Train to El Tovar, II Too! (Don’t) Stop this Train…

by admin

I’m just now planning a trip for tomorrow on a train to the Grand Canyon. Tonight is with Lace and Jay. Tomorrow  by 9:00 am, I’ll be in the middle of a shootout at the Grand Canyon Railway Hotel. How exciting….

Of course, this makes me remember another trip in these parts…another shootout that hadn’t yet happened….

A few thoughts and old photographs about that trip first…
Then, we arrived driving through Hoover Dam after a few days in Las Vegas. Yes, we took our Grade school kidlets to Las Vegas before we took them to Disneyland! Did not matter, they loved it, architecturally the same trip and none of us really gamble….Or at least I did not then. Life has many risks and it is so much better if one takes them…It was Easter. He is Risen indeed!

My main memory of Hoover Dam was looking down over that precipice and thinking of Albert Brooks meltdown in the scene from Lost in  America the morning after Julie Hagerty has gambled away their ‘Nest Egg.’  Jim Carrey in Cable Guy, too… “Kill the babysitter!” Thank you, Hollywood, for taking us on our first and sometimes only travels.

https://youtu.be/MnIzvH5GvOA


Here  are the Easter Day’s  highlights which began with our hike that started at 5:00 am. 

 

Hoover Dam Grand Canyon page from Jack Adams Webway

 

More El Tovar and Grand Canyon from Adams Family Webway.

 

I show the two photogs to document and remember two things:

  1. Yes, as I’ve said before… often it’s as if the mother taking the pictures never existed. Even then, I had to cut and paste myself into my life! (did you notice…? In my family album, I had not yet bothered to cut and paste mom into the photo!)
  2. I’ve included the second picture of this ‘family scrapbook’ 3 reasons. a) these are really the only photos of me taken because the kind waiter asked, b) it gives a feel for El Tovar Hotel Dining Room (Easter Dinner), and c) “Dad” has a derriere fetish and thinks it’s funny to fondle at the most inappropriate photo ops, oops… So, I have kind of a weird look on my face…Whatever.

Trip II I’m embarking upon tomorrow will have a more leisurely visit to draw at beautiful El Tovar Lodge designed by Charles Whittlesey. I’ll keep you posted…Trails to Rails…

(Don’t) Stop this Train…

https://youtu.be/mS2o4q7vRFM

Love Muffintop. This is what a Feminist Looks Like.

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You looked fabulous, but we must have better lighting at Tom's Event...

You looked fabulous, but we must have better lighting at Tom’s Event…

Catherine, Catherine! What a wonderful evening at The Cinemark.

I have to apologize for our late response

in expressing our praise and gratitude

for your efforts

in the groundbreaking arena of

Women’s Directorial Debuts.

 

I had to just take this upon myself, as Paula has been cyber-ly overwhelmed.

I have to say that the handsome picture of Tucker the day of the event

gave me pause…(paws?)…that is, what to wear.

He must have been busy helping you or primping as I had no response,

so I chose the Red Boa.

And, I’m so pleased with the t.

It expresses exactly my philosophy,

that we are feminists

because we feel we have something to say that will make a contribution

Not what we wear, it’s how we participate.

And personally, I like a little diversity, new blood.

 

So, to Hollywood’s Uber Director, Catherine Michon

and her team of Tucker and Bruce.

And soon, of Tom (Rooker) with your next flick filmed in ‘his home town’ Kansas City.

 

Now, what can we do to make this a great city in which to film a movie?

I can tell you that we MUST have better lighting.

We will roll out the Red Carpet and put down a Star, for you have earned yours.

Thank you for the effort.

the Rose.

 

 

Baaa…when he speaks to me, He calls me Paula.

by admin

I am attaching a link for a wonderful sermon that I missed hearing last week on Mother’s Day at Second Pres.  It is very powerful and I enjoyed hearing this one in particular at home, as I am prone to crying in church. Click on Reverend Paul Rock: The Voice, the top sermon, delivered on May 13th.

Listen to him, but he is talking about how God speaks to us and how to find that voice.

The value of feeling really low and 12 steps to go up.

