Social Security

There is finally a full listing of Bob's death record on-line.
Social Security Death Record for Robert Caigan (click here).

Social Security is an interesting phrase. It means an organization/ a government program, but the words themselves mean much more. What does it mean to be socially secure?
This is worth thinking about. Can a government promise this to its citizens?

The news consistently reports the demise of the Social Security Program.
I am tired of hearing about the "end" of "social security".
I am tired by the constant noise of a fear driven media.
Social security... the concept and practice is important.
According to Intelius, Robert Caigan is 79 years old. I just saw it on Intelius.com.

Try again Intelius.

With regards,
Bob's Daughter

Bob collected art.

Recently we had a birthday party for our friend Carolee Schneemann.
We invited her friends, may of whom we did not know well. It was a "lovely evening", as Linda would call such an affair. After dinner, while guests were relaxing in the living room I hear, "Why do you have a Will Barnet??" Susan Quasha, an artist and writer pulled my attention away from the kitchen. She really wanted to know the answer. I must have looked puzzled because she added, "I was just at a party in his honor at the Art Students League!" The room turned towards me, "I don't don't know why. It was my father's and my mother gave it to me." "Ohhh, how interesting. Who was your father?" Silence...I had no idea how to answer that question. Finally I said, "He was an architect and interior designer." This did not answer the question in terms of the lithograph on my wall - Dawn, a unique piece by Barnet. I proceeded to say, "My father died when I was 11 years old and I am learning about him through his art collection. I'm writing about it on a blog called Bob's Daughter". People were interested to find out more and internally I thought, "I haven't answered this question."

Was Bob at the Art Students League? I know that in 1957 Linda took a painting class there with her friend Judy Lowry. A fact I learned from Judy after Linda's death. She also told me that Linda was dating a divorced man at the time and that it was a secret because it was shameful to be divorced in those days. I did not remark that Linda married a divorced man, my father, Bob.

I do not know how Bob came to purchase this artwork. It is much darker than most of Barnet's other work. It is beautiful and quiet. I love it and look at it everyday.

Maybe I could email Barnet at the League and ask if he remembers a man named Robert Caigan?

xoxo,
Bob's Daughter

Over the mountains and through the woods...

Loudenville, must visit Loudenville...

I made another phone call in my search for dead relatives. This time to my mother's best friend form early childhood. Ann knows many things about Linda, including where Linda's grandparents (on the Mandelbaum side) are buried. "They are with my grandparents and your Aunt Joan." That means that my great- grandfather, Meyer Mandelbaum set aside these graves. I don't quite understand how the burial system works because Ann said that the cemetery is owned by "the temple". How many plots can a person set aside? Meyer must have purchased plots a very long time ago. What was going through his mind? How many generations into the future was he imagining? Did he lay awake at night thinking about this? Did he simply purchase as many as was allowed and if that is the case, who decides such numbers?

Khem asked if I want to be buried in Loudenville. I told him that I will think about it.

xoxo,
Bob's Daughter

Important information

This is an idiom that I have been pondering:

The person who"knows where all the bodies are buried".

This is the definition from McGraw-Hill Dictionary of American Idioms and Phrasal Verbs, 

"Fig. to know all the secrets and intrigue from the past; to know all the relevant and perhaps hidden details."

© 2002 by The McGraw-Hill Companies, Inc.

I am becoming the person in my family who knows where the bodies are buried.
My mom's cousin and I frequently talk and I decided to ask her an important question. She is 82 years old and I don't call unless I have read the NY Times - or at least the Sunday edition.

Do you know where my Grandparents and Aunt Joan are buried?

They're across from my parents.

Where is that?

Loudenville, the Jewish cemetery in Loudenville.

(Fortunately, I know where Loudenville is located.)

Thank you Cousin Susan.

A little more chit chat and we hang up.
I think I am going to Loudenville.
I am guessing we own at least one more plot.
Joe, Linda's father, would have bought enough for everyone.

