Susan Rosen Pics

Kate McWit, our first scottish terrier: in memorian

2012-02-12T11:48:00.000-08:00

February 8, 1999+, 11:00 AM

As I have recounted on earlier posts, Kate was a "love at first sight" being, seen at a pet shop, now known as an outlet for puppy mills, but then in 1986, a store that sold animals and animal food. In a rush to see Legal Eagles, a movie with Deborah Winger and Richard Gere, we went into the store to buy my daughter, Jennifer fish food for the gold fish she had won at a local bazaar (and of course take care of her catch). Bess caught Harold's eye and he began to play with her and she responded eagerly. But he walked on. When I reached the cage I too played with her but I could not walk on; she was so extraordinary and winsome. Out of the cage she came and I watched as she ran about a little playroom. And she was mine. My heart was certain; no doubts. I wanted tot bring her home immediately but that was not possible. But the following morning, when the store was open Kate was put into a cardboard box and we drove home with our new family member. Since she had never experienced grass, when she was placed on it, she was tentative: "what is this stuff."
I have made so many errors of judgment but this was not one of the, Kate was the very best choice I ever made. She was a perfect creature: playful, thoughtful, clever, observant, beautiful, engaging: if only humans were half as fine as she our world would be so much better. She travelled to Maine, she loved the ocean, the tide; she was amazed and curious when a balloon floated close to the field she played in in Tenafly, NJ. I could make a fair list and it would never be sufficient. She looked, observed and tried to understand what that "thing" was. Ahave praised her in the past and I praise her still, and her face and a curl of her hair is in a locket that I always wear close to my heart. So dear she was to us, and to her "brother" companion Fala. She cared for him when he wa sill, and she played with him in health; She had a nurturing inclination and would take dolls out outside for play and to groom them them. And she was a ball player extraordinaire. She could pitch the ball with her mouth and then a return ball would be caught in mid-air.
Do I regret that we had her spayed. What a mistake. Her final illness was grievous and when death did not take her with ease but caused a dreadful struggle she was injected. Today her remains are on the mantlepiece and she is with us always. Her descendants are introduced to her and she is the matriarch of the family of scottish terriers who live with us. Her grand daughter Bess is our companion who has been instructed in family history and knows the story of Kate.

Bess, the countess, surveys her domaine, just as her ancestors

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had done. She is on a summit where her forebears Aesop and Emma had stood. In the distance is The Hudson River.

The Atlantic Ocean: brooding

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the journey: portends ignored

2012-02-04T13:44:00.001-08:00

nature's phallus: fertility, priapic joy, and apotropaic

2012-02-03T08:40:00.000-08:00

capacities

Turbulence and Splinters

2012-02-03T08:39:00.000-08:00

the moon : off course

2012-02-03T08:38:00.001-08:00

"Requiem" by John Updike

2012-02-03T07:56:00.000-08:00

the photograph is not an illustration; rather it is a visualization of my perception of ideas within the text
the poem, as I read it, accords with my sentiments
but John Updike was among the demi-deities of the 29th century
he will not be forgotten; but history can be difficult and there is always a tidal fall and rise
but the despair or better the self regarding one's being fan only evoke dismay, unless it is the fool that studies the image

Requiem

It came to me the other day

Were I to die, no one would say,

“Oh, what a shame! So young, so full

Of promise --depths unplumbable!”

Instead, a shrug and tearless eyes

Will greet my overdue demise;

The wide response will be I know,

“I thought he died a while ago.”

“For life’s a shabby subterfuge,

And death is real, and dark, and huge.

The shock of it will register

Nowhere but where it will occur.