I first had to feel pretty low about other things and to realize that I had to give into the fact that I couldn’t run the show of my life. I will say a little because I believe the 12 step process that one particular anonymous group identified in 1939 as instrumental for so many should be at least peripherally mentioned. It worked for many people to give up alcohol and more importantly to take responsibility for whatever else about oneself that wasn’t working in life. And addictions can be many things in people besides chemicals. I know because I am an addictive person and you can see it in part when I write. It’s often those things that worked so well for so long to keep us going, working, doing, running, thinking but for some reason yet to be uncovered it just wasn’t working anymore.

Starting over Each Day.

And, it has been said in meetings that it is a bit of a bait and switch. This is because so many do have a problem with organized religion and a higher power, religion is separate and apart from this process. But at the end of the day, it finally does come around to finding a God within oneself. And, because it focuses on just each day, it is really what brought me back to understanding why people chose Christianity as a religion. That idea that each day, sins are forgiven, and to be good, feel good. To move on doing good things it is important to forgive oneself to be rid of resentments that can keep us stuck, lazy and in the past in a negative way. Focusing too much on not forgiving oneself diverts from taking responsibility for past actions with amends as well as doing important work in life in the future.

So, after all of that and really several months of just going through the motions, I came to Believe. After practicing and saying and repeating, something finally happened. It was not like this, though this picture kept going through my head.

Bernini's Ecstasy of St. Teresa

 

It did involve sunlight, though. I think this is in part because the sun is so warming and relaxing. It also so changes the way that everything looks at different times of the day. Everything is grayed and light blued in the morning, golden in the afternoon, and reveals every color possible throughout the day, all in the same still-life setup.

I knew the hard work had paid off when I felt I really now saw

Great Beauty. Masterpieces.

Not all of the time, just when I am conscious.

But in these moments, all of a sudden the

yellow was buttery,

the green was a meadow,

the blue was indigo and

my reds were tame and quiet.

I have studied art and been around beautiful paintings, sculpture, buildings all of my life. I’ve visited complex cities that were both planned and evolved with people, time and place. Some were places that others may not have thought of as beautiful like junkyards, but I’ve always been open to thinking there was something to see and learn in any place, any person. I never associated this with God.

Still my most beautiful picture, place, moment captured. Trash sack and School Bus. Colorado Line, summer 2011.

Even when I made things, my meditation, I never really thought of this as God.

And later when I so relied on my mind to remember, there and in my dreams, I have always seen vivid color and detail. It does not always matter if something is in front of me, I can still see it, taste it, smell and touch it in my head.

When I lived in southwest Kansas,

I lived in the past when I studied stone buildings and read Webb’s the Great Plains.

I was in the future when I studied Rem Koolhaus and read Metropolis.

I was with my friends when I was lonely,

and I was in Paris when wanted to explore, see, draw and be alone to experience.

And I was in the present,

when I was cooking, driving, raising a family, doing my work,

but being connected to all of that and feeling important about what I chose to do.

Paul Rock also speaks to that in his sermon. That is, pretending. Some people call it daydreaming, but when it shows up in what we do on earth it is more than that. This is the idea hat there are crowds cheering, people watching, and that what we do matters, civic responsibility and hard work. And for all that organized religion gets knocked around, that the belief in good through religion is something that at one time and still does unite Americans in values and in large part helped us to build a great country. If one doesn’t like the word religion, just call if faith, faith in building something that is good or in large part tries to be.

With faith, suddenly Life is electrified through everything on earth and it is all connected.

 

The Work of it, the Practice, to hear Voice.

Within Paul Rock’s sermon he also talks about Voice, real voice and hearing. I actually have practiced this, not often enough, when I really work at setting aside a time and place to have a conversation. The pauses, the questions.

I’m not so great at conversation with others in general. I talk way way too much about self, answer questions with too much detail, explain, random and tangential and wonder why I’m always the one talking and having to offer, often way more than I really want or need to say. It comes off as unhealthy narcissism when I am often just engaging in a nervous habit that in part was necessary to share about my unorthodox life but no longer has value.

I am working at the Art of Listen, being still. (though professionally here this translates to just baby steps with partial “edit”).

And of staying in the moment.

Maybe actually trying non-verbal connecting, even with other women and we are so verbal!

I have to say, the last place I found was just happening to sit upon a little padded bench in my foyer at The Illinois in one of these conversations I knew had to happen at that moment. When I looked down, terrazzo and border tile and when I looked up,  there was a beautiful plaster ceiling of white.