This may sound truly bizarre, but I wonder how many unclaimed cemetery plots exist in this country?
I wonder if there is a national register for burial plots? 
Where is everyone buried?? Maybe, I will find more relatives buried in Loudenville?
Twisted, I know...but I am on a hunt to find the past.

xoxo,
Bob's Daughter

A stitch in time saves nine. I love this phrase.
It took me a long while to realize that it is literal and metaphoric.
I have always loved to stitch by hand.
Bob designed and stitched bargello patterns into seat tapestries and pillows.
I remember this very distinctly. He was calm when he stitched.
Today I googled the word "bargello" and learned more about Bob.
It is architectural stitching. Here is the Wiki/ click here for bargello embroidery.
I will photograph some of his work. I'm sure I am biased, by I like his designs better than the patterns that I have found online.

I think that this blog is similar to stitching. It is a piecing together of life and online information.

I continue to examine these issues while I wait for MyLife.com to DO something, change its policies or for internet customs or laws to come into existence that affect the listing.

With regards,
Bob's Daughter

Harvard Club and Pop Culture

Well, now lots of folks will know where the Harvard Club is located. The Wall Street Journal reports that the party for David Fincher's new film, "The Social Network," was held at the Harvard Club. This is not a typical location for movie parties and I wonder how many of the guests needed to find out the address from someone else? No way everyone under 50 is as skilled as Jeff.
Party Details/ Click here for article
xoxo,
Bob's Daughter

Do you know where the Harvard Club is?

(Enter mid-conversation)

Well, do you know where the Harvard Club is?

No, Uncle Herbie, I don't.

The Algonquin?

No, I don't.

Is there a cross street or an avenue in this description for where the restaurant is located?

(I hear laughter.)

Should I mention some other places where you won't know the location?

No, thank you, I think I'm done now.

He's still laughing.

Gooooood Byyyyye Uncle Herbie. I love you.

He's still laughing. 

Good-bye.

We hang up.

I have lost my cosmopolitan edge.

I wondered how many people could pass this social test.

I have dinner with Jeff.

I tell him the story.

He knows every location.

I am impressed. 

Carolee is going to a special opening at the Whitney at

the new location -  downtown.

I tell her that I hope she enjoys herself and the new Barbara Kruger exhibit on the roof.

CS: How do you know that? I don't know that and I'm invited!

EC: I read it. I don 't remember where, maybe the NY Times?

We move on to another topic.

Maybe I still have a little bit of NYC in me?

The Information Age is troubling.
How do we know what we know?
And why do we know it?
And who has access to it?

xoxo,
Bob's Daughter

Stories and Memory

Bob died when I was 11 years old.
I know him through memories and stories people have told me.
Now I am learning about him from the internet.
It tells me many new stories.

Memories and family stories were once only a part of community sharing and storytelling. Stories and information have been passed down through generations as personal memoir. Now the internet collects stories - as does the US Library of Congress.

The US Library of Congress is archiving all Twitter posts starting from 2006.

Here are two interesting articles about this:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/04/14/library-of-congress-twitt_n_537330.html 

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/15/technology/15twitter.html

And apparently one may follow the US Library of Congress on Twitter.

http://twitter.com/librarycongresshttp://twitter.com/librarycongress

I don't tweet on twitter, but I am interested in how collecting all these thoughts will influence the future. I am not as interested in the macro as the micro issues. I am uncomfortable believing that an algorithm can tell a story with the detail that Uncle Herbie can illustrate his experiences.

I think about future memories.
I had to say that sentence out loud.
I truly do think about future memories - and who owns and controls them.
Memories are how we interpret momentary feelings, combined with facts and experience.

I am teaching our daughters about Linda and Bob. It comes through me. I don't know where this blog is taking me, but the search engines will effect my story telling - if I let them. A pause in the experiment...

xoxo,
Bob's Daughter

Love Thy Neighbor

When I called Kensico Cemetery...

Jodi answered my call:

This is highly unusual. I need to pull the ticket for these plots.

