30 Rox

My first encounter with chocolate cake, circa 1980. Love at first bite!

Happy Groundhog Day!

"When Chekhov saw the long winter, he saw a winter bleak and dark and bereft of hope. Yet we know that winter is just another step in the cycle of life. But standing here among the people of Punxsutawney and basking in the warmth of their hearths and hearts, I couldn't imagine a better fate than a long and lustrous winter."

- Bill Murray, Groundhog Day

90 Years

The number 9 is a thread constantly being rewoven into the fabric of my family. Any year ending in the number 9 has brought great things to us, especially the last year of each decade. Is it a coincidence that the number 9 is considered lucky in many cultures? For us it most certainly is.

Starting with my great, great-grandfather, Vilmos Lers, who was born in 1869, this streak of good fortune has repeated itself every 10 years on the number 9 up until this very moment. For instance, in 1969 my parents were married. After 10 years of trying to have children, they would have me in 1979. In 1989 we-- my parents, my sister (born, incidentally, one year on December 19th) and I-- returned home to the States after 4 successful years of living in Japan, the Land of the Rising Sun. Finally, in 2009, we exultingly inaugurated our 1st African American president, my parents celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary, I would turn 30 in February and my grandmother, Hortnezia Lers Pogany, would celebrate 90 years of living on January 28th, 2009. This brings me to that other great revival of the number 9 in our family's history, 1919, the year in which my grandmother was born.

Hortenzia Lers entered this world in Budapest, Hungary-- the youngest child of Karoly Schwab and Hortenzia Lers. After being abandoned by their troubled parents, my grandmother, her sister and brother would be formally adopted by their maternal grandparents, Vilmos Lers and Elvira Reischl, the baron and baroness. Hortenzia and her siblings were reared lovingly from then on-- her sister would grow up to be Hungary's premiere stage and film actress and her brother a prominent lawyer. Hortenzia was set to become a nun when she met and fell in love with my grandfather, Andras Pogany. In 1942, they were married. In late 1956, with their 6 children in tow, they would escape the communist Russian occupation of Hungary through the country's western farmland into Austria under Soviet machine gun fire and the threat of the elements. Hortenzia and Andras would eventually bring their family to America to begin anew.

Through the 1960s, 70s, and 80s, they'd live the American Dream. They'd work desperately hard and they'd prosper. Hortenzia would learn English and get her Master's degree. Andras would get his American legal certification to practice law. They'd eventually send one of their children to Yale, another to Stanford and so on. They'd have 11 grandchildren. In 1992, Hortenzia and Andras would celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary. A few years later, Andras would pass from this life without ever seeing his beloved homeland again, but he'd be proud of his decisions and the happy life they had afforded him.

Within the first 10 years of the 21st century, Hortenzia would see her grandchildren get married, become lawyers, engineers and accountants and see the birth of 2 great-grandchildren. She would celebrate her legacy as she'd turn 90-- 90 years of tough but blessed living.

My grandmother, the matriarch of our family, is the toughest 100 pound woman in the world. Her temperament and frail condition bespeak saintly deference and quiet introspection. But, there's no denying that under this muted veneer beats the heart of a lion that has clawed its way through war, the threat of poverty, hunger and even death to reach a place of elderly reflection. The truth is that her will is unbreakable.

My grandmother, Hortenzia Lers Pogany, has now lived on this planet for 90 years. Like many immigrants of her age and generation, she's a hero to her family. The web of life she's created with her body and her determination would literally not exist without her. This is how one woman can affect the lives and happiness of scores to follow her and, ultimately, change the world.

If she were writing this note, my grandmother would acknowledge her family as her life's greatest work. Because of this, I salute her on her 90th birthday and thank her for the way she has carried herself through 9 decades. Hers is, perhaps, the luckiest recurrence of the number 9 to all of us. God bless her.

Congratulations and thank you for 90 incredible years!

Love,

Roxie

The Dawn of a New Day

40 Years

My parents have been married longer than they ever were single. On January 18, 1969, he was 24 years old and she merely 21. Times were different back then. Couples didn’t generally live together for a decade before walking down the aisle. Marriage was expected, and even welcomed, for those in their early 20s, if not late teens… and not just for simple folk living lives under strict, conservative ideals.

