Remembering Franz Jahoda, 1930 - 2012

“We know how the sky is blue, but we don’t know why,” Franz said while marveling the glowing blanket of atmosphere above us. With a career in theoretical physics, specializing in light and optics behind him, the statement not only had profound dimensions in and of itself, but was telling about the man who made it.

Franz and his wife Pat and I were having lunch, perched on the rim of a canyon in the backcountry of Bandelier National Monument. It was a beautiful fall day in northern New Mexico, the air and light so clear if it could make a sound it would ring like a bell.

Franz possessed the rare brilliance of an open mind and humble nature, able to embrace and find inspiration in the fact we do not and likely will never have all the answers. And so, it was always a delight to be in his company. We shared many lively, wondering conversations, many high summits, and other slices of life including the trials, as friends do.

For all his humility, Franz once revealed a flashy side. Curious about his lifelong passion for downhill skiing - after all, you get yourself hauled up a hill to simply slide down over and over again - I asked him what was it about the sport which held him. Without hesitation he exclaimed, “I can show off!”

Many of us now feel the hard ache of missing Franz Jahoda. I do. Fortunately he has left us with uncountable fine memories, and a big blue sky above to look at and wonder about.

Gordon Bunker

Toast

This past Saturday morning R wanted toast. When she pushed the lever down on the toaster to get things started, it broke. I put up a silent cheer. Finally, the cursed thing quit. It was a yard sale purchase of R’s and had been the bane of my every morning. No matter how much fiddling with the controls, it would offer up either warm bread or burned bread, but never toast. And first thing in the day I don’t need anything to make me a grouch, or rather, grouch-ier. Just ask R.

For some time I’d been dreaming of a proper slice of toast, crispy on the outside and still a bit chewy on the inside… slathered with butter and jam, without drama or trauma, a balm for my grumbling soul and a giant leap toward starting out on the right foot. So with the toaster’s demise I hesitated not one minute, yanked the cord from the socket, grabbed the unit and marched it out to the trash. Before slamming the lid shut on its tomb I gave it a squinty-eyed glance and uttered the last rites, “There, you miserable son of a …” never to be seen or heard from again, “good… Bye!”

We set priorities according to our hierarchy of needs, so what would it be for rest of the day? Clean the garage or find a new toaster? Without a second thought a toaster, one which actually worked, shot to the top of my list. I was determined to do everything I could to ensure a future of happy toasting and was quickly hot on the trail of a “Lift & Look Touch,” by the Australian company Breville. The Aussies apparently are big on toast; they must be to come up with this juggernaut.

Bakeries here in Santa Fe are into “artisan” breads. They can call them whatever they like, I call them delicious. But the loaves, round domes baked without pans, produce big oval slices in the middle and tiny ones from the ends. The star feature with the Lift & Look is its “extra long” slots, promising to toast anything I can throw at it in one gulp. And then its straightforwardness; this toaster has buttons labeled, “Lift & Look,” and “A Bit More.” I get it, no secret decoder ring required. In this world so enamored with icons, the meanings of which not always readily apparent, there’s something quaint, even charming about the use of simple English.

As an aside, for the swashbuckling guy like me, getting excited about a countertop appliance may appear a sad commentary on what life has come to, but climbing the highest peaks or plunging the depths of the ocean look like just too much effort. Left to my memoirs perhaps are tales of high adventure, but as I slip into older doghood, the lack of pressure in getting a kick out of a toaster comes as a relief.

Now we get down to the proof which is in the pudding, or toast as it were, and so far so good. Having got the gist of the browning control, the Lift & Look shines. Let there be toast, light, dark, any way you like it, and after years of violent spring loaded toast launchings the gentle motorized lowering and raising of the slices, while a bit superfluous, is a nice Zen touch. We have yet to try the “Bagel” setting wherein the unit toasts the inside cut faces more than the outside surfaces. When you’ve come this far toward toasting perfection you wouldn’t want to overdo your poppy seeds or bits of onion and garlic now would you? Bagels are on my grocery list.

Gordon Bunker