None of the empty plots are assigned.

I know, that is why I am calling.
My uncle, Herb Cohen, is ill and he asked me to arrange for his plot so that when the time comes we will not have to rush for signatures - like we did for my mother.

I have to pull the hard copy. Will you hold?

(LONG pause)

There are 6 lots, each with 4 plots, so you should have 20 plots left to assign, but it says here that 2 of the lots are not to be used. That means 8 plots are to remain empty. You can only use 12 more plots. Didn't you say that there are 6 children? There may not be room for your uncle if all the children have spouses and want to be buried together.

Why are there only 12 plots? There should be 13 available.

No, 12,  Bob and Linda and Helen and Saul are in 4 of them.

Excuse me? I don't understand? Who is Helen?

She is buried in plot 1 of lot yyy and Saul is in plot 3 of lot yyy.

Is it Heli Scheuer???

Yes, Helen Scheuer is in plot 1.

Are you sure?? 

I went through this when my mother died and I was told 1,2 and 4 in plot yyy were empty!

I am sure. I am looking at the ticket - not the computer.

(pause)

  

So, Helen is buried next to Linda?

(This was a moment that I will always remember. I am not a deeply religious woman, but I was never as sure as I was at that moment that the spirit stays connected to the body, at least for a while, and I had authorized my mother to be buried next to Heli - and I still don't remember if they got along or not.)

That's not what I was told, but let's figure out how to make it all work.

First, I don't think all my cousins will want to be buried there because it is not a Jewish Cemetery.

They will all have to sign off on that.

Yes, I understand.

Amy could be buried in plot 2 of yyy between Saul and her mother Helen?

Yes, I recommend that Herb is buried in plot 4, so that we don't break up another lot.

That way husbands can be buried next to wives.

He will be on the end and there is no one next to him.

(I decide not to mention that Herb is married to a man who wants to be cremated and that there is no room for Dan in this plan.)

Who owns the lot next to yyy on Herb's side?

(I am not making the same mistake twice.)

No one, there are trees.

Who owns the lots below us?

There is a path. In fact, there is no one to the left of plot xxx either. Maybe that is why your uncle designated that no one is to be buried in the two other lots because that would make this area completely private.

It's very pretty there. I believe there is a view of the lake.

(pause)

(My mind is moving very quickly now.)

When were these plots purchased?

November 3, 1978.

(The day after Bob died. The day of the funeral and burial.)

Were there plots available in the Jewish Cemetery then or was it too full to buy this many plots?

Oh, there are still plots, but it is much prettier where you are.There are holly trees and crab apple trees.

It looks like a park. Sharon Gardens, the Jewish Cemetery is next to the entrance and the road.

Thank you. I will let my cousins know how to proceed in designating Amy and Herb's plots.

________________________________________________________

My mind started to slow as I thanked Jodi and began to consider this news.Uncle Bud imagined eternity with a beautiful view and a spot away from the road. The beauty of this setting trumped my Conservative Jewish uncle's religious mandate for all of us to be buried in a Jewish Cemetery. Perhaps the two lots that provide us our "private area" gives a buffer for our own Jewish Cemetery? Perhaps a Rabbi blessed this area? I don't really think so. I think Bud wanted the most beautiful spot. He designed our family's eternity.

xoxo,

Bob's Daughter

Mr. Rubik

I think about time. I think about thinking about time.


Uncle Herbie was taken to the hospital by an ambulance. I have not completed my "to-do list" task of calling Kensico Cemetery to "place an order" for his burial plot. I don't want to.



I am turning time over and over in my mind, and wondering when it will be the right time to make this phone call. Time is not a Rubik's Cube. It will never line up.  I know this, and yet I turn the little blocks as if they might fit into place. I use the mental Rubik's Cube as a model for options. Maybe the movement gives me time to process the information and settle on a specific alignment of Rubik's Cube-life that is appealing, or at least more tolerable? Rubik's Cube is a powerful playmate for me - and you know how I feel about good playmates.