My little Borromini Chapel at The Illinois. How on earth did God help us do decorative plaster?

So, at the end of the day, it is work and practice and I could be doing a whole lot more, though out each day. But, I am getting pretty good at it. In fact, the birds awakened me this morning earlier than usual to get this sermon of Paul’s out there before church this morning.

So, both the seeing and the hearing are working pretty well.

 Off to shower. I think instead of running this morning,

I will have to let God treat me to a some tasting before church with a chocolate mocha decaf.

And I’ll get to church early,

to take time to smell the lilacs by the fence

of the house along Oak where I park.

Have a happy Sunday.

 

 

le sketch du jour: July 12, 1980. Dressing for Claude Monet….

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My mother Ginny Graves found these and called them our “Monet Water Lily Dresses.”

Above: My sister Gina, my cousin Laura Ward McCrary, and I are pictured above, dressed for the wedding of my mother’s cousin, Christie Lee Triplett, in St. Louis. Christie Lee was my Grandmother Millie Ward’s niece as Christie’s father, Floyd Lee is the brother of my grandmother, Mildred Lee Ward.

When Claude and I met. 

I knew Claude when I was in pre-school. That is because my mother taught art lessons at the Nelson Art Gallery, so this was my pre-school. But that’s another post.

Anyway, if you have been to the Nelson-Atkins Museum, as it is now called, you have seen the triptych of Monet’s Water Lilies. It  used to be in the large room just to the left of the Nelson Bookstore and Giftshop which are to the left as you enter the gallery turnstiles. Or do they still have the turnstiles?  Anyway, they were and still are mesmerizing to me.

So to visit this real place and the ponds and gardens where Monet painted 16 years after this picture was taken was like being in a dream. The paintings are actually more real than the place, but they are equally beautiful.

Monet Triptych at the Nelson.

 

Claude in his Gardens.

Saturday July 12, 1980. (from my journal and sketchbook)

Woke. Ran 3. Went to Breakfast.

Met Granda & we took Métro to Gare St. Lazare.  From there we took a train to Vernon and from Vernon a taxi to Giverny, the Gardens where Monet painted. They just re-opened this spring and everything is beautiful.

See the bachelor buttons...

The house is pink stucco with green trim and the gardens were full of bachelor buttons, thistles, and all sorts of little yellow, red, pink & orange blossoms.

Monet's House with Tile workshop at left. Arbors are along pathways throughout the Gardens. colored marker sketch by Paula, summer 1980.

We saw the curved bridges and lily ponds and willows that are in all the paintings.

There was a room of paintings in his house.  Off the entrance were some of his later works which are really dark, but interesting and beautiful but in a different way.

We stayed until 3:30 and took the taxi back to Vernon.  Sat in café with Granda and had a sandwich de jambon (ham sam) & a croque monsieur.

Our train leaves at 6:00 and we are waiting at the station. Dinner tonight is at Grandamolie’s hotel, the Regina, at 7:30. This is the hotel on right bank on the corner just across from the street from the wing of the Louvre where le museé des arts décoratifs is located (where I am going to school).

Seed pearl earring surrounded by suspended bezel of baby seed pearls on French Wires from the Hotel Regina Bijoux & Joaillier Anciens & Antiquaires

Granda gave me a very beautiful pair of antique gold earrings with baby seed pearls in the bezel from the hotel jewelry shop. Teensy tintsy intricate construction, they are about 1/4″ diameter drop on French wires.

(end of journal entry)

Monet's Pink Stucco house with Green Trim at Giverny. I used little sponges to do the trees. This was one of my first painting classes and I'll have to tell you, it identified early on why anal people aren't (initially or ever?) very good painters. Way too tedious and don't take enough artistic license. I'm still trying to get past this stage...oil on canvas by Paula, winter 1983.

The painting above was done later from a photograph in my album from that summer. It’s not an exciting painting, but the colors do capture the place.

So Claude, it was a pleasure to visit your home, and with my Grandmother Millie, which made it even more special. And if only I could paint like you, I would paint a picture of the crossing at the Cimarron River on the XIT Ranch, for it is as beautiful a place as any in your pictures. And, I may still do this. It is clearer in my mind each day.

Memoirs of Geisha Girls.

by admin

Footbinding in Chinese Culture.

