson and his groom.
Who wants to kiss the bride?

The Statement That Cost Obama Something Between 10 and 30 Million

"Elect Barack Obama president."
-Hillary Clinton, June 7, 2008



(Fear not feminists, she'll run again. By paying off Hillary's campaign debts, Obama just ensured it.  Stupid man.)

Oh Basil...

Madame's Nightshirt
Mrs. Peperium

Dear  Basil,

I have been reading (with amusement though please do not share that with anyone) the reaction to Robbo's probation with the RCBfA.  My, what a naughty man you are.  Though it is good to remind everyone, particularly prospective members, that the RCBfA is not for the faint-hearted, nor will it ever be. This is why  membership is restricted to Catholics.

Understanding how you deplore Connecticut and all that it has become in the last 350+ years, but also understanding how much of an art fancier you are, I thought I'd draw your attention today to the late Connecticut artist, from Cos Cob no less, Childe Hassam.  Like you, Childe was a naughty man and he dropped his Christian name, Frederick, to make people believe he was of Arabic descent. However, any RCBfA worth his salt would quickly detect at a mere glance of his work that Childe was no Arab but a Bostonian. Which Childe was until he left Boston for the more gentler shores of Connecticut. If Childe been an Arab his work would have had more fruit in it, don't you agree?  Childe's accident of birthplace (Boston) did give his art, overall, a much more fruitish quality than his European contemporaries. However a few years of hanging out in all the wrong places in Paris with his European contemporaries did stiffen his sinews and, ultimately, give his work enough gravitas to make it even slightly appealing to you, dare I say, the most hardcore member of the RCBfA. 

Take a good gander and see if you find something to admire.  If you do, then you shall have to rethink your thoughts on people from Connecticut.

Mrs. P

Your favorite calendar month, "June".

 

Childe's most productive years were prior to indoor plumbing being di rigour.  Connecticut girls learned, most nicely, to make due with natural elements for their daily ablutions. Some still do...

These rocks are quite lovely.  Childe's very deft brush strokes have even captured the heat from the summer sun emanating from them, don't you agree?  Why, the only thing lacking in the composition, is a young lady, who after spending several minutes scaling these rocks looking for treasures from the sea, reclined upon them to catch her breath and admire the shapes in the clouds overhead. Then, overcome by the heated rocks and seeing no one in sight, she shed her all of clothing. Only momentarily, naturally.

 

Self portrait. Childe was not afraid of little art for himself. I like that in a artist.

The Day The Sea OutFoxed The Desert Fox

Madame's Nightshirt

Mrs. Peperium

In June 1944 I was an auxiliary soldier in an anti-aircraft unit. I was 15-years-old then. I was drafted a week after my 15th birthday.

On 6 June I was at our home at Herrlingen, because my father was coming to spend the night on his way to visit Hitler at Berchtesgaden, and it was my mother's 50th birthday.

My father came home because he was convinced that no landing would occur, as the Navy had told him the sea was much too rough.

But at 0800 he received a telephone call from his chief of staff announcing that the landing had begun.

He immediately took his car and went back to France - it was too dangerous for him to fly as the Allies had huge air superiority.

He was upset that he was not in his headquarters at the time, but he had felt it very important to go to Hitler and ask his permission to reassign the troops in France.

Way Out

My father entered the German Army long before Hitler came to power.

He was a professional soldier all his life, which of course meant that he could not vote in the elections which led to Hitler coming to power.

When my father was home on leave, often for only three days or so, he would go hunting. Political matters were not discussed in our home.

My father had known Germany could not win the war since the battle of El Alamein against Montgomery in 1942, but was seeking a way out.

He became more and more aware of the concentration camps, and hoped that if there was a victory in France then Germany could negotiate peace with America and Britain, possibly also with Russia.

But this was a dream, because in the first week of the battle in Normandy it became absolutely clear that the Germans would not be able to push the British and Americans back into the sea and that Germany would have to surrender.

In general, the other army commanders in France shared my father's opinion, because the superiority of the British and Americans became greater and greater.

In the summer of 1944 my father thought it would be better to end the war in France, perhaps even surrender unconditionally, to avoid many more casualties.