Once I complete my work, all the cousins will have to be called and they will have to sign the grave-site release. They don't know that he has asked me to do this. It is a character issue for me: am I cold enough to get this done - which is what he wants - and not worry about my cousins? Perhaps there is never a good time for discussions about the practical realities of death.


Hah! I just googled Rubik's Cube, and it was designed by an architect named Rubik in 1974. Of course it is an architect's design! Yes, I am Bob's daughter, and I will never second guess my fascination with Rubik's Cube again. Time to make a phone call - yah - you know where I am calling...

xoxo,

Emily
AKA Bob's Daughter

Uncle Herbie's Plans

Uncle Herbie has asked me to arrange for his burial plot.
I will again engage with the seating arrangement of my dead relatives and project who will want to be where depending on variables that must be imagined in order to assess the proper location.

I will need to contact Kensico Cemetery and find the location for all the Cohen plots and then choose one for Uncle Herbie.  For now it is a fact finding task. Yes, I am that woman (out of the 8 nieces and nephews), but I am not completely comfortable knowing that this is my role.

Dr. Herbert I. Cohen is not leaving this to chance.
He told me that he just updated his obituary.
I couldn't resist, I asked...

How often do you do that? 

Every year, I may start doing it more frequently.

Do we need a plot for Daniel?

No, he doesn't want to be buried there. 

(PAUSE)

He wants to be cremated.

Do you want me to have his ashes sprinkled on your grave if you die first?

I don't care. I'll be dead. You do what you want.

(PAUSE)

ok

What else is there to say?

xoxo,

Bob's Daughter

Moving on...
I have had some great advice.

The 1970's, when I was a child, was filled with design. Bob liked Marimekko.
I mostly liked it, sometimes it felt like too much color and the black was soothing. I would try to figure out which color they started printing with and which were layered over them.
It all looked a bit like this:

As Bob's Daughter, I did not go to a school that said "no black". I lived in design school and one of the biggest fights I ever had with Bob was when I told him that the green rug didn't match the wallpaper that looked somewhat like the the one above. He finally stopped arguing with me and said to Linda, "I am not debating this with a five year old!!!" The only problem was that it was in  my bedroom. I learned to understand complimentary colors. Linda told me it was like the grass. That too was confusing because where was the sky? House Beautiful came the next week to photograph our house. This  was my learning curve.

Respectfully,

Bob's Daughter

Color and Control

I stood on the playground, under an oak tree
and wanted to scream.
The lawyer, holding her one year old,
fast asleep in her arms, just told me that at the Waldorf School,

"You know, they don't want you to wear black."

As I was about to respond, another mother sitting on the geodesic dome said,

"I'll give you an example of why they feel that way. My son was in kindergarten and he came home upset and said to me, 'My teacher always wears black! I want to see color!'
Kids just really want color around them."

I stood paralyzed.
The phrase, "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all" came to mind. I was silent, standing there in my black v-neck t-shirt, black underskirt with an over-skirt of black, white and gray mesh.

Finally I said,  

"I guess I just don't feel that way.
I teach art history and it's all part of a spectrum."

"Do you teach kindergarten?" 

"No, I teach college."

"Well then, black and gray are appropriate for that."
She looked at my clothing and smiled.

WOW, my brain was spinning.
I wanted to say that "The colonization of the body should not be encouraged and the fact that your son is taught to believe that he has the right to decide what his teacher should wear is inappropriate. A five year old is in school to learn."

Instead I looked at her, acknowledged her opinion with a nod and looked away. I felt like there should be a big bubble over my head saying, "one if these things is not like the others".

This is when it became even more interesting...

A friend of mine from graduate school had invited me to the park that day
and she jumped in, sensing the tension.

"Emily doesn't discriminate against colors. All colors are important for her."

This seemed to placate everyone or at least give us all a chance to move on.

I can't stop thinking about this sentence, "Emily doesn't discriminate against colors."