I remember both my mother and my grandmother talking about footbinding in Chinese cultures as a child. I am not sure where I read it when I was in high school, or maybe it was just told to me. But the vivid visual picture in my mind of having one’s foot bound back upon itself in order to keep it small, a bud, is more vivid than any picture. I had never seen a picture of this until now when I just googled it, but cannot share. I think it is better just told in words by mothers, grandmothers, and authors.

The purpose was to not only arrest a young girl’s foot at a certain stage of growth, it was to actually bind the toes back underneath the ball to achieve a small bud-like appearance, a lotus-shape. This was considered desirable to men. The pain can only be imagined.

It is a mother-daughter story. And I think stories such as Lisa See’s Snow Flower and the Secret Fan are important to read, to see what it is like for women in different times-different places. And to see how our language with each other, our nu shu, allows them to endure and enjoy.

But it as actually the Japanese Government which banned foot-binding in Taiwan in 1915.

So this is a story about the Geishas in Japanese culture. A much different story for women. This was a story I shared with my daughter when we read the same book.

Clockwise Geishas: Lacy, Lacy, Paula, Lacy.

 

The closest English translation of the proper noun “geisha” would be artist/performing artist. 

They are artisans that train for long periods of time (taking many years of work before becoming a full-fledged geisha),

therefore they, in some sense, symbolize perseverance. 

The world of the traditional geisha is the flower and willow world.

The flower is the symbol of beauty, but the willow is this idea of flexibility, not being rigid,

and this is how you survive.

Historically, Japanese feminists have seen geisha as exploited women, 

but some modern geisha see themselves as liberated feminists. 

“We find our own way, without doing family responsibilities. Isn’t that what feminists are?” 

These women leave their families at a young age to immerse themselves in their art.

My daugher, Lacy, read Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden the summer after fourth grade. We are both Pisces, Lace being born on the Ides of March, four days after my birthday on 11th. Always seeing both points of view, we were both immersed in books during grade school. She is her own person.

She wanted to be a Geisha for Halloween, but I don’t sew.  So we trooped to Wichita to Hancock and we kind of drew out this pattern, making up the kimono as we imagined it to be. Velvet flip-flops with a tatami mat footpad were her geta.

My geisha girl experience was as a sophomore server to S.M. East Prom in 1977.  Here is a picture of all of us:

Sophomore Prom Server Geishas: Shawnee Mission East, spring 1977.

Back row l to r:  Marthe Dreher, Suzanne Passman, Tricia Venable, Paula Graves.

Floor l to r:  Don’t know…maybe Denise Rabius?, Julie Newman, Lisa Revare.

The geisha system was founded, actually, to promote the independence and economic self-sufficiency of women. And that was its stated purpose, and it actually accomplished that quite admirably in Japanese society, where there were very few routes for women to achieve that sort of independence.                                                   -Mineko Iwasaki.  subject of Golden’s book.  then wrote her own story, Geisha of Gion. Born Nov. 2, 1949, Kyoto.

Being a Geisha is, in many ways, good training for being a woman. We have a secret sisterhood. We enjoy putting on makeup and clothes, seemingly to be attractive to men. But mostly because we enjoy the costume and makeup that we are privileged to wear in our roles. We congregated in groups with other Geisha at slumber parties in our youth, practicing our dance. And we learn from our older sister, the okee-san, and our mother, the makee-san, not just from our own blood.

The Geisha is skilled in music and dance. She is educated with knowledge to participate in skilled conversations of culture and cleverness on equal plane with the businessmen she entertains. And with her own perspective.

And, like the Geisha, we are the beautiful flowers

who bend like the willow, to prevail when the winds blows.

 

Arm Art at Billy’s in Liberal

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fig. 1.1 Subject: Vizcela dog owner, gentleman, photographer, agriculturist, beast of burden on the jukebox, and boasts a firm man-hand on the two-step. Later.

Fig. 1.2 "Get that Pellligrino bottle out of here, my boss will get mad."

To start, the subjects here have not all been in the Big House, most importantly not Fig. 1.1.