John Updike in forthcoming collection , "Endpoint and Other Poems"

the final journey

2012-01-31T10:40:00.000-08:00

love, everlasting

2012-01-31T10:39:00.001-08:00

water on fire

2012-01-25T10:58:00.000-08:00

self protection

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a difficult birth

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May I touch you? or Mutual Attraction

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what was and what will be: nature appears to slumber

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memory consumed by fire

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the element fire

Jack Rosen: in memoriam, died 1952, January 20

2012-01-20T09:04:00.000-08:00

"Uncle Jack is dead." "Jack died" or a variant. My father came into my room in the morning and spoke directly. By then he must have recovered his composure and managed his grief so that we did not see or I do not think we saw his sense of extreme loss. When he learned that his younger brother died, I do not know. Jack was a lawyer, I knew that. He lived in the Bronx near the County Courthouse and also near my grandparents Rose and Morris Rosen. This was the first time that death had occurred in my memory and that was a memory of eleven years, assuming that an infant has recollection. Uncle Jack was fun-loving, jovial and imposing. He was so tall; the tallest member of my family. I recall the funeral which shocked me. Unmitigated unrestrained grief: my grandmother tried to throw herself into her son's grave. My grandmother and her younger son had a loving relationship and his loss was a terrible wound. I do not think that she ever recovered from his death. And when Jack's son, my cousin Frank decided to move from California to New York City, he lived with my grandmother, in a sense carrying forward in time the sentiments felt for the father to the son.
The two brothers appeared to have had some sibling rivalry. Comments on the back of photographs that were exchanged while my father was taking his degree in medicine in Berlin indicate that. And an example is included here.
A mere 39 years. A massive heart attack and then silence except for the family.
He is so far in the past I cannot recall him in detail but as in a dream he emerges distinctly and then subsides and the essence the piquant sensation vanishes. Photographs serve as prompts. After his death over time I learned a little more about his life, mainly from my mother. My father was silent. To speak must have been too painful.
Jack is dressed in a fashionable suit photographed on a roof. Many family photographs were taken on roofs because at the time -1930-light was insufficient indoors. The distant buildings can be identified, but I have not undertaken research to ascertain where he was living, indeed, where my grandparents were living. Probably in The Bronx.
A detail from a photograph that was probably taken at about the same time. Movement of the camera emphasizes the ephemeral nature of the moment of the, time's slippage, yet what is preserved is my grandfather Morris's joy and his love for his son as his gestures' indicate: one arm encircling his boy's waist and the other placed over his shoulder, indicative of companionship, coming of age and tenderness of fatherhood

pathos: suffering

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the god professed his love

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intensity of creativity

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a heart beat and then it is gone: flames of ice

2012-01-17T18:35:00.000-08:00

Morris Rosen: in memoriam, 1887-1959

2012-01-15T11:55:00.000-08:00

When my zaide (grandfather in Yiddish) died in 1959 when I was in high school (Music and Art , now LaGuarda High School). He was a very kind gentle person who dearly loved his family. Memories surface from my very young years, but I also remember his suffering in later life. Having worked for years bending over a pressing machine, he developed severe chronic back problems. He wore a miserable metal contraption to give him support but of course it provided little relief. (I am now approaching the age of his death, and I too suffer debilitating back disease but treatment, such as it is, does not involve wearing the painful metal cage my grandfather wore. Progress of sorts).

But I want to praise my grandfather whom I loved and thought would be forever in my life. And then I began to learn life's lessons.

Thanks to Morris' back-breaking labor he was able to send both of his children, my father George, and his younger Jack, his younger son to college and to graduate schools. My father became a physician and Jack a lawyer. In this picture, Grandpa poses with his two bright sons, George is on the left, Jack on the right. Grandma Rose probably took the photograph, but where?

How little I know about my grandfather's life; he emigrated from Odessa? He was a "tailor." And then what? All those decades are a closed book that I shall never open. History is cruel in that the detail, the precious detail of life leaves few traces for almost everyone.

when the wound bursts again

2012-01-12T10:40:00.000-08:00

Indeterminacy: sunlight, motion, trees, water

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how playful Nature is

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from Olana: the painter F. Church's view of the Hudson and the Catskills

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and the light and color resembled oil sketches by Church. my elph did not manage to record the deep mauves and startling golds but it does what a camera can do; it renders its perception aaccording toits own mechanism. THe day was the first of 2012, late in the afternoon.

when did 2012 begin?

