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It's been a long day, so I'll let the pictures do most of the talking. My sister turned 75 today. This is how I remember that the recently evicted White House squatter will also be turning 75 in about a month, for Donna was born in the same Queens hospital as Former President Voldemort a few weeks earlier than he was. Had she only known, she would have stayed longer, toddled over to his crib and smothered the little brat.
So here are a few memories of my sister, Through The Years ::cues Kenny Rogers music::
Don't think I've ever posted this one before. Mom's handwriting on the back says "Ladies in pink suits." No date, but from the fiberglass drapes I'm guessing mid 60s.
Now this one, I have posted before, I think originally here back in 2014:
The year was 1965, and the photographer was Garry Winogrand. No, I hadn't heard of him before talking to Donna yesterday, but he was a fairly famous street photographer in that era:
At the time of his death [in 1984] there was discovered about 2,500 rolls of undeveloped film, 6,500 rolls of developed but not proofed exposures, and contact sheets made from about 3,000 rolls.The Garry Winogrand Archive at the Center for Creative Photography (CCP) comprises over 20,000 fine and work prints, 20,000 contact sheets, 100,000 negatives and 30,500 35 mm colour slides as well as a small group of Polaroid prints and several amateur motion picture films.
Earlier this year, 175 of his photos, including some of the never-seen ones, were exhibited at the Met ... and Donna somehow got a hold of this picture of her walking in Manhattan that year. She remembers the dress, the purse, and the Arnold Constable bag in her left hand. (I barely remember Arnold Constable, which was a department store and not a nerdy cop, and I never would have picked her out of the exhibit from this shot.)
Note the almost-catcalling Mad Men to her left. I guess some things in New York never change.
Moving on to moving on- me, to Ithaca, that is:
That's one from a stash of Cornell-era photos I came across earlier this year. No recollection of what the injury was, but the car was hers from 1974 until I took it over in my first year of law school eight years later- a fake Ford Mustang grill on a Pinto body, that leaked oil like a Middle East emirate but somehow lasted me into my first real job and through the move to Rochester.
Remember me bemoaning the other night that I didn't make it to my first baseball game until I was eight? This was from her first, which she didn't make until past 70. The Rumble Ponies have survived the minor league purge, and we shall return, whether she likes it or not;)
And finally, a photo as new as today's headlines:
From her 75th birthday lunch this very day, courtesy of her friend Mary Ann. Not bad for an old broad;)
We haven't seen each other since well before the end of the Before Times; probably the absence keeps us closer, given how similar we are in too many ways to encourage craziness to break out. But whether it's taxes or memories, we are always there for each other when needed.
Happy birthday:)
----
I'll throw in one photo of my own, which clearly illustrates another thing the two of us have in common:
bad teeth.
Today was my fourth straight Friday 11 a.m. appointment with the dentist, to pick up that x-ray and the impression of the chompers he waxed last time. I also had a filling scheduled. A client asked to come in to my office near him at 1, and I figured two hours would be plenty of cushion.
Well. The patient ahead of me was an even tougher case, and I wasn't seated for 45 minutes and was still numbing just past noon. Plus he was training either a new assistant or possibly a dental student; I wasn't in much of a position to ask which. Although I couldn't feel anything, I could tell from the time and the crosstalk that this was no KwikFill. I distinctly heard the words "Double Bubble," which sounded weird since I do not chew gum. This turned out to be "double buccal," a filling that goes in right among the gum line, I've since learned. And me, with two of them. I also heard him recite the number 99 to his able assistant, which turned out not to be a reference to her-
(though Garry Winogrand might have photographed her;)
- but him telling her that 99 out of 100 dentists would have given up and referred the patient to an oral surgeon for the mess that is my mouth. Not Ron. I told him what I tell people who look at me funny when hearing of my 140 mile trips to the dentist: This man has been saving my mouth for over 35 years. He thanked me for the loyalty.
I was a bit sore after the novocaine wore off- more in other spots including the previous extraction- and my chin itched like a mofo for an hour, but I got through it, in and out of my one follow-on client appointment, and home at a decent hour.