B) the setting is Billy’s Mexican BBQ in Liberal, Kansas. Go here to hang out with

  • the youngins’
  • the “hope no one at work or dad got deported this week because the taillight was out”
  • the frat boys when they’re home from college
  • a few Liberal Country Club people who want to have fun
  • beautiful hispanic girls
  • the aggies under cover, urban relative term (a Wal-mart), Liberal is it.  A nice shirt and pressed jeans doesn’t impress, Hi-Plains ghetto the current chic.
  • people who want really good food:  bbq, beans, baked potato salad to name a few.
  • and,  the real thing, a tattoo Artist just out of the pokey.

I’ll quit talking (so much), here’s some bod(ies) art.

Fig. 1.3 How could I not notice this one....

Fig. 1.4 Left guy said he had tattoos all over his body, friend at right sitting back. But, when I asked him to go in the backroom for a pic he backed out. Chicken.

Fig. 1.5 But his buddy fearless. He's knows he's a star.

Fig. 1.6 A smile and bicep makes it even better.

Fig. 1.7 Hmmm...kind of depressing...

This tattoo’s owner had  worked for Best Well Service in Oil field. Slow economy, so temporarily out of regular work. Thinking ahead about what to get pictured on the internet but still shared.  It says “Death.”

Fig. 1.8 The Yin and Yang.

Life:  how can you really appreciate one without the other? He wouldn’t let me take a second (awkward upside down arm pose) photo, I like the cool. “Rotate your picture.”  And he knows i-photo better than I do.

Now for the specifics on the Artist and how he revealed himself:

Paula:  “are you all using the same artist?  It’s a similar style.”

Artist:  “no, I did these myself.”

Paula:  “where did you learn how to do this? Did you go to school?”

Artist:  “in prison.”

Paula:  “Whoa…(pause).  Do they just give you the supplies?”  (thinking a little rehabilitative craft project…license plates…)

Artist:  “no we just get them.”

Paula:  “how do you do it?”

Well, I’ll summarize the technique here.  In lockup, one can have hair grease which looks really good in ethnic hair, I might add.  Hair grease from the brilcream is lit with a match (a prison network item) to provide  ashes:  the ink. The ashes are pressed into the skin with a needle (inter-prison commissary). And then, all the thought and artistry, zen time.

Very impressed with time use for an otherwise boring day in confinement. Idle minds are the devil’s weapon.

Paula: “so, how did you get in prison?” …..(+ a little more coaxing…)

Artist: “they said for burglery.” (who can afford a good lawyer these days?)

Paula: “did you do it?”

Artist: “Well, someone got killed.” (he only did a year, so I don’t think it could have been him, not to make light of this).

Paula: “so… are you still hanging out with these friends?  A word from mother, “you are the company you keep.”

Fig. 1.9 The Artist's friends chose for his signature piece. Note to self: ask about laser hand treatments.

So, I can’t give the handsome Artist billing on his exact visage above because he was concerned about the coverage. For the record and parole officer, he wasn’t drinking. He and his companions could not have been more lucid and gentlemanly. I was at a midwestern college so I can discern.

I have no worries, I don’t think the burgler-Artists become the Unabombers or on a Tucson tyrade, that’s takes suburbia or a higher education to bring it on. He’ll be fine.

Jody's friend in Paula's scarf, Paula, Jody, Pelligrino.

And last, credit to Jody’s friend for the fun evening of inviting me to sit down, people sharing, and encouragement. He wouldn’t tell me his name, but he did tell me his age, less than half mine. I love it when people ask if I have a daughter.  Better than when the hairdresser asked if Lace was my granddaughter, but I blame this on the culture and region, Wichita.

Fine women, fine food, fine construction. 5328 W. 67th St.

by admin
"Party at Graves"

Party at the Graves.

Commentary on the Picture

Maybe this was Indian Hills but it is one of many parties where we solved our yet to be uncovered issues with food (men, mother, other) with food. I think everyone’s mouth is full in the picture. I’m sure we’ve all now resolved these issues and found our perfect size on our own.  The food was actually not fine at all, lots of sugar and salt, before fruit & ranch dip with veggies.

Back row:

Madelyn White, Sally Burger.

Dana Marshall, Ellen Hanes.

Liz Frost, Linda Shea, Amber Edwards, Julie Newman, Sarah Jones.

Cassie Brown, Dee Devine, Emily May, I think Leslie Lane is in there somewhere.