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the future: inscrutable

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the desicated heart anatomized

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an estranged organ: an eye but not an eye

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Fala: in Memoriam: February 3, 1997

2012-01-03T19:58:00.000-08:00

Fala came home to live with his sister Kate. She picked him as her "brother," standing over him and seeing what he would do. He did not flinch, he did not cower. He was willing to put up with his big sister and she with him. When he was tiny, he slipped through the fencing and immediately she alerted us, barking to tell us that her baby brother had wandered into the next yard. Seh monitored him w hen he was young and then when he had grown to adult size she played with him. They wrestled with a stick, the "mouthed" each other, they tumbled about and then they came to rest. When in a large field they separated, each exploring what attracted them, but always they watched what the other was doing and when the right moment occurred they ran back to each other and walked and ran together. When Fala suffered diseases in the summer, Kate would lick him and try to soothe him. Together they lived with much happiness and companionship and when Fala died on night, Kate howled, a howl that expressed the sorrow of her heart and the recognition that something terrible had happened. The next days she searched for him, trying to find him in the big field where they had played so often. But though she marked the field as a rectangle and then subdivided it she could not find him. She left signs for him but he never returned. Today they are in th eden where only dogs can enter; it is like the field in Evora where wild flowers and grass grow are lush and trees give them shade and a sweet brook glides through a glade. It is a land of everlasting peace and joy where Fala was joined by Kate and then Aesop and Emma arrived. And now they are a foursome forever.

December 31, 2011: the years's end

2011-12-31T17:17:00.000-08:00

in pictures not in words but much to write and now I am free to do that since I completed an essay that took far longer then I had anticipated
indistinct, clarity, framing, time, aspiration, ideas, self, momento mori

Paul Caspari, MD: in memoriam

2011-12-18T10:25:00.000-08:00

Flora Arnswalder Caspari with her husband Paul Caspari, MD

I was trying to find a photograph of my grandfather, Paul Caspari MD in his medical coat, seated on the balcony of the family apartment in Berlin across from Sennefelderplatz, could could not locate it among the plethora of pictures that need organizing. Now that I am 70, I have outlived many of my family members. When I was young they were "old"; now that I am old they are young. Paradox of time and age. I never did meet my grandfather; he died before I was born. What I know about him was told to me by my mother. From her I will relate but one aspect of the man. He was a physician who lived for his patients; he lived in a district in Berlin where working class people lived as well as middle income as one denotes the middle class today. But affluent or poor he treated all alike. His practice was limited to Monday-Friday, but he was accessible at all times, be it morning or mid-night. A bell was affixed to the apartment building where he lived with his family and where he had his practice. If someone was in need at special hours, they pulled on this bell and alerted him to the patient downstairs and outside. He was a general practitioner and took on a variety of cases and diseases. I wished I could be mroe specific but I do not have the information. But he was one of Rudolf Virchow's students and wrote his doctoral dissertation in Latin for the great physician-teacher.
I mention these details because I would like to contrast him with the physicians of today (a broad generalization of course). One physican I met with to discuss a problem was debating whether she should purchase an Audi or another expensive vehicle for her daughter who was attending high school. This physician, who is respected for her expertise, will no longer take medicare patients because the reimbursement rate is not high enough. So people of low income--and who today is not?-- and who are aged and who need to see an outstanding specialist will no longer be able to afford to "buy this knowledge. And another physician's fees are so high that again a similar story is repeated. But in this case the physician was concerned about the purchase of art. Most enter the profession today for the sake of money alone; the notion of a physician as a healer, not a quack, but one who keeps up with the literature to insure that the patient receives the best care possible has almost disappeared. Why are there so many dermatologist/cosmetic surgeons, a surfeit of them when what is needed is a general practioner and internists who put the pieces back together again. Those doctors are regarded by the upper tier as losers; sound familiar. The same system has degraded the rest of our culture.

Now, let me return to my grandfather Paul, whose name was given to my brother Paul Peter in memory of this excellent person. He died in Berlin during a routine operation, when he suffered a heart attack before I was born on Pearl Harbor Day, 7 December, 1941. He witnessed the rise of Nazism and knew what was happening. Yet he chose to return to Berlin after a brief visit to the United States. He felt that it was his duty to care for those who needed his help. Fortunately he did not live to see what actually occurred. But his commitment to health care was primary; it was his calling. The next comment can easily be guessed, but I will forgo making it. Anyone with some wit can fill in the thought.
I am posting therefore pictures posted on other occasions, on other days when the Jahrzeit candle was lit in his memory. But I am the last of my family to carry out this act of memory. Neither my brother, my children or my grandchildren have any sense of responsibility. Indeed, the customs of Jewish heritage are performed for outward show and not from the heart, if indeed the heritage of their forebears is even recalled.