My mom was from an upper middle-class, Hungarian immigrant family, living in suburban New Jersey; my dad from a working-class, Italian/Irish immigrant family in Oyster Bay, New York. They were educated and they were going places… he to graduate school in Chinese and Japanese language and literature, she finishing up her undergrad in Northern European Art History.

This was the time of free love-- of Hendrix, the Mamas and the Papas, Peter, Paul and Mary and the Yellow Submarine. Men were about to walk on the moon, Woodstock was just around the corner, Vietnam was still a daily horror, and while my parents were part of this 60s generation, in college, they were just “two nerds” coasting the wave of change as it crashed around them. While my father did preach peace at a rally in Cornell months later, he and my mother weren’t rebel hippies in January ’69. They were the boy and girl next door, living their lives as two love-struck nerds who happened to part of an explosive time. You could say they were the members of the 60s generation no one ever talks about ‘cause they weren’t burning bras and smoking weed, but rather hanging out in NYC‘s Chinatown and holding hands.

Mom and dad met a library, for god’s sake! Two weeks later, they were engaged. Six months later, they were married. Neither was afraid of commitment; they embraced it as two naïve kids who felt, without doubt, that this was the right decision.

On January 18, 1969, Alex DeAngelis and Ildiko Pogany became Mr. & Mrs. DeAngelis. For the next nine months, they’d live on the 3rd floor of my grandparents’ house in South Orange, New Jersey. From there, they’d move to Ithaca, New York so my father could attend yet another graduate school. After that, they’d settle in Washington DC where mom would get her law degree, dad would become a Fed and, ten years later, a fat, bald, angry baby would make them the happiest parents on earth. This moment was duplicated six ears later when another rotund baby girl would make the family a foursome.

Four years in Japan, several years in Northern Virginia and hundreds of trips up to New Jersey and New York are just some of what filled the lives of these two former imbecile kids who didn’t know what the hell they were getting into on January 18, 1969. And, yet, it would turn out to be the best decision of their lives. He still says that she has saved his life over and over again. She still says that he’s a person everyone should look up to for his kind heart. In their hearts and their actions, they’re still a couple of cheesy nerds who love each other.

Sure, they drive one another (and, I might add, their two girls) absolutely nuts. There has been yelling and eye rolling, door slamming and bouts of the silent treatment. But, really, they can’t live without each other and they wouldn’t want to.

Every morning since dad left retirement, mom goes down the list for him: “Do you have your keys? What about your cell phone? How about your glasses? Don’t forget your brief case! While you’re out, please mail these bills! We need cash to go grocery shopping! Did you take your pills??,” etc. It drives my father crazy and annoys him to no end. Yet, one morning when mom didn’t get up in time to send him off to work, he left the house without his keys and his glasses. He was locked out of the house and blind. When mom got home that evening, she asked, “What happened?” He responded that his day was a disaster because she hadn’t been around to help him prep in the morning, and he realized how much he depended on her to function. Vindication for mom, humility for dad, and they both smiled at each other and chuckled. This situation repeats itself often, even with roles reversed.

This is what 40 years of marriage can do to you, and, honestly, it’s not that bad. It’s not bad at all. It’s not that, “Oh, we’ll grow to hate and resent each other” and “I can’t believe I shackled myself to this ass for eternity” kind of deal, which is the attitude I think many today approach marriage with: negativity and dread. It’s a, “Hey, life’s tough and cruel sometimes, but it’s also wonderful, and we’re in it together and there’s no one on earth I’d rather share it with than you” partnership.

* * *

I’m their first born daughter. I’ll be thirty in less than a month and I’ve never been in a relationship worth even a footnote in my history. But, I look at my parents and I don’t bemoan my perpetual state as a singleton, because I know that what they have is worth waiting for. For my parents, it came swift and early. They were lucky. For me, it’ll come at a tempered pace because I’m a product of my generation and that’s what’s been required of us in these strange, turn-of-the-century times. We’ll deal.

I raise a toast to many folks from generations past, like my parents, for their fervor and their approach to changes requiring hefty responsibility, with open arms and a smile.

I congratulate my parents on a successful partnership that they’ve nurtured through four decades of uncertainty. Whatever’s come down the pike, you’ve weathered it beautifully. There has been so much laughter, happiness and unconditional love. I admire you and I love you more than the world.