Commentary on the building era

See the hammock on the patio? and fireplace with the curved stone wall backdrop?  In quest of environmentalist values and aesthetic, my parents bricked in the lower half of the ski lodge fireplace in the 70s. On the brick hearth they placed a Godin wood stove. It really seemed to mess up the thermostats to me. One time a bird came down the flue and flew around our house. And a squirrel.

Present owners

The new occupants own Czar Bar, a music hotspot at 15th and Grand.  Connie Suss, owner of Bijin Salon lives in the Morgan’s old house and Greg is a musician.  I’ve heard that the new owners of my parents house do not live there, but that they use it to entertain.  I’m glad to see they’re all carrying on the creative vibe and party tradition (see Morgan-Graves-Wilkin Circle). Dennis was sitting in the Village with a “Morgan” ballcap on one day. The Czar Bar owner recognized the gallery name, approached him and they met. As well, I was able to live next door to Connie and Greg Suss when Jack, my son, attended Pembroke ’06-’09.

Scale

When Jack’s friends from east of Mission Road would come to visit, there was often the assumption that the two houses were one house. They were designed and built at the same time, inter-connected by a fence and common circle drive with a John Buck Sculpture.  After I attended Indian Hills and Shawnee Mission East, I realized that the houses are modest in size by some people’s standards. It made for a certain family “intimacy.” While communal spaces are important, I still believe in as much separate territory as can be accomplished, regardless of size. I had a corner in our unfinished basement where I would read.

Morgan-Graves houses

The house was built in 1965, see 5328. Both our home and the Morgan’s were featured in Better Homes and Gardens and the KC Star.  I think my parents made sure that house was in print at least twice a decade. Not that it wasn’t an interesting house, but there were at least six houses of this style in my neighborhood. They were all equally interesting. The architect was Bob Wendt who lived the next block over on 66th Terrace. Bob Wendt had many wonderful houses in Prairie Village. Betsy Curry grew up in a wonderful, large Bob Wendt house off Roe and 83 St, but only my sister Gina has seen this. The construction-related people on 66th and 67th Streets between Fonticello and Nall included the following:

Bob Wendt, Architect-Builder

Bob Falkenberg, Falkenberg Lumber, contractor

Bob Yearick, Architect

Roger Wilkin, Architect

Dean Graves, Architect

Glenn Mistele, basement expert

Jim Morgan, artist and worked with his hands, thus included.

Jim Morgan and Dean Graves, assistants to the architect

Both the Morgans and the Graves worked very closely with Bob Wendt on their houses. While in tandem, each has subtle details on the interior and exterior that set them apart. I think Jim Morgan was a pilot for TWA at the time and thus had the time and eye to expend on design when he was home.

My father’s first degree was in architectural engineering. His schooling was paid for by the U.S. Marine Corps. Upon graduation and marriage to my mother, he served in the U.S. Marine Corps. He first attended Officer’s Training School in Quantico, Virgina where Gina was born. Two years later, I was born at Camp LeJeune, home of “Expeditionary Forces Readiness.” It was not during wartime, but at one point he was deployed on a ship to the Phillipines for some contretemps. I’m not sure of all the timing. While I know he would have been a noble warrior and done a fine job, I remember asking him about this. He said as the ship was cruising through the Pacific, he thought, “holy smokes! I might just go over here and get shot!” The ship ended up turning around. Anyway, I don’t know the order but at some point he worked for Hallmark. He returned to KU to get his Master of Architecture.  We lived at Johnny Walker apartments which I think was over in Missouri of all places. Thus, he wasn’t really in practice yet when I was five and we moved into this house. Or, he was at least smart enough not to make his first mistakes on his own house. That’s what clients are for. That’s a joke.

The women

All of the wives of these men were equally interesting and career-minded: Modelle Wendt, Marjorie Mistele, Ginny Graves, Gwen Falkenberg, and Myra Morgan. Their vocations beyond the home at this time included the following:

television and runway model

accordian agent

the Nelson Art Lady and docent

all around charming southern belle and soon-to-be gallery owner

and, the quintessential best mother, Betty Wilkin. She funny and loving and encouraging. She would make incredible lunches like hamburgers and french fries. On the grill!! For lunch!!  She had many other talents in preservation, travel and history. But, when you get the best mom award in this category, no one pays much attention to anything else you do.