Trees in Provence: Vincent van Gogh and Paul Cezanne

2011-12-06T22:38:00.000-08:00

The Pastoral and the Place of Troubles

2011-12-06T22:33:00.001-08:00

Susan Joan Rosen and Tobyanne Berenberg

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and Susan with Richard Brignoli
Edenic

Susan Joan Rosen: December 7, 1941--

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fragments and the unknown and clarity with harmony

Susan Joan Rosen: December 7, 1941--

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Frans Snyders: strawberries, detail, Bostom MFA

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what does the future hold?

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the thoughtful one, 1962

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fracturing among the stars of Matisse

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lovers in all seasons; damaged as they may be

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fall into winter

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a few leaves hold on, but their brethren have lost their grip and have fallen to earth, honey colored still, golden still but faded and their fate is unknown except before them other have disappeared from on high to the ground, to earth to mother earth and what remains is the structure of the trees, their twists and turns, their circles and their aspirations to heights that will never be reached or if attained will be but a moment, a gasp in time. but if man leaves the trees alone, then more will follow if guided by the hand of agriculture, the art of sustenance and of growth

in pursuit: lover or avenger?

2011-11-28T17:00:00.000-08:00

a cherry tree that blooms in winter, sometimes

2011-11-23T08:28:00.000-08:00

I have posted pictures of this tree previously (located in Tenafly Commons near the pond and next the monstrous skate board "park"), but the unexpected blossoms in late November testify to its heroic efforts in the face adversity. most of the tree was barren, its leaves had dropped except for a few tiny orange daubs, leaves that were like silent bells moving int he wind. This tree may not last through the winter. With care and pruning it might have a chance, but growths have appeared on one limb and others are certain to follow. Of course with careful tendering the tree might still have many years but that is unlikely. So we will lose this miraculous tree; Tenafly (New Jersey 07670) does not have another one like it. And all the other cherry trees are dying too, except for a few new ones. They are not hardy stock and their life span will be brief; perhaps ten years at best. But the tree with the blossoms that appear even in winter when snow strikes is a wonder. Too bad no one else appears to notice or to care.

contemporary architecture: do we want to live in these

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houses?
assuming that you read books voraciously and them as 3D objects, where do the book cases go?

one rose after the storm

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what remains?

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an ephemeral phenomenon: shaping light

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The Metropolitan Museum of Art: a splendid idea

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thinking right. considering the viewer who really does want to see what is on display in a vitirine. Bravo
Early Christian, Byzantine
what a magnifying glass can reveal

sorrow: a cloud of unknowing

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can this be solved? the density of life

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disjointed crossing or so it seems to be

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snow before its time: seasonal confusion

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what appears stout and sturdy bends too

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born anew

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the spirit fell and rested before continuing its journey

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anticipation: the world is my oyster

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what could be more perfect?

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a yellow leaf smote the driver

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As the driver went north on Park Avenue, a bright yellow leaf fell onto the car's hood. The driver was returning from a visit to a physician and felt the leaf. How strange. It smote her chest but it was on the hood that the brightness fell and it was swept away by the car's motion, yet strangely it was felt as a blow to her left chest and the pain caused tears to run down her cheek.

holding hands

2011-11-02T19:11:00.000-07:00

nature writes nature. nature draws nature

2011-11-02T19:06:00.000-07:00

Telephone Wires Above Ground, Telephone Wires Below Ground

2011-11-02T18:51:00.000-07:00

Manhattan, NYC, Broadway, 109th Street looking north
Tenafly, New Jersey, looking east, November 1, 2011

storms, wind storms, hurricanes, lightning, and almost all meteorological phenomena almost invariably cause power failures in the suburbs. no heat and no light for days (still counting in Bergen County since the 31 October, 2011 storm. yet the power companies, the utilities, rake in huge profits. too costly they argue to place the lines underground. but we are living in the 21st century, yet our streets in the suburbs and in rural areas resemble the nineteenth century. why are so many European countries, for instance The Netherlands, Belgium, France, England, to name only a few, free of these anachronisms? why should customers pay the incredibly high rates charged for power services when the grids always fail, the lines collapse, the posts keel over. it is time for a change and that change should be now.