He spoke to Hitler, but became aware that Hitler was not prepared to surrender at any cost.

Hitler intended to take the German people with him to the grave.

So in July, my father spoke to some of his military commanders and discussed whether they should end the war in France without Hitler's permission.

Plot against Hitler

On 17 July my father was wounded in France by British aircraft and went home to recuperate.

In the meantime there were investigations into people who opposed the regime, and a lot of trials and executions by hanging of people who had criticised Hitler.

Then on 20 July there was the attempt on Hitler's life by Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg, which failed and left the army rather helpless.

My father was at home and he understood then that he would probably not survive the war.

My father did not agree with the Stauffenberg plot because he thought that the risk of failure was too high, and that a dead Hitler could be more dangerous than him living.

He hoped that the troops in France, Stalingrad and Tunisia would surrender, but there was a problem because Hitler sent six of his SS divisions to France and they were very loyal to Hitler.

My father even spoke to two of the SS generals and asked them if the plan was to continue until the Russians were in Berlin and Germany destroyed.

They said no, and one of them promised my father that should he decide to go his own way he would follow him.

'Bad position'

Regarding the extent of my father's knowledge about the crimes taking place on the Eastern Front (where he never held a command), I know that in the first months of 1944 he met a lot of officers who had witnessed mass executions and so on, and so he knew by then that Germany was in a very bad position.

So although he was hoping for peace the conditions could not have helped very much.

I was at home when my father was there injured and I helped him to read papers because he could not read himself for a while.

Afterwards I went back to my battery, and my father was murdered.

Later I served in the infantry and ended my military career as a prisoner of the French army.

I had completed 21 months of military service and was still only 16.

After the war I went back to school and became a lawyer and a civil servant, ending up as Under Secretary of State in the Ministry of Finance.

I was elected Mayor of Stuttgart and now I am retired.

I think that the chancellor has been invited to take part in the D-Day anniversary ceremony this year as a gesture of reconciliation.

After 60 years it is important that we became friends, remain friends and that we remember the battle in Normandy is history.

-Manfred Rommel

The Bootlegger's Boy Strikes Again

Madame's Nightshirt
Mrs. Peperium

HOW 'LIBERAL' CARE WOULD KILL TED

By ROBERT M. GOLDBERG

Kennedy: Getting care denied by 'liberal' health regimes.

June 5, 2008 -- IRONICALLY enough, the dangers of the liberal health-care agenda are being made clear by the care that a liberal icon, Sen. Ted Kennedy, has received since his brain seizure last month.

One day after an MRI detected a tumor, Kennedy was quickly diagnosed with a malignant glioma - a rare and often-fatal form of brain cancer. Less than two weeks later, his tumor was being removed by one of the world's experts in brain cancer at Duke Univeristy Medical Center. He'll follow up with chemo and radiation therapy tailored to the genetic makeup of his cancer to keep the cancer from spreading.

He'll likely take Avastin, a drug that in experiments with brain cancer has extended survival by months. A new cancer vaccine being developed in partnership with Pfizer could extend his life by six years.

Of course, with his wealth and power, Kennedy would get good treatment anywhere. But the same care is available to every American.  Not so - if we make the health "reforms" called for by Kennedy and other liberals.

Filmmaker Michael Moore gives their standard line when he says: "There are problems in all health-care systems, but at least Europeans and Canadians have a health-care system that covers everyone."

Problem is, governments that promise to "cover everyone" always wind up cutting corners simply to save money. People with Kennedy's condition are dying or dead as a result.

Consider Jennifer Bell of Norwich, England. In 2006, the 22-year-old complained of headaches for months - but Britain's National Health Service made her wait a year to see a neurologist.

Then she had to wait more than three months before should could get what the NHS decided was only a "relatively urgent" MRI scan. Three days before the MRI appointment, she died.

Consider, too, the chemo drug Kennedy is receiving: Temodar, the first oral medicine for brain tumors in 25 years.

Temodar has been widely used in this country since the FDA approved it in 2000. But a British health-care rationing agency, the National Institute for Comparative Effectiveness, ruled that, while the drug helps people live longer, it wasn't worth the money - and denied coverage for it.