The Hyde’s Bruce Goff House

Next to the Falkenberg’s was a house designed by Bruce Goff, a student of Frank Lloyd Wright. Bruce Goff became a renowned architect in his own right (see Bruce Goff in Sublette, Kansas).  The Hyde’s (Mark’s dad) lived in this house. I think he was a very specialized eye surgeon.  It was green, multi-sided, and had an ashtray clerestory and sunken living room. The bedrooms were around the perimeter and were entered through sliding glass doors. We had more than one family barbeque at the Hyde’s. Clyde and Marty Nichols also lived in a wonderful Bruce Goff house with spikey things out of the top over by the Nelson.

The Patterson’s pre-civil War Nall House

Another interesting house on the street is that of Anne and Craig Patterson. I always call this the Nall House.  It was built before the Civil War and was across the street from my neighbors.  My father did all their architectural work and I babysat for their boys. All different stories, I’ll stop here.

Bob Falkenberg

Bob Falkenberg lived down the street, next to the Hyde’s. He was the owner of the best German Construction Co. in Kansas City, Falkenberg Lumber. Bob’s was an incredible design. I don’t think he used an architect. Every detail and material was perfect. The plan had a hallway that angled back in segments. You encountered Nancy and Peco’s bedrooms along the way before leading to a beautiful master suite. Nancy and Pecos each had their own bathrooms.

The place and time. Falkenberg hallway.

There was an incident I’ll never forget in that hallway. Pecos (model handsome) was playing music in his room and he had a really nice stereo and headset. I was with Nancy and we heard “Give me an F….Give me a C….” He may have even been playing it for us or let us listen on the headphones, it was so traumatic I can’t remember. Within moments, Bob was in that bedroom and had Pecos thrown up against the wall, headphones ripped out of the stereo and thrown on the floor, so now it was blaring “what does that spell?  FV@k! what does that spell? [repeat]! That’s all I can remember… Gina and I were 10 and 12, two girls. The late 60s for us were Mary Quant makeup bought in London, paper dress parties, and twiggy posters.

Theirs was the first house I had seen with a huge stainless steel refrigerator and all stainless steel appliances. They added a beautiful atrium Greenhouse that Mr. Falkenberg would work in on the weekends. He would grow things like exotic orchids and tropicals here, and their patio was beautifully landscaped. 20% of the cost of your home should be in landscaping and he certainly exemplified this aesthetic.

Mr. Falkenberg was very handsome and manly. On Friday nights, he and Gwen always had romantic patio cookouts with cocktails, music, and tenderloin on the grill. Maybe everyone did this in the 60s, but the modern kitchen and sophisticated simple grilling seemed way ahead of its time for Kansas. As mentioned, Gwen was the first woman to pass the bar in the state of Kansas. Her sister was Marilyn Van Derbur, the 1958 Miss America. Gwen was from a family of beautiful women with flaxen hair from Denver. Nancy has this hair. I think there was some story that Bob Falkenberg was in Denver, saw a picture of Gwen in the newspaper, and knew what he wanted. He brought Gwen to Kansas.

Bob began working with his father who started the company and took the family business into the next generation. Bob’s very long KC client list included an ambassador to England, among other things. He was a constant presence at the Walnuts. My father’s clients would always use Bob Falkenburg. He seemed to take on any project, regardless of size. That is, those that demanded the highest standards of craftsmanship, finishwork, and an honest, efficient work ethic. His longtime colleagues were old school gentlemanly finishworkers who left a room as they had entered it.

Leslie Yearick, Nancy Falkenberg, Nancy Mistele and I all ran around together at Highlands Grade School.

Glenn Mistele

Nancy Mistele’s father, Glenn, was a master at basements.  If your basement flooded, you called Glenn Mistele. He would solve the immediate problem and diagnose the longterm solution. I won’t go into mothers here since I’m on a construction tangent, that will be for a Highlands Grade School post.

Roger Wilkin

Roger Wilkin, Peter’s dad, was an architect. I’ll say more about the Wilkin’s in Morgan-Graves-Wilkin Circle. Their house had, what are now called, great rooms that flanked an open kitchen.  All of these houses had exposed beams and pitched roofs. They were open plans, but spaces were still divided into functions, inter-connected but intimate.

That’s all I have for now. As I add more information or pictures of the houses, I may break this into parts. Thank you for your patience.