Dread

2011-11-02T18:50:00.001-07:00

the blemished heart

2011-10-27T17:21:00.001-07:00

looking into the future: almost a vortex

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preparing for the final journey: the lightness of being

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a bird in hand . . .

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bittersweet

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framing the picture: Nature Framed

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The Queen?: Milk Weed Pod Insects

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family life flourishes

eyes

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huddling together for safety

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it's all a matter of scale

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Seeds make Tenafly Commons a Hazard. Tenafly, NY 07670

2011-10-13T18:13:00.000-07:00

Have you ever walked around the pond in Tenafly Commons in fall? Try it. If you are in proximity to the pond you will find that the beautiful purple asters of fall are now dangerous; they will ruin your clothing, hurt your children and your dog. When the aster loses its petals it forms a seed cluster. These seeds are small dark objects, with two prongs. The prongs catch onto flesh, fur and clothing. Try removing them from a coat. I bet it will take at least an hour or more to pull them out and even then you will find one piercing your clothing and pricking you on your skin. Is this the bast plant for Tenafly. Last time I went to Davis Johnson Park in Tenafly, I did not see a single wild aster. Why is that?

Tenafly Commons and E-Coli Bacteria, Tenafly, NJ, o7670

2011-10-13T18:04:00.000-07:00

The Culprit

Geese were said to be a major contributing factor to making water unsafe since the birds cary e-coli, it was claimed. There may not be as many geese in the Tenafly Commons Pond, but other birds, water birds, carry e-coli: egrets, loons, herons. If you were to take a close look at the stands which are used by these birds you will find that bird poop covers the surfaces of the fountain heads. These foundtain heads are unsightly and are no infecting the water. The most effective way to keep birds from settling in the water is the use of dogs and the rock rattle, a container that is filled with rocks. When birds hear the sound and the water dog chases, the birds fly away. The unsightly and unsanitary fountain stands should be removed. When they are used in the summer the sound is deafening, making walking in The Commons, one of the least desirable experiences in the town of Tenafly

Drinking Water & Petrochemicals in Tenafly, N.J. 07670

2011-10-13T17:51:00.000-07:00

Today, when walking along the Tenakill Brook, I felt faint; those petrochemicals again. A slick surface covered the water which was rushing into the brook from the Tenafly pond. The same old problem that I have called attention to in the past. The fuel leaks from vehicles, flows into the sewers when it rains and then runs directly through the Teafly Commons Pond and on into the Tenakill Brook. The Tenakill Brook is a feeder stream to United Water, the source of water for Tenafly and surrounding towns in Bergen County, New Jersey. The chemicals are never completely removed from the water when it is at the United Water treatment plant. That water is then sent to towns in Bergen County where it is used for cooking, bathing and watering lawns, among other functions.
We wonder why children have ADD, autism and adults have cancers. Take a look at these pictures and draw your own conclusions. This water is unsanitary and definitely bad for your. health. Even if ADD and Autism is incorrectly diagnosed, cancer is a fact and all too many people develop cancers that are in the environment. Petrochemicals are one of the triggers for cancers.

the playground at 97th street and Riverside Drive, Manhattan

2011-10-11T18:53:00.000-07:00

fearless days

when I was three, before I spoke, I left the playground where my mother and grandmother were talking and walked north to 101st street. I stopped at the light, waiting to cross the roadway. I had never crossed this street by myself nor had I left my mother and Oma and gone off on my own; an adventure. People wondered. Consternation, and then my family appeared? Why? I could not explain or I could not explain easily. Perhaps I just wanted to go home.