It could be the early 1960's on the same playground and instead of wearing black
I might have a black friend? I need to think about this more.

Respectfully,

Bob's Daughter

Linda's Red Bag

Ideas take up space. There is no design for where to put them. It is up to each individual.

It is memorial Day weekend and I have driven by many yard sales, driveways filled with items that people no longer use, that are taking up space, and will be sold or given away. Truly valuable items are sold at auctions and other marketplace venues or given to loved ones. Is it the same for ideas?

The red bag my mother gave me, with folders probably filled with resumes, stories, poems from throughout her life, items that she valued because they concretize her ideas, it still sits on my floor and I have no heart to put it in a closet or an attic. The contents are much larger than the bag. They fill time, our home, my future, if I cannot decide where to put them.

xoxo,
Bob's Daughter

Designing Life

By Design...
How can understanding  design be so vitally important?
Uncle Herbie has told me a story about his time in the Korean War. I will not tell it as well as he does, but I will give you the highlights.

Herbert I. Cohen is in a ditch digging trenches in Korea.
A superior officer yells out, "Does anyone here type?"
Herbert I. Cohen calls back, "Me!"
He didn't hesitate and tells me it was worth a try, the worst thing that could happen was that he would end up digging ditches when they found out he was a poor typist - and since he was already doing that, this seemed like a good idea.

"Report to building ****"
"Yes, Sir" said Herbert I. Cohen

After cleaning up, Herbert I. Cohen stood facing building ****.
He decided to go around to the back of the building and go in through that door.
Once through the door a doctor asked him, "What are you doing here?"
He replied, "I'm here for my assignment."
The doctor said, "Come this way."
And that is how Herbert I. Cohen stopped digging ditches and became a surgical assistant.
(He later went to Johns Hopkins and became a doctor.)

He laughs at this part of the story and tells me, "I knew if I went in the front door I'd have to type and they would know I wasn't very good, but if I went in the back door something else might happen."

Herbert I. Cohen went in the back door because as Uncle Herbie recently explained to me, "You basically know what happens in the front of a building, so I figured I had a better chance for something interesting at the back." This is about design and a certainty in the structure of an environment.

I kept thinking about my lawyer's office. I hate the building. In order to make every tenant feel that they have a "front" entrance the architecture rambles and it is unclear which door to enter and what stairway or elevator to use. This is not the sort of building that Herbert I. Cohen entered on his way to becoming Dr. Cohen and then Uncle Herbie.

I later asked him if they ever figured out that he never reported for typing. He said, "OH, yes, but it was months later and we were going home. They asked where I was and I told them 'I went to building **** and reported for duty.' And I had. And I went there every day."

"Didn't someone notice that you weren't typing?"
"Yes, eventually they asked where I was working and I told them 'surgery' and they said, 'Cohen, you were supposed to be typing!' and I said, 'this is what they asked me to do when I arrived.' and that's the truth!"

I love Uncle Herbie.
xoxo,
Bob's Daughter
aka Uncle Herbie's Niece

Google has now listed one of Bob's patents online. When I first found the patent (see blog) I discovered it from a Florida newspaper and then had to search the patent office. Now, just several months later Google has it in one quick search and link. Did this blog push his patent to the front of the line for digital processing, is it random, or alphabetical?

We are living through the initial stages of a digital world and I want to be conscious of it. In years to come this will be taken for granted, but it is happening NOW, for anyone reading this blog.

I found something else in this search. A site called Funeral Digest with the headline Today's Obituaries.
One of mom's obituaries is there.

There are also funeral plots for sale and a banner with names of people with anniversaries of their deaths.
This is big business. I think it used to be called religion.

Ballard Durrand, the funeral home I contracted with for Mom's burial, sent me a letter inviting me to have them set a dove free in my mother's honor.

I mentioned this to two professors I teach with at SUNY New Paltz. Kathy responded, "What are they going to do otherwise, keep them hostage?" So funny, and terrible.
The other professor, Suzanne, said that she thinks we do not talk about death in our culture and that people are searching for meaning. I agree with her.