Happy 40th Wedding Anniversary! May what you have rub off on all of us facing the same challenges and blessings that marriage can bestow.

Love,

Roxie

The Loneliest Place on Earth

I've decided there's no place on earth more lonely than an Olympic park once the games have ended and the world has gone home. So much effort and anticipation are poured into and Olympics on the scale of years and in the hopes of an entire host nation. Countdown clocks are erected all over the host city. As you drive home from work everyday you glance at the numbers dwindling down, not because you don't know how much time's left (you've memorized it at this point), but rather to experience sharing the same numbers with drivers around you, thinking, "It's coming! SO excited it's coming!!"

Then the games are finally here. They zip by in a super-stimulated tornado of excitement... and then they're gone. The park's empty, the clocks show "0," "00:00:00," and "00/00/00," and the space at the back of your mind that used to be filled with such glorious anticipation has been left vacant.

Standing at the Beijing Olympic venue was lonely, even though I was surrounded by so many tourists. It was lonely because there was no more purpose for the Bird's Nest; it was now, literally, an empty shell. The Water Cube was shut down, its lights turned off, to lie in locked-down stasis until it can be re-imagined as a water amusement park in years to come. The venue where Michael Phelps became the most decorated Olympic champion of all time is now a hollow building made of plastic and drained of the water that gave it its name.

Seeing Sydney's Olympic park at Homebush was an even lonelier experience. Not even tourists were interested in visiting the site anymore and it was only 2005 (just 5 years since the Sydney Games). I was one of a handful of folks spaced throughout the entire park one day in February (summer Down Under). How sad! How empty.

Are the games worth all the money and painstaking effort poured into their staging, despite the knowledge that once they've ended, a life's blood will be drained and their bodies will become a skeleton of 17 days that lived and breathed? When I put it that way, it sounds like life, except that our mortal bodies are assumed into the earth after we've gone. These Olympic structures stand through time as a reminder of the desire we share to connect with one another as human beings while we've the chance to live-- to assure we're never alone or lonely while we're on this earth. How ironic.

A Chinese Obamanon!

What better way to celebrate my first blog post from Beijing than to dedicate it to the 44th President of the United States, Barack Obama!

The election of our new U.S. president has galvanized people of all colors and backgrounds throughout the world, creating a sense of shared humanity rarely experienced in our cynical, divided human experience. Exhibit A: I spent the morning and afternoon of November 5th at a Tex Mex pub, the Saddle Cantina, surrounded by American Obama-philes in liver-soaked jubilation (thanks to Stella Artois, Hoegaarden, champagne, vino and strawberry margaritas), and in the company of new Aussie, Mexican and Slovakian friends, all overcome with the enormity of the moment as CNN projected that Barack Obama would become the next President of the United States. Such a moment is indescribable, especially in light of the not-so-distant memory of segregation. We wanted this change. We NEEDED this change. Now we have it!

It means so much to us, but for the rest of the world, this moment is also victorious. Just witness an Australian tear up as people of many nationalities embrace, cheer, stand up on tables and proclaim joy for your country, chanting "YES WE CAN," and you will understand how great the United States of America can be and how proud you can feel to be an American.

We have all earned the new puppy we're bringing to the White House on January 20th, 2009.

James McAvoy

No shit, I am one lucky bitch! I took this photo of James McAvoy eating lunch with his wife, Anne-Marie Duff, and a friend on Santa Monica Pier, the day after the Oscars. It's kizmet, folks. After all, I could have run into Chuck Norris or Steven Segal, for God's sake... Wait a minute, I DID actually see Steven Segal the day before on Ocean Ave. in Santa Monica! No joke.

I did not bother McAvoy as he walked by me minutes earlier, but I did take covert photos. If you know me, you know how much I adore this guy. He and Larry David are the two people I dreamed of running into... and look: one down, one to go! Totally unreal that I was in the right place at the right time. I could have missed him by a minute if I hadn't decided to turn around and head back down the pier at that moment.

I am proud of myself for letting him be because I imagine that's what I'd want if I were that famous and were out to lunch with loved ones on a lazy afternoon.

I saw him, I photographed him and I am still on cloud nine! Thank you, James & Anne-Marie!