Barack Obama - and other Democrats - have been pushing a Senate bill to set up a similar US "review board" for Medicare and any future government health-care plan.

After denying this treatment completely for seven years, the NICE (did whoever named it intend the irony?) relented - partly. Even today, only a handful of Brits with brain tumors can get Temodar.

And if you want to pay for Temodar out of your own pocket, the British system forces you to pay for all of your cancer care - about $30,000 a month.

Things are no different in Canada, where the wait for an MRI (once you finally get a referral) has grown to 10 weeks. For Canadians relying on their government health care, the average wait time from diagnosis of cancer to surgery is beyond the guideline set by both the US and European societies for surgical oncology.

And HealthCanada, the government system, similar refuses to pay for treatments that are often covered in America.

Chad Curley, a 37-year-old auto worker from Windsor, Ontario, had a brain tumor like Kennedy's but can't have surgery because his is too large to be operable.

His tumor didn't respond to Temodar and the same doctors now treating Sen. Kennedy told him and his wife that the Avastin combination could stop his tumor from growing and add months to his life. But HealthCanada wouldn't pay to use Avastin to treat his tumor.

Chad's family and friends scraped together the $5,000 for the first round of treatment in mid-November; they later saw Chad's left-side paralysis start to subside. But the money ran out - and he died on Feb. 21.

In pushing for government-run health care, liberals are pushing for a system where only the Ted Kennedys of the world can get cutting-edge - and life-saving - care. 

Probation

Man About Mayfair
Sir Basil Seal

Mr. Robbo T. Llama Butcher

You

have been nominated

for

membership

in

our august society.

You will

submit your application

and

consider yourself

on

super secret probation.

During

your probationary period

you will

take this work of art

entitled

"Still Life"

(notice the fruit)

and

display it on your website(s),

make it

your screen saver

and

display it,

suitably framed of course,

in

your study

and

your office

until

further notice. 

 

If

 you appreciate 

this

 beautiful work of art

more and more each day

then

 you are a

suitable candidate

 for

 our society.

We
 
will be in touch.

The Committee

RCBfA

While Everyone Wonders If Hillary Is Going To Hang It Up...

Madame's Nightshirt
Mrs. Peperium

Her party has already made the decision for her.

(Many thanks to L.)

An Immodest Proposal

Madame's Nightshirt
Mrs. Peperium

 

Mrs P. & Sir Basil,

What are the rules for putting up new members to the 
RCBfA [Roman Catholic Boys for Art]? I'd like to 
propose Robbo the Llama Butcher (and ODT if he is
not already a member). After their admittance, I would 
reccomend both be placed directly on the 
Stewardship Committee.

The Irish Elk


Dear Irish Elk,

I am not a member of the RCBfA. And will never be one. 
Not even an honorary member as the RCBfA is one of 
the few remaining all-male bastions left in the entire 
blogosphere. And it shall always remain all-male if 
I have anything to say about it.

Therefore, I 'm ignorant of the club's charter and rules 
but, I believe, they were in fact penned by Sir Basil and 
Mr. P after an evening at the dog races. Oh, here comes
Mr. P now. 

Oh Dear, Mr Elk has a question...

Mrs. Peperium


Dear Mr. Elk,

As you are the one doing the proposing, the heaviest 
burden falls upon your shoulders. Prospective members 
must eschew the works of Peter, Paul and Mary, while 
evincing a profound regard for the works of Peter Paul 
Ruebens. I refer you especially to his "Rape of the Sabine 
Women". A simple test of your candidate's fitness would 
be to insert a glossy color copy of this towering 
masterwork between the pages of, say, Robbo's Wall 
Street Journal. As he gets to Section B with all it's 
startling revelations about hedgefunds, watch his 
reactions closely for this is the acid test. If he blushes, 
he's out. If he makes a feeble excuse for the thing being 
there, he should be shot. If, however, he surreptitiously 
folds the picture in two andslips it into his breast pocket, 
we'll make him Treasurer.

ODT, your second nominee is already a member, 
occupying the esteemed Mae West Chair of François 
Boucher Studies. It goes without saying this position is 
fully-endowed.

Sir Basil, do yo have anything to add?

Mr. P