The park still exists but the see-saws and the jungle-jims and the slides were removed long ago. too dangerous they were decreed, but what fun they were to play on.

a safe haven in a hunting preserve

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two views, near and far

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understanding changes; what appears to be a spot on the surface is actually a raised circular "pimple"

complementaries

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taking flight

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all is impermanent: let these plants stand for mountains

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the air, earth and even mountains,

deadly, too dangerous, burn it, T said, yet it is so beautiful

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fall: a fairy tale or not

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. . . and the grass talked of many things of what had been and what is, but little did it know what was to become of it. Surrounded now by new surprising colors, the fronds shivered and trembled and delighted in the redness and brownness and the warmth of a blue-hot day. but it was fall, and fall, they sensed, was a time before the blazing glory would be extinguished. While their bodies would still exist, they would die or become dormant and sleep until spring might tickle them, but they did not know if spring was a certainty. They knew what had been but they were uncertain about the future. But the moment was blissful and bliss is but a moment and cannot be understood

memories: so this is the gift of age?

2011-10-05T14:17:00.000-07:00

understanding perhaps but not applicable wisdom; who will listen and the lessons learned cannot be applied to the moments when knowledge was most needed.

looking back, the mind recapitulates what happened and damns the mouth that uttered those words, words that can now never be altered, inflected, softened. the line was cut then as fury burst into searing flames. no, never. but then the hurts inflicted were grievous and the response not surprising, but why did I not wait and reconsider, why did he call; what was he thinking? and how long ago was that anyway? yesterday? months, years, decades. within are experiences that can never be undone. they are. most of the time I did not think about it, but now life is lengthy, and memories mark the milestones and though time may not be any less filled the moments that are landmarks stand out starkly and are monuments of sorrow, folly or joy, but joy is overcast now by the drear of having done the wrong thing at a particular moment, decisions that cannot be undone or acts taken against me that cannot be undone.

sensation

2011-10-02T19:43:00.001-07:00

Mind Imaging:

2011-10-02T19:29:00.000-07:00

order yet a language that cannot be understood. birds flying through and around netting yet coherence still exists

the giant steps forth disturbed by the lilliputians that have

2011-09-26T08:25:00.000-07:00

despolied his land

the stinkhorn was randy, wearing its distinctive suit and

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emitting an unmistakeable odor

shall we dance? said one stinkhorn to another

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fall: 23 September 2011

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muted grey, but color trees are beginning to show their fall foliage

observed but not understood

2011-09-25T11:16:00.000-07:00

geometric designs to us, but the forces that fabricate these forms, what are they, what theory exists to explain them? is the image a mind model, or the reality of mind and sensibility . . .

first title: how confusing

2011-09-22T12:39:00.000-07:00

second title: confusion
third title: only a discriminating eye can distinguish between what is and was is not
fourth title: a composition
fifth title: beating about the bush
sixth title: subtlety is lost on the common and the vulgar

Natural Geometry

2011-09-21T18:25:00.000-07:00

DANGER: too late, but the fly may escape

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what one seed cost humankind, according to mythology

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Aesop: in remembrance

2011-09-21T17:39:00.000-07:00

Aesop who came into our home to comfort Kate after she lost Fala, her dear companion; but Aesop was too young and Kate was still grieving. When Kate died, we waited until our little Emma was born at Great Scot Kennels in Saugerties New York. She was Aesop's sister: they had the same mom but two different dads. Once Emma grew out of her wild crazy puppyhood, the siblings became inseperable companions, but their personalities were different. Whereas Aesop enjoyed being outdoors and had several favorite sites, one at the fence where he could look out towards the street, Emma preferred staying indoors until late afternoon or dusk. Then she would sit on the patio and survey the garden. Aesop might sit alongside of her. Together they explored Tallman State Park in New York, walking up and down trails with eagerness and also Olana State park and even Mt Desert island, Maine. He loved to swim in sweet water; on a hike in Rockleigh State park, New York, we followed a trail and came upon a rushing stream. he jumped right into a pool and paddled about, happy as a clam. He was a dear sweet boy, but when he felt he had to protect his sister or us, he took a stand. Now he is doggie heaven along with his sisters Kate and Emma and with his brother Fala. Eden for them is like the farmland outsie Evora, Portugal-with beautiful fields and large old cork trees and babbling brooks. And when he wants us to sisit, he summons us with a Aesop bark, and we all sit together, telling stories.

The Kiss

2011-09-14T18:22:00.000-07:00