Tomorrow a guy is coming to look at the bathroom floor project and write up a quote. I'll be getting the whiny dog out of the house during that. And I'll finally get to the final anniversary post. Probably.
So here are a few memories of my sister, Through The Years ::cues Kenny Rogers music::
Don't think I've ever posted this one before. Mom's handwriting on the back says "Ladies in pink suits." No date, but from the fiberglass drapes I'm guessing mid 60s.
Now this one, I have posted before, I think originally here back in 2014:
The year was 1965, and the photographer was Garry Winogrand. No, I hadn't heard of him before talking to Donna yesterday, but he was a fairly famous street photographer in that era:
At the time of his death [in 1984] there was discovered about 2,500 rolls of undeveloped film, 6,500 rolls of developed but not proofed exposures, and contact sheets made from about 3,000 rolls.The Garry Winogrand Archive at the Center for Creative Photography (CCP) comprises over 20,000 fine and work prints, 20,000 contact sheets, 100,000 negatives and 30,500 35 mm colour slides as well as a small group of Polaroid prints and several amateur motion picture films.
Earlier this year, 175 of his photos, including some of the never-seen ones, were exhibited at the Met ... and Donna somehow got a hold of this picture of her walking in Manhattan that year. She remembers the dress, the purse, and the Arnold Constable bag in her left hand. (I barely remember Arnold Constable, which was a department store and not a nerdy cop, and I never would have picked her out of the exhibit from this shot.)
Note the almost-catcalling Mad Men to her left. I guess some things in New York never change.
Moving on to moving on- me, to Ithaca, that is:
That's one from a stash of Cornell-era photos I came across earlier this year. No recollection of what the injury was, but the car was hers from 1974 until I took it over in my first year of law school eight years later- a fake Ford Mustang grill on a Pinto body, that leaked oil like a Middle East emirate but somehow lasted me into my first real job and through the move to Rochester.
Remember me bemoaning the other night that I didn't make it to my first baseball game until I was eight? This was from her first, which she didn't make until past 70. The Rumble Ponies have survived the minor league purge, and we shall return, whether she likes it or not;)
And finally, a photo as new as today's headlines:
From her 75th birthday lunch this very day, courtesy of her friend Mary Ann. Not bad for an old broad;)
We haven't seen each other since well before the end of the Before Times; probably the absence keeps us closer, given how similar we are in too many ways to encourage craziness to break out. But whether it's taxes or memories, we are always there for each other when needed.
Happy birthday:)
----
I'll throw in one photo of my own, which clearly illustrates another thing the two of us have in common:
bad teeth.
Today was my fourth straight Friday 11 a.m. appointment with the dentist, to pick up that x-ray and the impression of the chompers he waxed last time. I also had a filling scheduled. A client asked to come in to my office near him at 1, and I figured two hours would be plenty of cushion.
Well. The patient ahead of me was an even tougher case, and I wasn't seated for 45 minutes and was still numbing just past noon. Plus he was training either a new assistant or possibly a dental student; I wasn't in much of a position to ask which. Although I couldn't feel anything, I could tell from the time and the crosstalk that this was no KwikFill. I distinctly heard the words "Double Bubble," which sounded weird since I do not chew gum. This turned out to be "double buccal," a filling that goes in right among the gum line, I've since learned. And me, with two of them. I also heard him recite the number 99 to his able assistant, which turned out not to be a reference to her-
(though Garry Winogrand might have photographed her;)
- but him telling her that 99 out of 100 dentists would have given up and referred the patient to an oral surgeon for the mess that is my mouth. Not Ron. I told him what I tell people who look at me funny when hearing of my 140 mile trips to the dentist: This man has been saving my mouth for over 35 years. He thanked me for the loyalty.
I was a bit sore after the novocaine wore off- more in other spots including the previous extraction- and my chin itched like a mofo for an hour, but I got through it, in and out of my one follow-on client appointment, and home at a decent hour.
Tomorrow a guy is coming to look at the bathroom floor project and write up a quote. I'll be getting the whiny dog out of the house during that. And I'll finally get to the final anniversary post. Probably.