It is the convergence of the internet, capitalism and lack of meaningful ritual that is creating this bizarre death market.

In the meantime, no word from MyLife.com about the email I sent my father.
It gives a whole new meaning to the phrase, "dead letter box."

Respectfully,
Bob's Daughter

Mother's Account

It's Mother's Day.
I closed her LinkedIn account.
A gift for us both.

Bob and Linda, spring/ summer 1965

Martha's Vineyard, MA

xoxo,

Emily

aka Bob's Daughter

MLS

My cheeks hurt I get such a kick out of this.
The listing states "contempo".

I really am Bob's daughter.
I often unwind looking at MLS listings, thinking about investing in real estate.
Bob didn't have instant gratification perusing from a laptop, but I think he would have LOVED it.
Anyhoo, I find it to be fabulous because sometimes I come across something like this...

and I wonder what it looks like inside? Contempo? Hmmm? Maybe it is one big box?
No...here comes that strange feeling in my cheeks, like I might laugh, but I shouldn't.
Beam me up Scotty because this is what I found!

This place is a time capsule! Love it, had to share it.
Design, some is classic and some is of a moment. I especially like that the yellow fridge and oven match the yellow sink. Whomever buys this place might want to try keeping it as a set because I think this predates avocado!

xoxo,
Bob's Daughter

"Never let yourself forget who you are." Chuck Jones, my mentor told me that. It is one of the best pieces of advice I have ever heard.

Great advice when so many of us wear different hats. I find it can be hard to keep track of myself. For example, I see someone whom I haven't seen in a few years, I am with one of my twin daughters and the person says, "Is this your daughter?" I may pause, because to me it is obvious, but this person has had a lapse in time in my story. This is a moment to catch up on each others lives. Recently, I heard a less pleasant version, "Did you birth those babies?" I was silent for a moment. There is actually no answer to this question that is polite. I simply state, "Yes." Inside I think of loudly saying, "No, you bitch, I ordered them from a catalog." Instead, I try to move on and ignore whatever she says next. (If I had adopted these children I still would detest this statement.) This is one example of remembering who I am. Yes, I am a new mother, no I don't have to be spoken to like that, and lastly I hope at 43 years old I have the control not to make a scene.

Yet, Chuck meant this in a different light when he said it. He said this to me when I was afraid to make a change in my life - a big change. He knew that I could do this because he held a piece of me in his heart and memory that could make these changes. I felt fragile that day. He gave me a bit of myself back and asked me not to let it go - to remember myself. I am remembering this conversation now as I prepare to make more changes. I don't always remember my strength, but I remember Chuck.

xoxo,
Bob's Daughter
aka Emily

Gideon Loewenstein may be my new "best friend". You know, the kind you had when you were in elementary school. The person who was suddenly there in your life and very important. Gideon, has not let me go since the phone call I made to him (out of the blue) after finding his name on a patent that my father created. He was so warm that day that when I found him on line and then called information for his phone number. I like the world where Gideon lives. It has kindness, beyond civility. He emails me every once in a while and lets me know he is thinking of me and asks how I am. After mom died he emailed that I should "be strong". I like that phrase from an architect.

This is how old I was when Gideon last saw me. 

This is me with my father in 1968. I love the way that Bob is showing me the block. Shape, space, square, form, I don't know what he was saying, but as a child I loved to hang upside down and imagine that I lived on the ceiling and that all the door frames were benches.

I want to address Gideon as Mr. Loewenstein, but he signs his emails "Gideon".
It is challenging for me when kids call adults by their first names. I am more accustomed to it now, but our children call most people "Auntie" and "Uncle". It helps, but it  is inaccurate. I  miss the comfort and design of decorum and manners that provided my (false) sense of security that the world had an order to it. An order that could be defined with short words, unfortunately Ms. wasn't one of them..

Bread and roses,
Bob's Daughter